The air was crisp, still and quiet. The sounds of birds had ceased long ago, their silence eery, their absence a reminder of the pauna that had threatened to consume them without care or worry for their own wants or comfort.
Athena sat on the moss covered ground, to her back a fallen tree and before her a small smouldering fire that just barely kept the cold away. The forest was always beautiful that time of day, when the mist was slowly chased away by the sun's heat, when it painted the lands with a pale blue that shimmered in the sun.
She took in a deep breath to steady an already still heartbeat. She hadn't made any noise in what seemed like hours, her ears ever straining to hear the approach of heavy paws. Truthfully Athena had never seen a pauna of such size with her own eyes before. She had heard stories, legends, she knew enough that the best course of action was always to run, to flee, to put as much distance between yourself and whatever beast gave chase.
Her memories told her as much.
Again the quiet echo of its call sounded through the forest. This time it seemed a little more frustrated, a little more angry at its predicament stuck in that old rusted room. Athena looked to Clarke to find her still asleep on the ground. The noise didn't seem to disrupt her sleep and Athena thought it better to let her sleep, to let her worries ease away as peacefully as they could.
Clarke had had enough fear, enough fright for the week, from Quint, from the Pauna and their almost certain death. Perhaps Athena would feel a little more relaxed herself if she still had her sword with her. But that wasn't to be. Not after Clarke had used it to seal the door shut behind them in an effort to delay the Pauna's entrance.
Athena grimaced at the memory, the sword one of her favourites, its weight balanced, light enough that she could swing it faster than most, its edge sharp enough to bite into flesh and armour with little struggle. She supposed it bent out of shape, she supposed it ruined beyond repair. Maybe she'd search for it at a later time, perhaps she would have the Pauna hunted. And yet she didn't think that fair. The pauna bid her no ill will, just as she didn't feel any personal dislike for its existence.
All it had tried to do was survive, live off the lands, kill those that threatened to kill it and eat what it could. There was a certain freeness in that existence, she thought. She wondered what it would be like to exist without worry, without care, without any responsibility to others.
And yet—
Again the beast's call echoed out, this time a little more loudly, a little more forcefully into the quiet around them.
Clarke woke, Athena watched as she bolted upright and though she couldn't see her face, though she couldn't see her gaze, she knew Clarke to be looking outwards, to be searching for danger, for threats, violence soon to come.
That thought made her want to ease Clarke's worries, that realisation that she considered the other woman's emotions gave her pause, made her think, made her want to do something more than remain quiet. She didn't know why, or maybe she lied to herself about not knowing why. If she let herself think a little deeper, if she let herself listen to the thoughts that echoed in her mind she might have been able to be truthful to herself.
And yet she couldn't. Not yet.
And so Athena spoke, she let her voice carry between them in the hopes of soothing a weary and fearful mind.
But the voice she heard wasn't her own.
It never was.
She hated that it never would be.
Athena woke, her vision blurred by sleep, the dark of the room gentle and warm. It took her a moment for her thoughts and memories to reorganise, to settle into the present and when they did she found her heart beat a little slower, a little more lonesome in her chest.
The Mountain's air always seemed oddly perfect. Somewhere between too hot and too cold. Never enough to make sense of it. She wouldn't complain. it wouldn't be becoming of her.
And so she let her mind settle for just a moment longer before she pulled the soft furs from her body. Athena swung her legs over the side of the bed and she winced at a muscle that pulled a little too tightly in her back, whatever injury it was caused by now long since forgotten.
It didn't take Athena long to get dressed. It never did, she had grown accustomed to getting prepared without much help. Part of it was from experience needing to be ready at a moment's notice, part of it was because of a habit someone had had many years ago. Another part was simply because it gave her an excuse not to linger in whatever memories still haunted her, that were too hard to push back into the nether with the constant reminders that plagued her waking moments.
She stepped out of her quarters with a deep breath, a knife strapped to her body as always, her red sash draped over her shoulder lest it drag on the ground. Axios already stood by her side, the man never one to take long to wake from whatever slumber he had been in.
Few walked the Mountain's halls at such an early hour and it wasn't an accident she had chosen that hour to wake. It wasn't that what she wished to do was private, was not for others to know about. None would even really know what it was about. But it was personal, something she wished to keep to herself as much as possible. If only because she hadn't decided what it was she wished to do just yet.
