The moment the treeline broke and I saw Alexandria's walls, a familiar feeling crawled up my spine.
Aaron's gait quickened as soon as the towers came into view. Heath let out a quiet sigh, and Nicholas looked like a man finally seeing his bed after a month in the mud.
We slowed as we approached the checkpoint. The metal gate, about twelve feet high, stretched across the old road. Two guards appeared — weapons lowered. One of them called out:
"Aaron, who are they!"
Aaron stepped forward. "Returning from recon. I'm with approved guests."
The other guard squinted. "Guests?"
"Rick Grimes," I said. "And my people."
The two guards exchanged glances, then whistled once. The gate creaked open six feet — just enough to let a man in.
A voice called from the other side.
"Come in, one at a time."
Alexandria was clean.
Not spotless — but lived-in.
Houses in good shape. Lawns managed. Solar panels mounted. Roads mostly intact. Kids. Families. It was quieter than I expected.
Deanna Monroe met us halfway down the road.
Aaron gave her a short nod. "He's here."
She stepped forward. "Rick Grimes."
I nodded.
"I hear you've been busy."
"That's one way to put it."
She gestured toward the council building. "You came a long way. Let's talk."
The room was glass-paneled, open, reinforced with sandbags and power cables. The council sat in a curved row — Reg, Olivia, Spencer, Tobin, and a couple I didn't recognize.
Deanna took the center seat.
I stood.
Daryl flanked my left. Graves my right. Michonne stood back, calm as stone. Glenn and Merle sat quiet.
"I won't waste your time," I said. "The Right Arm exists. It's real and organized. We have over two hundred strong — fighters, teachers, farmers, engineers."
No one interrupted.
"We didn't come to ask for shelter. We came to offer an Alliance.
Deanna narrowed her eyes. "And leadership?"
"I'm not here to lead you," I said. "I'm here to help us lead together."
"Why now?" asked Reg.
"Because waiting any longer means waiting until someone worse gets here first."
Deanna folded her hands. "Someone worse?"
"I've seen what's coming," I said. "There are groups out there that don't build. They take. And they don't stop until every inch of peace is gone."
"You're talking about raiders?" Spencer asked.
I nodded. "More than that. Tyrants. Warlords. You haven't met them yet. But you will."
"And what makes you different?" Olivia asked.
I met her gaze. "We fight for the living. We kill to protect. But we never forget what we're trying to bring back."
The room was quiet.
Until Deanna stood.
"I'll be honest. I don't know what to make of you yet."
I nodded. "That's fair."
"But I know Aaron. I trust him. And he says your people move with logic, not desperation."
"They do."
She looked around at the council. "You all know what we've been struggling to build. Now someone's offering to help finish it."
Spencer muttered, "Or take it from us."
I looked at him.
"If I wanted it, I'd already be standing behind your gate — not in front of your table."
That shut him up.
Deanna exhaled slowly.
"You'll stay here,won't you for the time being?"
"I will."
She extended her hand.
I took it.
Day One in Alexandria
We we're given a house.
Clean floors. A real bed. Curtains. They even stocked canned peaches in the pantry.
Graves muttered, "Felt weird closing a door without checking for walkers."
Daryl didn't even use the bed. He set up a sleeping roll by the back door and fell asleep sharpening a blade.
Merle had already started scouting where the booze was stashed.
Michonne sat by the window, staring out with that unreadable calm.
Glenn was the only one who smiled. "So this is what retirement feels like."
But I wasn't here to retire.
Deanna gave me space.
Smart move.
I walked the perimeter. Checked patrol rotations. Counted how long it took their guards to rotate shifts. It was longer than it should've been.
I noted their armory—locked, but accessible. Ammunition counts weren't as high as they looked.
But the people?
They were good. Unhardened. Trusting. Still wearing wedding rings like it mattered. Still smiling at strangers.
They hadn't lost as much.
Not yet.
Tobin introduced me to the construction crews. Strong backs, weak instincts. "We can rebuild the fence if we get more steel," he said.
"You'll need more than steel," I replied. "You'll need lookouts. Fall-back zones. Kill corridors."
He blinked.
"We don't have that."
"Not yet," I said.
I passed Olivia at the inventory center. She was sharp, organized, and overwhelmed.
"You're stockpiled well for now," I told her. "But your supply lines are exposed. You get hit once—this dries up."
"I keep telling the council," she sighed.
"Then tell them again."
She stared at me.
"You talk like a sheriff."
"I used to be one."
Deanna invited me to her home that night.
It was warm. Her husband, Reg, made pasta from pre-war boxes. Her son, Spencer, didn't hide his distrust.
I didn't try to change it.
"Why did you really come here?" Spencer asked.
"To make sure you don't die the same way the others did."
"And who are 'the others?'" he said with a sneer.
"Woodbury. Terminus. The ones who thought walls made them kings."
Deanna said nothing.
But Reg watched me differently after that.
Later that week, I trained a few of their volunteers in hand-to-hand.
No weapons.
Just sweat, bruises, and corrections.
Word spread.
"Rick Grimes is different."
"He doesn't smile much, but he listens."
Day ten. She called me back in.
"I've watched you work," she said. "You don't take charge by shouting."
"No."
"You take it by acting."
"Yes."
"And your people follow."
"They follow the mission."
She stepped closer.
"Rick… are we the mission?"
I looked her in the eye.
"You will be."
She didn't flinch.
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