Whispers In The Dark (Lead Us To The Light) - JadelynDeath (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue: A Different Childhood

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Clarke always knew that she was different. There were the obvious differences, like how she was the brightest student in her class, how she always got the best rations, how her clothes were never as worn as her peers' and how everyone seemed to show her more respect than they did for the other kids her age (with the exception of Wells) but that wasn't what first sprang to mind when her 6th grade English teacher asked them to think about what made them different, what made them special. Clarke knew that what made her special and unique wasn't her ability to draw or her bright blue eyes or the fact that she could recite the names of every bone in the human body in reverse alphabetical order (though she was certain that none of the other 11 year olds could do that). What made Clarke different above all else, was her imaginary friend.

Growing up, plenty of kids on Alpha station had imaginary friends. But they always got to a point where these imaginary figments of imagination would fade and the child would grow too old for stories of princes and princesses and the Old World. But Clarke was different. Her imaginary friend was no prince or princess, he wasn't even an engineer like her dad or a doctor like her mom. He didn't play make pretend with her or interact with the other children's imaginary friends like her kindergarten classmates insisted theirs did. And when Clarke got older, he stayed with her; always present at her side for as long as she could remember.

So Clarke was different because Keenai was different. That was his name, Keenai, he had other names, he had told her, but that was the one he wished for her to use. Keenai wasn't a prince or an engineer, you needed a body to be those things and that was the one thing that Keenai lacked. He wasn't short or tall or fair or dark or young or old; was a figure that moved like smoke - an empty outline and when she looked directly at him, Clarke could truly imagine what her teachers mean by Black Hole. He whispered in a low voice that echoed around the walls; telling Clarke of the Old World and of days to come. Days where her people will walk the Earth once more, days full of light and warmth and days full of blood and suffering, of nights so cold and so long that you could believe each sunset to be the last. Her imaginary friend told her of the way she would lead her people to prosperity. That she would face struggles few could ever comprehend. He told her that one day he himself would be hers to command, but for now it was his job to guide her.

So Clarke's imaginary friend was different, and somehow she was smart enough to never tell anyone just how different. Keenai never told her to keep him a secret, never forced her to hold her tongue, but she knew in her heart that the sort of different that Keenai made her wasn't the good sort of different, it was the sort of different that made grown ups nervous, that sparked hushed conversations between her parents in the late hours of the night. And if she told somebody, they might try and send Keenai away or lock her up. Because Keenai didn't just tell Clarke stories, he also taught her things that no child should be able to know. At the age of 7 Clarke could speak 7 different languages, 5 of which had died along with the population of Earth almost 100 years before. At the age of 11 Clarke knew how to kill a person in over 100 different ways with her bare hands.

The shadow that lurked in the corner of her eye never faded. The older she got, the more serious his whispers grew, his lessons became more forceful. For a while she tried to ignore him. Her classmates never spoke of people that weren't there anymore, so she forced herself to do the same, to disregard the echoing monologue. But he filled her dreams and ignored her attempts to disregard him. He told her that it is not for the child to decide the time and place of lessons. It was easier to learn willingly in the light and comfort of the daytime than to suffer his lessons in her sleep, where his stories and instructions would manifest as dark and bloody nightmares. Keenai was her best friend, her ally, her teacher, but he held no qualms about also being her torturer. So at 14 years old, instead of spending all her time socialising with her peers, Clarke could be found sitting on the floor of her room, sketching pictures and listening while the low, calm voice explained the quickest way to asphyxiate somebody.

Though she did not fight his teachings and did her best to keep her body fit and strong, the doctor-to-be cared little for his constant insisting. She would never see the ground. She would never need to know these things. She was probably insane and spent too much time reading her mother's medical journals and too little time playing with her friends as a child. Keenai was a very vivid figment of her imagination. She went to classes and helped her mother in the infirmary and at the age of 15 became the Ark's youngest medical apprentice, stitching up cuts, applying balms to burns, diagnosing colds and triaging patients, all the while listening to Keenai point out different ways to both help and hinder people's recoveries. She played chess with Wells and went to school dances and gossiped with the girls in her earth studies classes. Clarke knew she was different, but that didn't keep her from doing her best to still be normal.

Then, when Clarke was 16, she overheard a conversation she shouldn't have. The Ark was dying and her father wanted to warn everyone. It made sense to get as many minds trying to fix the problem as possible. But her mother insisted that it be kept a secret and her father insisted that Clarke leave it to the adults to deal with. Keenai was rather blasé about the whole situation, which didn't really surprise Clarke, her teacher having always been so causal about death, but he was usually ready with advise and instruction when she was unsure on how to proceed. His only advise now was to go with her gut and trust her instincts. After much contemplation she knew that her mother had a point, that the people knowing would only cause mass hysteria, but she also loved her father and wanted to stand by him. With Keenai being no help, Clarke decided to confide in Wells Jaha, her best (real, actual human) friend. And Wells betrayed her. Guards showed up and Keenai only stood by and watched as Jake Griffin was arrested and Clarke was sent to solitary. He was by her side when her father was floated but his presence was the only comfort he offered as she was dragged back to her cell, the image of her father being dragged out to space seared into her mind.

Once in her cell however, when she could not fight sleep any longer, Keenai spared her from nightmares of Jake's death. His voice was kinder than she could ever remember it being, even in her earliest memories. The shadowy figure comforted her in her grief, but did not dwell on it for long. His lessons continued, and this time she took every word of them to heart. She learnt to meditate properly. To talk to him with her mind and not her voice. To organise her thoughts and separate emotion from logic. She build a landscape in her mind, a place to store memories and escape the four walls of her cell. A clearing in a forest at the bottom of a waterfall, the river splitting the place in two. On the far bank she left her memories and emotions to wander among the trees; the river separating her from them, the sound of the water drowning out the pain. On this side of the river she was free to explore and it was here that she met Keenai face to face for the first time.

The face he had chosen was young and narrow, somehow both boyish and feminine at the same time. He was pale, with grey eyes and dark hair that hung long around his face, brushing his broad but skinny shoulders. He was taller than her but lean and not overly imposing. He wore a fine black suit, shirt and tie like something from the Old World. He had a smirk that made her shiver and the way he looked at her feel like he was picking apart her very soul - which, know him, he probably was. He was nothing like how she imagined him and yet it suited him perfectly. It wasn't his real face, he informed her, he'd borrowed it from a human he'd laid eyes on once, centuries ago.

For more than a year, Clarke would escape her cell into the clearing, sometimes to visit her memories, other times for more lessons from Keenai. Within this mind-Earth he insisted on instructing her of useless things, like building fires and rafts and huts. He taught her to read tracks and survey landscapes and how to maneuver unseen and unheard. She took in every word he whispered and, eventually, the lessons became scarcer. She would meet Keenai in the clearing and they would talk as equals. On nights when Clarke couldn't sleep, they would discuss things unrelated to death or survival. They would debate music and literature and soccer strategies. They would play imaginary games of chess and backgammon and go. Keenai taught her how to waltz and tango and sing and play musical instruments. He would make terrible jokes that reminded Clarke of her dad and he would tell her fantastical stories of lands long forgotten, that had nothing to do with the ground. When Clarke asked him about the change in his attitude he smiled at her,
"It is simple, you have learnt all that I currently have to teach you about death, now it is time to learn about life. And life is about more than just surviving."

Chapter 2: Chapter 1: The Trick With Beef

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“…And that, my dear, is how you bake the perfect loaf of bread.”
Clarke just rolled her eyes and continued to put the finishing touches on the latest sketch of the clearing. She had long ago used up all the available space on her cell walls so has moved to the floor, covering it in detailed sketches, trying her best to bring her mind-Earth to life. Keenai has apparently decided that part of not just surviving is knowing about all the wonders that she will never actually get to know and has thus spent the last three hours regaling her with recipes from the Old World. She takes it all with a grain of salt, knowing better than to ignore him but also being well aware that questioning him will only get her the same patronising answer. It was an old argument, one that they’d been having for as long as he had been teaching her.

“Why do I need to know any of this? It’s pointless! When am I going to need to know how to torture someone? Why can’t you show me something useful like… I don’t know… how to fix a collapsed lung? Or how to stop the air conditioning from making that infuriating rattling noise? I’m never going to see the Ground! And even if I did pass this onto my child? This isn’t even Earth Skills, this is like… Murderer Skills! What is the floating point!”
“Clarke, darling, you know that I have reasons for everything that I do. You will understand when you are older, but right now be quiet and listen to your fos.”

She had been 13 at the time of that particular rendition but the script hadn’t changed. She would ask and he would brush her off. So she did as she was told and listened to him.