And so, before too long, Athena found herself stepping into what had become the healer's quarters of the Mountain. She didn't quite like how much tech was used, it seemed foreign to her, the smells bitter and biting upon her tongue.
Though wars and battles had lessened in recents months warriors were ever present at any healer's. Athena saw one, arm clearly broken, she saw two others incapacitated through whatever medicine Skaikru used. A forth was propped up in her bed, a book in her lap as she read.
Athena nodded to her as she began to move through the room in search of a healer, her mind already beginning to go over the practised words she had found herself reciting over and over lest her nerves get the better of her. It was foolish, part of her wanted to turn, to run away from the quest. She didn't even know why she thought it a wise decision. And yet things were different now, things had been different for years.
Those differences had been barely registered at first, little actions she had made over the course of her reign as Heda. Most hardly noticed and those that did made little noise or complaint for the Coalition had prospered and thrived under her rule. But still, there were always traditions and long held beliefs that would have far greater push back should someone try to change her people's course for good.
And so Athena came to a stop, in front of her a large metal door.
She took a moment to compose herself yet again before she knocked, the sound a little too loud for her comfort as it echoed against the metal.
"Commander," there was a hint of surprise as Abby was revealed behind the door.
"Abby," Athena answered as she tilted her head in greeting, both her hands clasped behind her back.
"I didn't realise you were visiting," Abby said as she stepped aside.
"I did not wish to disturb you more than my presence already has," it was an honest answer. Athena didn't want to draw more attention than she needed to. It was simpler this way.
"Can I do something for you?" Abby asked, and Athena watched as the doctor looked up and down her body as if to check for injuries or old wounds.
"Perhaps," Athena said as she stepped into Abby's office.
The room Athena now found herself in was simple, large enough that a couch was placed against one wall, with room to spare. She didn't miss the ever present clutter of trinkets, of tech, notes, books, other things whose purpose had eluded her even after all the years.
"Please, sit," Abby gestured for one of the free chairs that sat on the other side of her desk.
Athena took a moment to think over any number of things. Some more personal than others, some simply a distraction for her thoughts as they still tried to order and reorder the chaos that was her mind.
She wasn't uncertain, she knew that much. It wasn't that she didn't know what decision she needed to make. But she was nervous. Something deep down in the pit of her stomach told her she wouldn't be able to turn back time and pretend like it never happened.
"I have a personal request of you," Athena said and she pinned Abby with a stare she had honed through lifetimes.
Abby's eyes widened a moment before her face settled into that ever present professionalism Athena had come to respect.
"There is someone I know," Athena continued, but she paused, enough that she gave herself time to lie, to change the topic or to simply turn around a leave. "An old friend of mine is ill," there was no going back. "He coughs," and she tried to ignore the shadow that formed at the corner of her vision. "Blood is often present."
"How old is he?" Abby asked, her voice quiet, perhaps because she understood the personal nature of the request, perhaps because she empathised with whatever worries plagued Athena.
"Old," Athena wouldn't answer directly. Not when giving too much information would mean the death of everything she had fought for.
"I see," Abby said quietly, and she looked away as if to think or to consider something else. "How long has it been happening?"
"A year, perhaps a little less," Athena said. Truthfully she wasn't entirely sure. She had been away for too long to know until she feared it too late.
Abby took in a steadying breath and Athena watched as she reached for a pen and paper and began to write something down.
"Honestly, Commander," Abby said once she finished. "I'd need to see this friend of yours if I'm going to help," it was simple, stern enough that Athena knew Abby didn't miss the fact that she had been purposefully vague.
But that answer was what Athena had feared. She had already known it to be so. Perhaps she had been lying to herself for too long.
She found herself quiet for long enough that she knew Abby must have become uncomfortable. But Athena didn't mind. She needed to think, she needed to consider every single possibility. Again that shadow seemed to shift as if it tried to be seen, as if it tried to force itself into her line of sight. But Athena was stubborn and she turned, refused to let the ghost come to light lest it give her an answer she wished not to hear.
And so Athena rose from the chair, she looked Abby in the eyes and she thanked her for what little time she had stolen.
Though Athena wouldn't let it show on her face, though she would never voice her emotions to anyone, she felt a pain in her heart as deeply as she had felt it in every lifetime she could remember.