“Now, the trick with beef is knowing how to cook the individual cuts of the meat. Most people just assume meat plus fire equals cooked but it is actually a far more preci-” Clarke was kept from hearing how a t-bone differed from a rump steak by the lights of her cell flashing on and the door bursting open.

“Prisoner 319, face the wall.” She stood up, staring at the guards who had entered her cell. She obeyed them, swallowing down her annoyance at being disturbed.

“What is this?” She asked of both the guard and Keenai, feeling his presence manifest in the room behind her, stronger than it had felt in over a year. Both of them ignored her question, Keenai with silence, the guard with instructions.

“Quiet. Hold out you right arm.” This made Clarke turn, dread and panic bubbling up in her. She saw one of the guards take some sort of cuff out of a box that wasn’t what filled her with panic. Keenai stood in her cell, not a dark shade but a well-dressed young man, looking at her with an expression she didn’t recognise, but if she had to name, would have placed somewhere between pity and barely concealed excitement. Almost 18 years and she had never seen him take on a face outside of her mind-Earth. He had never needed to, he was always beside her, his presence running tendrils down her spine had told her more of his emotions than any facial expression ever could. But now she felt nothing. No comforting warmth or quiet satisfaction or cool anger. He was on the other side of the room and she was alone.

“No, no, it’s not my time! I don’t turn 18 for another month!”

“Hold out your arm!” The other guard extended his shock baton,

“No! Please! Check my file!” Clarke continued to argue, her eyes jumping between the guards and Keenai but all three offered no assistance or comfort. She looked between them, mind racing. Keenai was sorry for her… why? Because she was about to die? Was that why he had abandoned his place at her back? But why was he excited? What was the point of teaching her all those things is she was going to be executed today? Why did her spend their last moments of peace talking about food of all things! But he hadn’t always been teaching her about food, head he? She thought back, processing one of Keenai’s favourite sayings, first you survive, then you thrive. The guard with the baton ordered her to take of her father’s watch, the blonde protesting so that he made a grab for it.

She’d never hit another person before, Keenai had no solid form and so her training had never extended beyond the theoretical. Her mind knew so many ways to kill these men but when the guards hands clasped around her wrist her body refused to carry out any of them. She tugged her hand free and managed to throw a punch, connecting with one of the guards throats, stunning him enough to grab his baton, letting out a shock and throwing them back. Clarke ran for the door, slipping out and slamming it behind her. She got a few feet from her cell before she froze. From the catwalk she could see all of the Skybox, where what looked like every single juvenile delinquent was being dragged from their cells and cuffed. Her surprise gave the guards enough time to follow, exiting her cell and yelling after her. She went to run but a voice calling her name halted her in place once more. She turned to see her mother stride past the guards, ordering them to stand down.

“Mom! Mom? What’s going on? What is this?” Her mother embraced her and she held her close, clutching at her and pleading. Clarke didn’t let herself close her eyes though, they remained fixed on Keenai, who had followed the guards out of her cell and stood watching her, the same expression on his face. She pushed away from her mother. “They’re killing us all aren’t they? Reducing population to make more time for the rest of you?” Abby held her arms and looked her in the eyes.

“Clarke, you are not being executed. You’re being sent to the ground, all 100 of you.” Her mom’s voice was low but it didn’t matter. Clarke heard her loud and clear.
Blood thundered in her ears, her eyes rushing between her mother and Keenai. He was smirking now, but Clarke couldn’t process anything beyond the word ground. Abby was still talking but she wasn’t listening any more. Her mind was elsewhere, her heart racing as every little piece of information that Keenai had ever told her about the Ground and the Old World flooded her mind. She was pulled into another hug and she felt something hit her back, but her blue eyes were glues to Keenai’s grey ones over Abby’s shoulder. She felt her body go heavy and fell into her mom, then to the floor, Abby’a arms still around her.

“Earth Clarke, you get to go to Earth.” Abby whispered to her, but hers wasn’t the last voice to reach her ears before she lost consciousness. No, it was a far more masculine whisper, one that couldn’t keep the glee from his voice as he echoed in her ears,
“Well I hate to say I told you so…”

Chapter 3: Chapter 2: Alone In A Crowd

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Clarke woke blinking, her head pounding. Looking around she quickly realised that she had been strapped into a chair in what was apparently a dropship. The cuff that the guards had tried to put on her stung her wrist and she hissed at the pain.

“Welcome back.” She looked to the source of the voice, not Keenai like she had expected, but Wells. She allowed herself a few seconds of confusion before anger overtook her. He had come for you, he explained, so that she wouldn’t be alone.

“I am not alone, look around you Wells, there are 99 other people in this shi-” The dropship shuddered and clanked as they hit the atmosphere, the lights flickering before the space was illuminated by screens.

“Prisoners of the Ark, hear me now…” Clarke groaned at the sound of Thelonious’ voice. She’d thought of him as her uncle, once upon a time. She listened to his speech and silently agreed with the sentiments her fellow passengers were throwing at the dark skinned boy beside her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about his instructions itched at her. She was momentarily distracted from the message when one of the prisoners left his seat, taking advantage of the zero gravity to make a joke. She quickly ignored the boy and Wells’ protests, refocusing on the Chancellor’s words. Two more boys unfastened their belts but Clarke ignored them. If they didn’t care about their lives then Clarke certainly wasn’t going to. She was too preoccupied with the presence of Jaha’s voice and the absence of Keenai.

The shade still hadn’t reappeared, there were no low whispers in her ear or chills on her spine and the realisation terrified her. Even when he was silent she could usually feel him with her, a weight that sat comfortably on her shoulder. Keenai had been the only constant she had even known. He had never left her completely alone before. Or maybe she had left him? Maybe he was still on the Ark? But he couldn’t be… all he ever talked about was the Ground. He spent so much time recounting the adventures and battles that Clarke would have there, that they would have there. He wouldn’t disappear now, right before they finally got there, would he? Don’t be ridiculous Clarke, he’s a figment of your imagination, a mental construct; he can’t just leave you. She tried to convince herself of that fact, but the absence of him was threatening to crush her.

She turned her attention to the boy who had left his seat, who was now talking to her. He called her a traitor, which she found oddly amusing. She wasn’t the one who had sold out her father or sentenced the Ark to die. Still, she tried to welcome the few moments of distraction, pushing down the urge to cry out for her teacher in favour of snarking back at him.

“And you’re the idiot who wasted a month of oxygen on an illegal spacewalk.” She recognised him as Finn Collins, a recent arrest but one who had caught her attention even from her cell in solitary. She scoffed at his response.But it was fun?Survival came first, didn’t this branwoda know that? Fun; fun was for when you were safe. When you knew with absolute certainty that the sun would rise tomorrow and you’d still be breathing to see it. He floated off only a few moments they began re-entry into the Earth’s atmosphere. He was thrown into a wall and so were the others who had copied him. Clarke gripped her belt tight and rolled her eyes as the dropship twisted and lurched. One of the idiots had crashed into something and it looked like they would all be suffering for it.

Clarke took a deep breath, Wells was yelling in her ear trying to apologise for getting Jake killed but she shot him down with a glare.

“You do not get to speak about him to me! Now shut up, if we are about to die I don’t want to be while listening to the voice of someone I hate.” She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, focused on reaching her mind-Earth and hoping, needing, to find Keenai there waiting for her. The blonde growled as she was pulled out of her meditation, the dropship slamming into the surface of the ground. Everything went dark, and then the lights came back up. A male voice from across the ship was the first to speak; pointing out that for the first time in their lives, there was no hum from any machines, the metal walls around them silent.

The next moment, their belts clicked open automatically and there was a rush to get out their seats. Clarke stood and stretched leisurely, before looking over at where Finn was crouched on the floor. The other boys who had left their seats were lying prone on the ground. She wandered over to them but she didn’t need to look to know, instinctively, that the boys were dead. She looked down at the and shook her head,

“f*cking idiots.” She muttered before following some of the other delinquents to the lower level.

From top of the ladder Clarke could see a young man, probably in his early 20s by her guess wearing a guard uniform and standing by the door, keeping everyone back.

“Hey!” Clarke shouted before dropping down the ladder and pushing through the crowd. “What are we waiting for?”

“Bellamy?” A girl’s voice called out, interrupting his response. She was younger than Clarke, probably about 15 or 16, and while people of the Ark weren’t exactly the most well-fed bunch, she seemed skinner than most. Clarke waited while the girl approached them through the crowd and the guard, Bellamy, turned to face her, a look of wonder on his face. The pair embraced before the girl pulled back, questioning the guard uniform. This part of the interaction made it clear to anyone close enough that he was not actually a guard. They hug again and Clarke begins to feel impatient. She needs to be out of here. Either the doors open and they all die quick and painful deaths, or they open and she can get away from this ship, clear her head and hopefully find Keenai in her mind-Earth.

“Can we get a move on please?”

“Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in a year.” This gave Clarke pause. Apparently she had missed the discovery of a second child during her 18 months in solitary. The girl, Octavia, someone in the crowd recognised, was apparently quick to anger as she lunged for someone who dared comment on her past. Clarke stored this information away, taking in the way her brother grabbed her. Bellamy looked up at Clarke and sighed, before reasoning with his sister. It was a touching interaction, Clarke would admit, but she was less focused on the fact that the girl from under the floor would be the first one out the doors, and more interested in the fact that the doors were opening at all.

Bellamy reached for a lever and pulled it down, the door releasing, causing a burst of gas as the airlock released and blinding them with natural light. The door lowered and Clarke suddenly found herself breathless. She had spent so many hours in her mind-Earth, she had been so sure that she knew what to expect, but apparently even her insanity hadn’t been able to reconstruct the feel of the breeze on her face, tussling her hair. Birdsong in real like sounded nothing like the movies or her dreams. And the smell... she thought she had imagined the smell of wildflowers before but nothing Keenai had shown her could ever compare to this.

Octavia stepped down, boots thudding onto the earth. She took a few steps forward before raising her arms into the air and screaming.

“We’re back bitches!”

Shouts erupted into the air the 100 rushed out into the forest, each and every one of them basking in the fresh air and sunlight. Clarke jumped down from the ship and took a few steps in the dirt, comparing reality to what she had experienced in her dreams. She was pleasantly surprised to learn that this, at least, was the same. She moved quickly and lightly away from the dropship into the trees. Keenai had always insisted that she would be a leader of her people and she shook her head at the idea of having to organise the army of howling apes that were crashing through the forest around her. That could wait. First she needed to find somewhere to meditate, then she neded to find Keenai. Once she had her mentor and friend back then she could worry about going into the mountain and getting their supplies.

Only a few steps from the dropship however, Clarke ran into her first problem. As much as she hated to say it, her missing companion would have to wait. She hadn’t bothered to see if there was a map on board, but thanks to Keenai she didn’t need one. She could read the lay of the land better than she could remember the lines of her mother’s face. Mount Weather… Mount Weather… it itched at her memory, she knew that name, Keenai had mentioned it a few times. Whenever she asked he would get this look on his face like he knew something she didn’t (it was a look she knew well) and start speaking in riddles. She tried to conjure up the memory but was, for what felt like the thousandth time that day, interrupted.

“Why so serious Princess? It’s not like we died in a fiery explosion.” Resisting the urge to groan when Finn approached her she grit her teeth.

“Try telling that to the two guys who followed you out of their seats.” She turned slightly, surveying the way the valley in front of her sloped down and the way the light on the distant hill seemed to dance, as though it was being reflected by a large body of water.

“You don’t like to be called Princess, do you Princess?”

“I’m not particularly bothered either way actually. It’s you I don’t like.” She took a few steps away from him but he followed.

“Aw come on Princess, don’t be like that. What’s wrong?” Clarke was about to swear at him to f*ck off when something flashed in the corner of her eye. She looked back over the valley at the distant peak. She held up a hand for silence and for once Finn obeyed. In her mind’s eye, Clarke traced the outlines of the mountain in front of her. She accounted for the apparent distance and height and pictured herself standing at the bottom of the cliff she could make out. A sick feeling began to churn in her gut. She hoped she was remembering wrong. Oh please let her be wrong.

“Finn… can you go back to the drop ship and find the map Chancellor Jaha said he put in there?” She asked slowly, eyes still scanning the horizon.

“Uh… sure.” He scampered off into the trees back to the ship. She took the time to sit down and even out her breathing. Within an instant Clarke had appeared in her clearing. Looking around and not seeing Keenai anywhere, she refocused on the surroundings. She had built this place but it was Keenai’s design. He told her what to put where, from the shape of the river to the colour of the trees. He had been so exact, making her change everything 50 times over until it was perfect. She headed downriver to the tree where Keenai taught her how to land on her feet. She climbed it swiftly, knowing that Finn would be back to interrupt her any moment. From the top of the tree she turned and looked up at the cliff face, the waterfall thundering down from the hole in the rock. She looked higher, to where the cliff met a narrow plateau and higher still to where that plateau rose again, forming a peak.

“Have you ever wondered about why I brought you here? Of all the landscapes I could have chosen?”

“Well, yeah, of course.”

“And yet it is probably one of the only things you’ve never questioned me about?”

“Fine, I’ll bite. Why this particular clearing Fos?”

“It is not so much the clearing that matters but the Mountain.” Keenai pointed up at the cliff face. “The local people fear the Mountain darling; they say that only the strongest of the strong survive in the shadow of the mountain, what better place to learn to survive?”

“What’s so dangerous about the Mountain?” Keenai gave her a sideways look and before he even opened his mouth Clarke knew that she wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“A blonde haired little demon roams these forests, don’t you know? She lurks in the trees around Mount Weather and if she catches you she’ll talk your head off with questions. Horrifying thought isn’t it?”

Finn’s voice woke her from the trance and she opened her eyes. She didn’t need the map anymore to tell her what she already knows. She looked at the mountain in the distance and pictured its shape as though she was looking at it from below, standing in a tree by a waterfall.

Clarke stood, took the map from his hands and unrolled it. Then she pointed at the mountain across from us. “You want to know why I’m so serious? Because that is Mount Weather. Thanks to your idiot copycats, we’ve landed on the wrong damned mountain.” Finn stares at her in shock.

“There’s a radiation soaked forest between us and out our next meal and it’s going to be dark soon. But hey,” she paused, eyes boring into him, “at least you had fun right?”

Chapter 4: Chapter 3: Taking Charge

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Leaving a suitably chastised Finn in her wake, Clarke head back to the dropship. Keenai would have to wait until after she had figured out their position and organised the rest of the delinquents. She sets out the map that Jaha had so generously provided them and began to calculate their location in comparison to the mountain, already spotting several inconsistencies between the landscape she could see and that which was marked on the map. Feeling someone approach her, the blonde groaned as Wells once more insisted on forcing his presence on her.

“We got problems.” She rolled her eyes at him,

“Duh, and if you’d leave me alone I could figure out how to solve them.”

“No- I mean, other problems. The communication system is dead, I went to the roof, a dozen panels are missing, heat fried the wires.” Great, more complications. She surveyed the scattered delinquents and sighed,

“That’ll complicate things for sure, but right now we have bigger problems. We are at least a six hour walk from Mt Weather with no food or supplies.” She points out their location on the map and then at the spot marked with Mt Weather. “Your dad seemed pretty certain that we needed to get to Mt Weather in order to survive but-“

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Wells was still looking at her map. Clarke stops and closes her eyes, trying to figure out how to explain without giving away Keenai. Wells offers her a solution,

“Your father…” Not exactly, she thought, but didn’t say anything. The assumption was reasonable but Clarke was not in the mood to discuss either man with any, let alone Wells.

Thankfully they were distracted by one of the delinquents, a skinny boy with a pair of goggles on his head.

“Oh a map, they got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.” Clarke is kept from responding by Wells, who seems to take far more offence to the joking statement than necessary, grabbing the boy and pushing him backwards.

“Hey, hey, hey, hands off of him. He’s with us.” One of the gangs which had quickly formed swaggered over. Clarke recognised their spokesman, a boy named John Murphy who’d set fire to a guard’s cabin. 7 others followed him.

“Relax, we’re just trying to figure out where we are-” Clarke cut across him before John or anyone else had a chance to respond.

“We know where we are, I just showed you nimrod,” she jerked her head at the map,

“We’re on the ground! Is that not good enough for you?” Bellamy had found his own crew and they came up to circle them.

“We need to find Mount Weather. You heard my father’s message; that has to be our first priority.” Clarke found herself groaning.

“Are you f*cking kidding me right now? Did you not hear a word I just said? We know where we are and we know where Mt Weather is. Our priority right now is to survive, not obey the dickhe*d who sent us down here!” She took several steps towards Wells, jabbing him in the chest making him wince.

“Yeah, screw your father!” The skinny brunette from earlier stepped out from behind Bellamy and came up beside Clarke. “What, you think you’re in charge here?” He looked helplessly at Clarke, who just raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I don’t care who’s in charge! But we need to get to Mt Weather! The longer we wait, the harder the journey will be. Clarke, how far did you say it was?”

“Wells. Shut up. Octavia is right, you aren’t in charge here. At the pace we’ll probably be moving at, Mt Weather will take us a day to reach. I vote we stay here and make camp. All this plant life, I’m sure we can find something to eat. Who knows, we might even find an animal or two.” Bellamy turned his gaze on her, a distrusting look at them.