Athena thought it so very cruel that she would have to face the decision and the turmoil alone.
But feeling alone wasn't unfamiliar. Not after so long.
She thought it ironic that all she had to keep her company were memories of ghosts. Ones she fled from at times of fear, ones she turned to when she felt weak and lonely.
"I do not know what to do," Athena's voice whispered out to the shadow in the corner of her vision. "I am sorry," she didn't know what she was sorry for. She never was.
And so Agamemnon smiled at her sadly, his eyes full of love and understanding.
Alexandria woke to a morning sun that already chased away the cool of the night. Sunlight streamed in through her shuttered window, motes of dust danced in the glowing beams that cut into the shadows and she imagined herself, just for a moment, free to drift in the air, to go anywhere without worry or care or responsibility to those that she knew.
But that was never the case.
She took in a deep and steadying breath as if to force her mind to wake. It was fresh, crisp and it woke her senses. She didn't want to rise just yet, she wasn't so sure why. The last conversation she had had with Clarke had given her too much to think about, too much to ponder and to accept.
Truthfully, and not for the first time, she came to the conclusion that her life in recents days and weeks felts more like a dream or a memory she couldn't recall. She had long ago accepted the way things were and yet now the way things were was not quite so familiar. Yet nothing really had changed. Perhaps her own thoughts didn't make sense to even herself.
And that, she thought, was the problem. How could she make sense of a situation she didn't understand, couldn't comprehend? How could anyone? She thought the only way she would ever be able to organise the disorder of her mind was by talking to Athena. But the Commander had responsibilities. Things to do that were so very more important than anything her own life had become. That was how it was. That was how it always had been and would continue to be.
Alexandria pulled the furs from her body, the warmth of a single ray of the sun's life graced her bare leg and she stretched, she groaned as muscles pulled and protested and she shook her head just once before she sat, her legs thrown over the side of her bed. She could already hear birds calling in the distance, she thought she even heard the voices of a few servants, handmaidens long since retired from injury or age. She embraced those sounds, if only because they seemed to be the only constant, the only comfort and the only thing that made sense to her.
As Alexandria dressed she found her thoughts turning to Costia. She thought it bittersweet, in a way. Part of her wasn't entirely sure why she felt the memories bittersweet, another part of her knew exactly the reason why. She had accepted long ago that people she had once known would be long gone to her, whether they had died in a skirmish, in a war, had fallen ill and never recovered. She doubted anyone she had once called friend would have made it to old age. Not many did on the ground.
But Alexandria couldn't move past the fact that Clarke knew more of Costia's life than she ever would. Perhaps they had all known each other. Perhaps they hadn't. She didn't know and she didn't even know if she wanted to know. Surely the truth, whatever it was, would only hurt, would only give her more pain and cause her anguish. And yet there was curiosity somewhere beneath the surface. She was only human, after all.
Maybe today would be the day she'd ask, maybe she'd let herself be a little selfish, be a little curious, no matter the fact that she had accepted and understood the reasons for why searching for answers to their past was a foolish endeavour. How could she not want know more of her past? No other Commander had ever been given an opportunity to know.
Perhaps that was what scared her though. The person she needed to ask, the person who had the key to all her missing pieces was someone who looked at her with so much intensity, so much longing. She knew Clarke tried to hide it, she knew the woman tried not to linger too long in her presence. And yet she knew Clarke couldn't help herself. Just as she couldn't help wanting to know more. But it wasn't fair, she didn't think it ever would be fair. It wasn't fair that Clarke knew more of her life than she did. It wasn't fair that she was the one to be given a chance to learn more when Eamon and Agamemnon both had served their people.
And there was guilt. So much guilt for wanting to know. For wanting answers when she had never given answers to questions she knew Eamon and Agamemnon both had had. Of course they never asked, never probed about their legacies, about what they had done as Commander. It wasn't that it was taboo, illicit in some obscene way. It was simply because it kept emotions in check, it kept the past in the past and let those at the homestead centred in the here and the now.
Just as Eamon knew of Agamemnon's reign as Commander and not his own, just as she knew of Agamemnon's and Eamon's reign as Commander and not her own, it was fitting that Clarke knew of her reign when she did not.
But it was different.
She had never been prepared for this. No Commander had. Perhaps no Commander ever would again.
She hated it.