“So now you’re the one in charge Princess?” Clarke looked around. Their argument had drawn a crowd, almost all of the 100 delinquents watching them. The blonde took a second to take stock of the situation. She needed these people to listen to her, to trust her. She knew her reputation wasn’t exactly credible; her mother was a councillor and her dad had been a department chief. Taking away the whole imaginary friend torturing her in her sleep situation, she’d had it a hell of a lot easier than the rest of these kids. She’d also been in solitary so hadn’t been mingling and making connections and networking in the skybox. Right now their common ground seemed to be their disdain for Wells.

“I don’t see anyone else stepping up, except this f*ckwit and there’s no way I am going to listen to him.” She jerked a thumb at Wells.

“Clarke! You know that I’m right about this! We need to get those supplies!”

“Fine, you want to go, and then go! The privileged do the work for once.” Bellamy’s glance in Clarke’s direction told her that she was included in that sentiment, her disagreement with Wells apparently not enough to balance the mob’s dislike of the Alpha Station kids.

“We all need to go!” Clarke stepped aside as she felt John move at her back. He grabbed Wells and shoved him forwards.

“Look at this, everybody; the Chancellor of Earth.”

“Think that’s funny?” John pushed him again, slamming him into the ground.

“No but that was.” Wells stood up, heavily favouring his leg but Clarke ducked under one of the guy’s arms and got in between them.

“Cut it out John, you can see he’s already injured.” John’s eyes narrowed,

“Who the f*ck gave you permission to call me John?” He stepped towards her “My name is Murphy, and I don’t answer to you Princess.” He took a swing at her, which she dodged quickly. The instincts which had failed her with the guards on the Ark took hold and she let her body remember the moves that Keenai had made her repeat over and over against thin air.

Ducking past him as he fell forwards, overbalancing, she grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back, twisting it with all her strength until it popped at the shoulder. It took more force than she was expecting and she silently vowed to begin training up her muscles as soon as possible. By that point he was on the ground screaming but Clarke wasn’t done. She wouldn’t allow anyone to defy her. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up into an awkward half-crouch then slammed her foot down on the back of his calf. It wasn’t enough to break anything but it made him buckle further. Strong arms grabbed her from behind. Looking down to see the sleeves of the guard’s uniform he wore, she slammed her head back, feeling blood spurt into her hair from Bellamy’s nose. The second she was free she turned and drove her knee into his crotch. He went down and she followed him, grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling his ashen face close to hers.

“You don’t f*cking touch me, do you understand?” She pressed her knee against the hands that now clutched his equipment. It was a tone of voice she didn’t use often but that she had learnt from years of listening to Keenai; it sounded like a whisper but felt to the listener like a shout. She looked at his face and co*cked her head slightly, smirking. Another trick picked up from her shadowy friend. Her smirk became a smile but there was nothing good natured about it. “You know, you’re actually quite lucky, she glanced towards Octavia, “ that you have a sister to continue your family tree. Because if you keep pissing me off -” she pressed her knee in harder, making him groan, “-you most certainly won’t be able to.” He released him and shoved him back, letting him sprawl in the dirt. She stood up straight and dusted imaginary dirt from her sleeve, surveying the crowd who had fallen silent, save for Bellamy and Murphy’s groans. “Anyone else care to question me?” There was a collective step back, everyone making a valiant effort to look anywhere except in her eyes. If finding common ground wouldn’t work, Clarke would have to earn their respect and obedience through force.

“Good, then as I was saying. We should make camp here, split into groups to find food and water. Others will stay here and start building shelters and stuff. We should probably also start fortifying this position. If there are animals out there, chances are some of them will be predators. If you want don’t want to listen to me then that’s up to you, but this Dropship is mine and I will fight anyone who attempts to defy me here!” At the mention of predators, some of the kids glanced towards the trees. Clarke did too and for a moment she could have sworn she was movement in the canopy. She shook it off and looked around. Nobody had moved. “What are you waiting for? Written permission? I don’t care who does what, as long as it gets done. If you don’t want to do anything, get the f*ck out of my camp.” There was a flurry of action as most of the crowd split back into their groups and figured out what they would be doing. The majority wanted to go out into the forest to look for sustenance but with only a handful of quick face downs and punch ups they managed to organise themselves. There were a few people still hanging around but at the pissed off look they were given they quickly joined up with the nearest groups.

Finn hopped down from where he had apparently been perched on the Dropship.
“So you are in charge then?” He had regained a bit of his swagger but the blonde could tell he was shaken from their conversation before and the fight that had just occurred. Clarke shrugged and looks at the 90 or so teenagers who were rushing to obey her ‘suggestion’.

“Looks like it.” Deciding to ignore the look he was giving her, she turned her attention to the three injured boys. Strolling over to Murphy first, who had been propped into a sitting position by two of his cronies, she knelt down and grabbed his arm, ignoring his pain she pulls off his jacket. Sticking her left hand inside his shirt she feels around the joint. Unlike dislocating joints, putting them back together was something she had actually done before. She couldn’t feel anything that would suggest there was any fracturing so she went ahead and popped it back in place. She was prepared for another scream of agony but it didn’t come. Looking at his face she saw the determined look in his teary eyes and the way his jaw was set, gritting his teeth through the pain. She poked around at his leg too but she was quickly sure that it was merely bruised so she moved along to Wells.

Her ex-best friend was staring at her in a state of shock, still trying to comprehend the fight. Clarke had always had a sense of power around her, in the way she carried herself and the way she spoke but she’d never to his knowledge been a violent person. He could only sit and blink at her when she bent to look at his leg. It didn’t take long to ascertain that is was broken and she grabbed the supplies to make a splint. Casting her eyes to Bellamy she calls out while she works on Wells’ leg.

“I didn’t feel it break so you’re lucky. If this was the Ark I’d recommend a cold pack for your junk but you’ll have to make do.” Bellamy looks at her like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“How’d an Alpha Station princess like you learn to fight like that?”

“I had a good teacher.”

“Huh, who?”

“No one you’d know.”

“Are they still up there?” He jerks his head towards the sky.

“Probably, unless he floated too close to Earth and was burn up in the atmosphere. Jaha killed him.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know that Jake knew how to fight?” Wells butted in. His input was rewarded with a stabbing pain in his leg as Clarke twisted the fractured bone.

“You don’t get to say his name! You don’t get to say anything about him. Got it?” Wells nodded sadly. Once the splint was finished, Clarke called a couple of others over to help him into the Dropship and put him to work cutting up seat belts to make rope before she headed back out again to overlook the progress. It wasn’t exactly glory yet, but she hoped Keenai would be proud of what she had achieved so far.

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“I get that he’s Chancellor Junior, but why do you hate him so much?” Octavia asked, walking up to her. The girl had an armful of firewood which she dumped against the side of the ship. Clarke bent and helped her straighten it, others coming up to add their own bundles of sticks and the occasional larger log.

“Wells?”

“Yeah.”

“He handed my dad, Jake Griffin, over to his father. He’s the reason my dad was executed.” That made the brunette pause.

“I never met my dad. Jaha floated my mom when I was caught. Probably would’ve floated me if this didn’t happen.”

“He definitely would have floated me.”

“Oh right, the whole solitary confinement thing. What did you do?” Clarke paused. She hadn’t considered that. Why hadn’t she considered that? No one down here except for Wells actually had any idea why she was in Solitary, or why she was locked up with the rest of them.

“I committed treason.”

“Obviously! But what did you do?”

“You obviously don’t know the definition of treason.”

“Of course I do!” The younger girl shot back. “I’ve lived with Bellamy my entire life. He basically breathes ancient history and that stuff is full of treason. This dude murders this king, that chick assassinates that emper- hold up….”

Octavia and the boy who had been dropping off a pile of logs both look at each other then turn to her. “Did-Did you kill someone?!” Others are listening now. For someone who has lived most of their life in hiding, Octavia isn’t particularly quiet. Clarke assumes an annoyed look,

“No it did not ‘kill someone’” She continued to stack wood, ignoring the attention she had garnered.

“Oh, but-”

“I got caught before I got beyond the planning stages but there was enough evidence to put me away.”

“Who were you planning to kill?”

“The people who floated my father.”

“How were you going to do it?” Murphy limped over with a coil of freshly recycled rope over his uninjured shoulder She considered his question.

“I planned to frame the guards for dealing in illegal goods and I had gotten my hands on poison for Jaha. I was going to get them into an airlock but I decided against it, considering the Ark doesn’t have the air to spare.”

“You attempted to kill Jaha?!”

“Well yeah, obviously. Attempted murder is only treasonous if it involves government officials or heads of state.”

“What did you mean about the air? The Ark is full of air, sure it’s recycled and gross compared to what’s down here but at least it’s breathable.”

“I’ll explain it to everyone later. It’s com-” Clarke cut herself off, grabbing the wrist of the boy who had been helping with the wood.

“What happened to your wrist band?!” She demanded, inspecting the scuff marks on it.

“Oh uh, I tried to take it off? That Finn guy and a bunch of others are trying too.” He gestured towards the trees. The leader took a long suffering sigh and turned away from him.

“ALRIGHT! EVERYONE BACK HERE NOW!” Her voice projected clearly and her command echoed from group to group. Fortunately, none of the hunting or water groups had wandered very far, all distracted by their surroundings. Within 10 minutes the 100 stood before her once more.

“For those of you imbeciles who haven’t been paying attention: Communication with the Ark is DEAD! That means that the only way anyone on the Ark knows that we are alive and the ground is safe, are those bands on your wrists. If you take them off, the Ark will believe you are dead. Enough of you do it and they won’t follow us down here. Do you know what that means?”

“That we’re free to do whatever the hell we want?” Bellamy speaks up, “that we don’t have to follow their rules or listen to people who don’t give a sh*t about us?” Murmurs of agreement race through the crowd.

“No, nimrod, it means that every single person up there dies! And I’m willing to bet that it won’t be the privileged who are sacrificed first!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Ark’s systems are dying, irreparably and irreversibly. There’s maybe 2 or 3 months’ worth of oxygen left up there but that is only if they start reducing the population immediately. This information is what got my father killed. It’s one of the reasons I was in solitary instead of gen pop. If any of you take off those wrist bands, you are sentencing every man, woman and child on the Ark to death!” She pauses, letting this information sink in. Clarke doesn’t know what to make of the look Bellamy is giving her but she doesn’t like it. She makes a note to speak to him privately later, but first she has to decide how to make it clear that taking off the bands is not an option…

Delinquents that they were, a large portion of the group had already scavenged and constructed their own crude weapons, one of which was a rough but functional looking axe, hanging in the grip of a blonde girl of maybe 17. Clarke wandered towards her, still holding the groups attention. She extends a hand and the girl offers the axe. Clarke spins it casually then old it up to the light, as if inspecting the workmanship.

“Here’s how this is going to go. If you want the Ark to think that you’re dead, then you’d better actually be dead! Is that understood?! If that’s really what you want then I’ll help you get the band off and take your whole arm with it. I’m sure bleeding out will give you plenty of time to consider the consequences of your decision.” There was dead silence as they processed this, many trying to decide if the princess was being serious. “Am. I. Understood?” There was a smattering of yeses and nods. “Good, then get back to work. I’ll be going out with one of the hunting groups.” After a moment’s hesitation she trained her eyes on Murphy who was leaning against the dropship. It was a risk but she needed someone assertive and knew she could wrestle back control if he did try anything stupid. “Murphy’s in charge until I return.” He looked at her surprised but she just stared at him until he nodded. She handed the axe back to the other blonde, “I might need to borrow that at some point.”

“O-of course,” the girl stuttered a little, “um, I’m Harper; I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Clarke. I’ll see you around Harper.”

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“Finn, Blake, Blake and…you two, “she pointed at the boy with the goggles and his friend, “You lot are coming with me. We’re going hunting.” Clarke had finished crafting herself a couple of knives – not her best work but they’d do the job for now. The five she had named left the jobs they were doing and joined her. Honestly she was surprised that Octavia hadn’t already taken off into one of the exploring groups but it seemed that Bellamy had kept her back, the pair having been whispering in hushed but aggressive tones for the past half hour. She did not particularly want to endure Finn’s company, but considering he had done nothing but coil and uncoil the same few feet of rope since she had sent everyone back to their work, she didn’t trust him to focus elsewhere.

“Awesome, where are we heading?”

“Northeast, I want to see how accurate this map is while we’re out there.” She pointed in one direction and watched as Octavia and the three younger boys scampered off into the trees, happy to have been chosen. The blonde snagged Bellamy’s arm when he made to follow them. “You’re walking with me.”

“Alright then Princess.”

They walked in silence, listening to the group in front of them joke and flirt. Bellamy’s eyes alternated between watching over his sister and watching the way Clarke’s sharp blue eyes constantly scanned the trees and ground around them.

“So… did you really plan to kill Jaha?”

“Yeah,” Her reply is distracted, eyes fixed on a slight movement to their left. The leaves shifted again and she shook her head. It was probably just the breeze. If it were an animal, it was one too small to bother killing.

“And the Ark is really dying?”

“Yes. How’d you get a uniform?”

“What?”

“The guards’ uniform, you said you borrowed it to get onto the dropship. Borrowed, not stole. Who lent it to you?”

“Nobody. Borrowed, stole, same difference.”

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Your breath has sped up, your lip twitched and you’re blinking too much.” He looked at the rest of the group, too far ahead of them to hear. He lowered his voice anyway.

“So what if I’m lying, what does it matter?”

“Guards don’t just give out their uniforms. And I’m pretty sure this entire situation was classified. How’d you know this was happening? How’d you get on the ship? What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did anything?”

“Because you don’t want the rest of the Ark to come down. I saw your face when I told everyone about what the wristbands would mean. You wanted them off the second I said that they wouldn’t follow us. Why?”

“Maybe it’s because the Ark is full of dicks.”

“Maybe, but that’s not it.” He was looking at her properly now, trying to read her face. She was still scanning the trees.

“Fine… A guard came and asked me to do something for him, told me about the dropship and said he’d get me on board if I did it, so I did.”

“That still doesn’t tell me what you did.”

“I-I shot Jaha.” Her step faltered,

“You what?”

“The guard gave me a gun, told me to shoot Jaha, so just as the dropship was loading I did it. Then I put on the jacket and got on the ship.”
“Is he dead?”

“I think so. I mean, I got him a couple of times in the chest.” Clarke took some time to process. This wasn’t good. She may hate Jaha but she knows him, she knows how to deal with him. His potential replacement could be anybody. She sends out a silent prayer that he makes it through.

“Which guard? And do you still have the gun?”

“Commander Shumway. And yeah,” he pats his lower back.

“If Jaha is dead, good riddance. If he isn’t, when they come down or when we re-establish contact we can used Shumway and whoever he works with to broker you a deal.”

“You’d do that Princess?”

“Of course. I protect my people.” Bellamy nodded.

“Hey! You two? What’s with the serious faces?” Finn had turned the group’s attention back to them.

“Just discussing the fact that we haven’t seen any signs of animals yet. We’re trying to decide if it’s because there aren’t any or if it’s because you four seem intent in making as much noise as humanly possible.” Bellamy grinned and laughed with her as the excitable youngsters looked chastised. “Try and keep it down, would you?” They nodded and the group tightened, walking more quietly and with more purpose. Compared to Clarke’s practiced, silent gait their footsteps were still ridiculously loud but it was as much improvement as Clarke could foresee them getting right now. Clarke and Bellamy took the lead then, walking a few paces ahead until Clarke suddenly stopped and raised her arm. They stopped too and kept silent at her direction. About 20 yards in front of them, grazing peacefully, was a deer. They all crouched down.

“A lack of animals clearly wasn’t our problem. See what happens when you don’t crash around like apes?” Clarke whispered. They all stared at it, taking it in. Finn went to get closer but Clarke stopped him. Instead she pulled one of her knives from her jacket and took a deep breath. Octavia grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Hunting. Can’t you see how much meat is on that thing?” Octavia looked slightly horrified, as did the rest of them, aside from Bellamy. Clarke rolled her eyes and took aim. She’d have liked to closer but the deer hadn’t seen them yet and she didn’t want to risk that changing. With another breath and a silent prayer, she let the blade fly.

It struck true, piercing the animal’s eye and killing it almost instantly. There were no celebratory or congratulatory words as they stood and approached it. It was the first time any of the others has seen something die and the first life Clarke had ever taken. She felt an odd sensation wash over her, like she’d been plunged into cold water. It was a sensation that Keenai had caused in her many times, but with the absence of him still clear in her mind, she knew this time was different. She shivered as she reached the animals still twitching body and knelt down. She pulled her knife from its eye and blood spilling over her hands. She somehow knew in her very soul that this would no be the last time she gets blood on her hands. Clarke slits its throat to bleed it quicker. She holds an antler and pulls its head up and they all recoil at the sight. The mutated creature had a second, deformed, face.

“Is it safe to eat? It’s obviously been affected by radiation”

“If it’s irradiated enough to affect us, then we can assume that the environment is irradiated enough to kill us. If that’s the case, I’d rather die with a stomach full of real meatthan an empty one.” She looked over the animal. Taking the still bloody knife, she moved around to between its hind legs and went about dressing it.

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An incision around the anus to begin with, detaching its rectum from the meat, she moves to just in front of its genitals and slides in her knife gently, making a small slice so that she doesn’t pierce the intestines and ruin the meat. Then she cut open the skin along the length of its belly, stopping just under the ribs. One of her companions had moved away and was emptying the contents from their own stomach. She ignored it as she opened up the abdominal cavity and began to remove the creature’s guts. Once the stomach and intestines were removed she used the knife to detach the contents of the chest from the trachea and oesophagus then to sever the membrane which kept the heart and lungs in place, pulling them out with a wet and bloody squelch. Severing the rest of the membrane and then pulling the other end free where she had cut around the anus. The innards steamed in the cool air and as they flopped onto the ground. She tied off the organs so that no unpleasantness could spill out of them then turned her attention t othe rest of the animal. She severed its head, sliding her knife between its vertebrae and place it aside. Clarke then cut into the animal’s hind legs, making a small slit between the muscle and bones in its thighs. On the front legs, she bent them one at a time at the knee, slicing into the joint of each enough so that she could break it and expose the sinew. She then slotted the front legs into the back ones until they catch on the slit joints, making it easier to carry.

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Looking back at the group, Monty and Jasper had thrown up and Finn was definitely a few shades greener than usual. Bellamy seemed unaffected while Octavia looked downright excited at the scene, having quickly gotten over her squeamishness.

“Alright, Bellamy, you can carry the carcass. Which one of you wants to carry the guts?”

“I will.” Finn volunteered hesitantly. It was clear he didn’t actually want to, but he also didn’t like the look Clarke was giving him – one that said, ‘you are pathetic and I pity you’.

“Great. She scooped them up and deposited the heavy mass of stinking organs in his arms. He recoiled and gagged, making Clarke and the Blakes laugh a little. Clarke helped Bellamy pick up the deer, sliding his arms under the front legs so that the older Blake could carry it over his shoulders like a backpack.

“Can I carry the head?” Octavia asked keenly and Clarke happily allowed it.

“Maybe you two can keep an eye out for some edible plants on the way back? Collect some of that poison sumac as well, it could be helpful as medicine.” They all headed back in the direction of the dropship. Monty and Jasper spotting a selection of plants they deemed safe to eat, including some herbs to season the meat. They also collected the poison sumac and a few other medicinal herbs either they recognised or Clarke knew from Keenai’s teachings.

Spirits were high in the group as they approached camp, but within 100m of the camp the excitement vanished. They heard the fighting first; yells and cries and more than a few screams, the sound of steel on steel and fists against flesh, then the smell of burning reached them and they could see smoke through the trees. Clarke darted over to Bellamy and grabbed at his back drawing the pistol from the back of his trousers. She marched towards the camp until she had a clear line of sight, raise the gun, and fired.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

John Murphy watched while Clarke finished sharpening the edges of her knives and slid them into her pockets. He himself was overseeing the construction of a trough for when one of the groups found water. She was… different. Not just different to what he was expecting from an alpha station princess but also different from anyone else he’d ever met on the Ark. It wasn’t just that she could fight. A lot of people knew how to fight. It was the look in her eye as she did it. She wasn’t posturing or pretending. She had looked him in the eye with a level of calm determination that said “I can and will f*ck you up.” He had ignored it of course; she was just some self-centered privileged bitch. That had been his first mistake on the Ground – underestimating Clarke Griffin, and there was no way he was going to repeat it.

The Princess had left him in charge. He wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t going to question it. Mbege at his side he wandered around, checking on everybody’s progress. Larger logs had been source from the debris left by their landing and the largest workgroup had been assigned to turn it into a fence. Harper, axe in hand, turned out to be a decent foreman and the beginnings of a wall were already visible. Fire pits had been dug and loaded and there was a group practicing getting the fires lit. Some others of the 100 had taken apart the parachute and were building tents with it. A few kicks and shouts and threats were thrown around but it wasn’t taking much to keep everyone on task and working fast. The pair spotted Wells sitting on the ground a few feet from the Dropship. He didn’t seem to be doing anything.

“Hey! Chancellor Junior!” they strode over to him. “Get back to work!”

“I am working!”

“Oh yeah? Doing what?” The dark skinned boy’s hands were empty. He looked around for inspiration but found none. In truth he had been trying to figure out what was up with Clarke and the Dropship was too noisy to think in.

“I’m keeping watch.” It was a weak excuse and they all knew it.

“Ha, nice try.” Murphy and Mbege grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. Clarke had told Murphy to keep the group on track and she certainly didn’t seem to care about Jaha Jr’s wellbeing so he nodded at his friend. Mbege took both of the struggling boy’s arms, Murphy stepping in front of him and slamming his fist into his stomach three times. Wells keeled over and Mbege let him go, watching him drop to the ground.

“You know, my father begged for mercy in the airlock chamber when your father floated him.” Murphy landed a kick to Wells’ side. “Find something productive to do before I kick you out of camp. You heard Griffin’s rules.” He kicked him again then moved on to a different group of people, checking the progress of one of the groups of fence builders.

Standing at the perimeter that had been set out for the wall, Murphy raked his eyes over the trees. He saw movement off to his right, several yards into the trees. He watched for a few moments, waiting for them to come back into view but whoever it was stayed hidden in behind the trees. He jerked his head for Mbege to follow and grabbed a couple of guys, Miller and Jones, who were working on the fence nearby. Four groups had gone out looking for food and water excluding the Princess and her chosen few, but they hadn’t gone off in this direction and whoever was out there didn’t seem in any rush to get back to camp. It could have been a wood collector but, the other groups of them on the other side of camp weren’t exactly being quiet. Knife gripped in his hand they approached the source of the movement and found a group of 7 delinquents.

“What are you lot doing out here?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Griffin left me in charge.”

“Yeah? Well we don’t answer to that bitch and we sure as hell don’t answer to you!” Murphy stepped up close to the guy who seemed to lead the group. If Murphy was remembering correctly, the guy’s name was Dax and he was in the skybox for murder. He was tough but Murphy couldn’t afford to back down, not if he wanted to keep the respect he’d earnt.

“Well in that case, get away from our Dropship.”

“Why don’t you f*cking make me you f*cking puss*?” Murphy grabbed the fist that swung at him and shoved his knife against Dax’s throat.

“You think I f*cking won’t?” They were outnumbered, but with the blade pressing into Dax’s throat, the renegades didn’t seem keen on fighting back. “Back to camp, all of you!” The obeyed hesitantly, Murphy moving behind Dax so he can lead him back to camp with the blade still in place.

The renegades were marched back into camp, more of the fence building team, including Harper joined Murphy to keep the renegades in line. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch.

“Hey! What’s going on?”

“These dickhe*ds don’t want to follow Griffin’s rules. We’re going to show them what happens when you disobey the Princess.”

“Shouldn’t you wait and let Clarke decide what happens to them?”

“Yeah, you aren’t the boss of us Murphy.”

“So what if they don’t want to work?”

“I don’t want to listen to the princess either!” The responses were not what Murphy was hoping for.

“SHUT UP!”

“Griffin said she’d fight anyone who defies her. Not set her guard dogs on them!”

“Yeah, they should fight the princess!”

“STOP!” This last voice actually made the group pause. The speaker couldn’t have been more than about 12 and she was staring at one of the renegades in terror.

“What’s wrong kid?” She pointed at the renegade, hand shaking.

“W-where’s his wristband?” The eyes of everyone in the circle looked to him. Harper grabbed both his wrists and sure enough the only sign that he’d been wearing a wrist band were a few bloody scratches.

In what felt like less than a second the situation unraveled. The 100 may not have the same respect for Clarke as Murphy did but a lot of them had families and friends on the Ark who they wanted to save. The renegades turned on their captors, throwing punches and snatching weapons as a mob descended upon them. These reckless idiots had put their loved ones at risk just because they didn’t want to listen to Clarke and they needed to suffer. It was a full out brawl, the renegades outnumbered by more than 3 to 1 but with everyone getting in each other’s way it didn’t seem to matter. One of the delinquents who had been working the fire pits grabbed a burning branch and wielded it as a shield; others wielded knives and non-burning sticks, and most used their fists. In the confusion, Dax slammed his foot down onto Murphy’s foot then kicked his already damaged shin. Murphy’s grip on his shiv loosened and Dax wrapped his hand around Murphy’s own, pulling the knife off him and twisting the arm Clarke had dislocated less than two hours before. Mbege saw his friend in trouble and tackled Dax only to be rewarded with Murphy’s knife being slid between his ribs. Murphy saw this and ignoring the pain in his arm descended upon Dax, taking a few shallow cuts before he managed to wrestle the knife back. He brought down his arm to sink the knife into Dax’s throat but was pushed aside when two of the delinquents dragged one of the renegades to the ground onto him. Dax pulled himself to his feet and snatched up a blade that had fallen to the ground. He grabbed the fallen Murphy by the hair and was about to slit his throat when a bang rang out and he fell to the ground, clutching his wrist where the bullet had lodged. Everyone froze.

“WHAT! THE! f*ckING! HELL! Is going on here!”

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“Again.” The small blonde took off, ducking low under a tree branch then vaulting over another. Flinging herself from tree to tree, each swing taking her higher into the canopy, momentum increasing her speed as she moved. She did not look where she was grabbing, trusting her body to know what it was doing. Instead her gaze was fixed on a point in the distance, still obscured by trees but that she knew was there. Steeling herself she let the momentum carry her… almost there… a little further… she closed her eyes as the trees crashed past until her suddenly her calloused palms closed around nothing but empty air. Eyes flying open she watched herself fall, the rocky ground of the ravine racing to meet her. Counting the half seconds, three… two… one… she twisted in the air, bending her knees and propelling herself forward, the impact shooting through her as she rolled, over and over on the rocks, feeling them tear at her clothes. She came to a stop and laid panting, staring up at the sky. A silhouette locked her view and she groaned. He shook his head,

“Not enough speed… Again.”

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Clarke isn’t sure why Keenai’s ‘flying’ lessons came to mind as she broke through the trees, maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins, or the determination setting her jaw but just like throwing herself over the edge of a ravine, stepping into sight of the delinquents she doesn’t let herself waver or flinch. Taking stock of the scene before her she lets a bullet fly. It hits its mark and the delinquent drops to the ground, in pain but still alive. Silence falls over them all as the brawl ceases. Clarke strides forward, her hunting companions at her back.

The blonde kept the gun steadily aimed at Dax’s chest as she strode towards him.

“I said, WHAT IS GOING ON?” Murphy hauled himself to his feet, spitting blood onto the ground.

“Dax and his friends here took off their wrist bands.” The delinquents pulled the renegades to their feet and held them captive, all of them bloody and bruised. Clarke continued forward until she stood over Dax, eyes flicking over his bare wrists.

“Murphy, what happened?” The shock had evaporated from the blonde’s voice, leaving only cold fury in its wake.

“I noticed movement in the trees and went to investigate. They were hanging around in the trees off that way,” he pointed with a shaking hand. “They weren’t working so I told them to either do something or leave and they insisted that they didn’t answer to you or me, so I escorted them back to camp at knifepoint. Everyone was fighting about what to do with them when she,” he pointed at Charlotte who had taken shelter from the fight against the side of the Dropship, “noticed that they didn’t have wristbands on.” Clarke looked at Charlotte and made a mental note of the girl’s face and age.

“Then what?”

“Then all hell kinda broke loose.” He gestured around at the crowd.

“I see…” Clarke lowered the gun, tucking it into the back of her waistband. She looked around the clearing to where Harper stood clutching on of the renegades, a boy of only about 14. Clarke held out her hand and once more the axe was placed in it. She didn’t make a big show of inspecting it this time. Instead she held it loosely at her side.

“Bring the renegades up here.” Her command was obeyed, but hesitantly. The renegades were dragged into a line in front of the firepit, held in place by those who seemed to have appointed themselves Clarke’s guards. The rest of the delinquents circled around, anxious to see whether or not the princess would follow through on her threat. Her hunting party deposited the deer parts and plants onto the ramp of the dropship then pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Clarke wiped down the axe and then grabbed the sharpening stone she’d used to make her knives. She slowly and methodically sharpened the blade of the axe until it gleamed, then tucked it into her waistband beside the gun. She looked over at the line of renegades. She had told them what would happen to those who removed their bands. She grabbed a metal pole from the hands of one of the delinquents and shoved one end into the fire.

The dried blood from the deer still covered her hands and clothes and the pieces of hair that fell in her face were still dyed red from Bellamy’s broken nose. She knew she was a sight already but couldn’t help feeling a tad dramatic. It was a sombre business but Keenai had always been insistent that she needed to be able to find amusem*nt in all that she did or her fate would eat her alive. She wandered over to where Finn had dumped the entrails and grabbed the creatures heart, cool blood ran over her hands and she squeezed more out of it before running her hands over her face, painting herself with blood. Logically she knew that it wasn’t the best idea; deer blood (in the old world at least) was full of bacteria and parasites but in that moment she didn’t really care.

-----/////-----////----////-----////-----

The figured shifted slightly in his perch so as to get a better view of the blood soaked blonde woman applying her war paint. He was meant to return to camp and make his report more than an hour ago but had spotted the youths removing the bands and recalled the invaders’ leader giving her orders regarding them. So far the group had been excitable but did not seem to pose much of a threat – yes they were fortifying their position in Trikru territory but they were young and had made no sign that they planned to hurt anyone but each other. In fact, from what the figure could tell, they did not seem to be aware that they were in anyone’s territory at all. He was conflicted. They were children, excited and innocent and treated the forest in the same way he himself had stared in awe at Polis and the Commander’s tower the first time he had been allowed to accompany his father to the city. But they were strangers, they had fallen from the sky and used tek and spoke of the Maun-de. They also spoke of captivity, crimes and treason. That made them dangerous. The blonde leader worried him also. She did not behave like the rest. She did not stare in awe at the forest but with practiced eye, he thought for sure she had spotted him on more than one occasion. She did not tread clumsily around, making noise like a pauna, instead dancing lightly over the ground, barely making a sound. She also, it appeared, had a fayagon and perfect aim.

Her war paint applied she turned back to the group. Her already light skin paled another few shades in contrast with the bright dark red that now crisscrossed her face, the excess rolling down and falling from her chin like tears. Her face was nearly emotion-less, the only feeling the figure could make out seemed to be boredom. She made her way back to stand in front of the kneeling line of renegades. Shaking her head she stepped up to the first boy in the line. He was young and compared to his peers he looked positively terrified. She looked down at him for a few seconds,

“What is your name and what was your crime?”

“P-Peter Colton, I uh… I stole stuff.”

“Do you have any family on the Ark?”

“My dad.” The boy was close to tears.

“Congratulations, you have sentenced you both to death.” The leader grabs his left wrist and shoves his sleeve up. The figure could just make out the marks where the band was removed from. She rolled a log from the pit over and pulled the boy forward by the wrist. She held the axe in her left hand and knelt on one knee, her other foot stepping down on Peter’s hand. He was struggling now but between his leader’s foot and the two older boys holding him he couldn’t escape. The axe fell heavily but smoothly and he screamed out as his hand was separated from his body. The blonde stood up and stepped away, leaving the figure with a clear line of sight. The cut was neat and precise, the axe having severed the join of his wrist cleanly, avoiding the bones. The boy slumps forward, ashen, his captors seeing no reason to hold him in place any longer. The other renegades are panicking too now, all struggling harder against those holding them in place.

As the blonde leader takes three more hands in this manner, the figure in the trees turns his attention back to the crowd. They all look sickened and terrified but none of them make a move to argue with their leader’s judgement. His gaze is drawn to one of the girls from the leader’s hunting party. Her expression was less sickened than the others, less horrified at the violence and fearful for her own safety. Much like her leader, she seemed unimpressed by the sight before her. She was strong. A disruption to the executions drew his attention back to them. The leader had just taken a 5^th hand when the renegade’s leader, the one they had called Daks, broke free and lunges at the blood soaked woman. She raises the axe and strikes him across the chest, shallowly, only enough to slow him. He falls into her and pulls the fayagon from her waist. He fumbles with the weapon, giving her time to get into his space and push his arm up out of the way so that the two bullets he fires cannot hit anyone in the crowd. If the figure had kept watching he would have seen the blonde knee Daks in the groin and him be hauled off her by three others. He also would have seen the crowd all spin to stare in his direction but alas, as the bullets the blonde had deflected away from her people tore through his torso, all he felt was burning pain before his world went black.

Chapter 6: Infection

Chapter Text

For several seconds nobody moved. The only sounds were the cries of pain from the renegades nd the crackle of the fire. The man who had fallen from the trees lay slumped in a heap on the ground he was, apparently, born on. He wasn’t one of the delinquents, that was certain. And there had been no suicides by earth recorded in almost 50 years. Clarke’s eyes raked his body before snapping out of her shock.

“Harper!” The other blonde snapped to attention. “Grab that bar and cauterize their wounds,” she gestured to the metal pole she’d place in the fire earlier then at the bleeding prisoners. “You learnt it in earth skills yeah?” She nodded and obeyed hurriedly, wincing slightly at the smell of burning flesh but knowing that it needed to be done ASAP or the renegades would die. They probably still will, but this gave them a better chance than being left to bleed.

That taken care of, Clarke strode towards the prone figure, the delinquents having cleared a path for her. He was tall, muscular and well-armed (pun intended) but breathing in rasped, uneven breaths and appeared unconscious. He was face down and Clarke could see no exit wounds on his back.

“Roll him over.” Two of the closest delinquents obeyed. And Clarke knelt beside him. She drew her knife and cut away the clothing from his chest. The wounds bleed sluggishly and she can tell from the locations that at least one has punctured his lung. The other seemed to be lodged in his rib. His chances weren't good, blood already streaming from his nose and mouth as his lung flooded with blood.

Clarke opened her mouth to bark another order when the med kit she was about to ask for was placed beside her, Octavia kneeling down beside it and opening it for her, poised to fetch whatever she asked for. Hands stained with the blood of several people, Clarke knew that she could end up making things worse if he got contaminated but there wasn't a choice.
"I need a thin tube." Preferably solid. One was place in her hands and using her knife she made an incision in his chest, below his ribs, giving her access to the base of his lung. She then made the smallest hole possible in the organ and shoved the tube into it. Blood began to flow from it, emptying from his lung. He could still breathe, but shallowly. He would need a transfusion if he was going to survive and there was no way or time to check for blood type but wasn’t too concerned, if she didn’t attempt it he would die anyway.
"He needs bloo-" Octavia was already pulling off her jacket. "Are you sure?" The younger brunette nodded, eyes fixed on the man's face. Clarke grabbed the transfusion kit and directed Octavia to lay down before finding a vein and setting up the transfusion. She was operating on the ground in the dirt but she didn’t want to move the man until he was stable. Now that he was receiving blood, Clarke turned her attention to the bullet wounds. The one that had punctured his chest was the biggest concern at the moment, she had to remove the bullet but she wasn’t confident that she could do so without causing him to bleed out faster than the transfusion can put blood back in.

“Harper! Bring me that bar.” She was passed the red hot metal which Harper had returned to the fire after she was done. Sticking the cold end in the dirt beside her she grabbed some forceps and removed the bullet then cauterized the wound. The other bullet was a far simpler job, removing it she made sure that the rib, which had cracked on impact, would not shift and puncture him before she sealed it shut.

By this time, the blood flowing from his lung had stopped so she sealed that wound too before using the tube to suck the air out of his chest cavity. She then removed the tube and sealed up the last wound. His heart was still beating, fortunately, but his light brown complexion looked ashen. She turned to Octavia, who was losing colour also.

“How are you feeling?” She received a weak smile.

“Never been better.”

“We will need another donor, I can’t have you get too weak.”

“I’ll do it.” Finn already looked rather pale but Clarke didn’t really care.

“Okay…” she looked the unconscious man over. “let's get him inside first.” A few of the delinquents helped lift his body into the ship, setting him down on a table before Clarke dismissed them with an order to secure the renegades but keep them alive.

Once inside the dropship, Clarke hooked Finn into the transfusion with instructions on how to unhook and swap out with Bellamy in 30 minutes, and instructions for Bellamy to unhook after 15 minutes. She tied the man to a wall just in case he resumed consciousness. She turns to Octavia who had also remained inside.

“I’m going for a walk, I need to get cleaned up and think. Nobody else comes in here until I get back. If he wakes up and you can’t calm him down, then give him a sedative from the medkit, but only as a last resort.” She nodded and the blonde looked over them once more before she left the ship.

“LISTEN UP! As you may have noticed we are NOT alone here! Which means we need to get this place as secure as possible as soon as possible. I want watchers on the perimeter at all times. We need this wall to be finished ASAP! If you answer to me then you answer to Murphy, Understood?” there was a chorus of agreements from the 100.

“Murphy!” The skinny boy appeared beside her,

“Yes Boss?”

“You’re in charge out here, no one else goes into the ship got it? I’ll be back.” She stalked off into the trees.

----//---/-//----///----///----///----///----

Grounders! It had to be grounders! Why are there grounders? Don’t be stupid, of course there are grounders... “the locals fear the mountain”, I said it myself, why would people of the Old World be afraid of a mountain? But they aren’t people of the old world, they’re people of the new one that I have just found myself in the middle of. Keenai why didn’t you just tell me?!?! Is this the glorious war you keep telling me about? Are we going to war with the grounders? Because we accidentally shot one or simply because we landed here? Think Griffin think! Grounders. There are people here, they were watching us, why? Easy, because we crashed into their territory. We’re invaders, it’s only logical that they would want to figure out who we are and why we’re here before they engage. What will they do now? What do I do now? Keenai? Where are you? Why couldn’t you just tell me?

——///——///——///——

Clarke ranted at herself, trekking blindly through the trees as she processed what had just happened. They weren’t alone on the ground. They were being spied on by the locals. They had accidentally shot one. Whether he would survive or now was yet to be seen. If he did, then the next step would be trying to talk to him. If he didn’t... Clarke knew what she would do in that situation. An invading force arrived in your land and killed one of your people, the only natural response is violence. Blood demands blood, it’s human nature. So step one is to make sure the Grounder lives. But even if he survives it could be several days, maybe even weeks until he is well enough to travel back to his people. They would realise he was missing far sooner than that. His existence in their camp is a threat whether he lives or dies. The blonde sighs and scans the trees around her. Now that she is looking for them, the signs of humans are visible. The occasional snapped branches and scratches on wood that she had previously written off as being caused by the wind or animals were now recognisable as that of a human climbing through the branches. Making sure that there was no one else around, Clarke quickly scaled a tree, finding a perch on a thick branch. Closing her eyes, took a deep breath and let herself slip into her mind-Earth.

The difference was immediate, the smells of the forest receded and the clouds vanished in favour of a deep blue sky. She stood in her clearing and looked across to the forest where her memories were stored. She willed forward everything she had to remember about healing wounds and preventing or curing infection. Visions surged around her of hours spent in the medical wing with her mother and even longer hours spent in her cell, she pushed them away, knowing that without access to a sterile environment or man-made antiseptics, anything she had learnt on the Ark would be useless. In their place, other memories flowed, ones of trekking through the forest of her mind, trailing after Keenai as he pointed out different plants and explained their various uses as medicines or poisons. One memory in particular stood out, of Clarke standing waist deep in a river, trying to imagine if this was how water really felt in this quantity. The water was tinged red and Keenai was explaining how the pigment came from a weed that grew on the riverbed. It had strong medicinal value when properly prepared, but otherwise was toxic. Properly prepared… she had been distracted after that and Keenai had concluded their lesson for the day, letting her splash around in the water before coming to rest on the bank. Clarke noted the surroundings of the river and then brushed the memory away, searching for one where Keenai might have told her how to prepare the weed. She searched memory after memory but nothing about the weed came up again. There was a memory about creating poultices from plants but she wasn’t sure if the process applied. Keenai! Why didn’t you explain it? Why did you let me get distracted from the one lesson I actually needed to know? Where are you? She stopped herself before her thoughts could go too far down that road. Keenai was gone and dwelling on it wouldn’t help anybody.

Despite not having the knowledge of exactly how to prepare it, Clarke brought herself out of her mind-Earth and decided to fetch some of the weed. With any luck, it wouldn’t be needed, and if it was, then even if she got it wrong the result would inevitably be the same. It didn’t take her long to find the river; the longer she spent on the easier she found it to recognise landmarks, both from her mind-Earth and simply what she had noted down from her last walk. The river was slow flowing and Clarke spotted the red weed immediately, a few feet from the bank. She waded out to it, and tugged a handful of it up. It came away easily and she wound it into a coil over her shoulder. On her walk back to camp, she collected some other plants she saw which had either healing or calming effects. She also made a mental note of any signs of people she could see, either tracks on the ground or in the trees.

Judging by the sun when she woke from her meditation, she had been in her mind-Earth for a couple of hours, sifting through memories and cursing at Keenai’s existence. Along with her other ranting and the walk through the woods, it was almost nightfall when she returned to camp. She was pleased to see that her Delinquents had pairs standing watch every 100 yards or so, so that they could still see each other. The wall had been completed and she could see the glow of fires and smell meat cooking. She entered the camp to several shouts of greeting which she returned with solemn nods. She walked over to the dropship, glad to see that Murphy was still standing watch in front of the ship’s entrance.

“Hey Boss.”

“Murphy. Any trouble?”

“Nope, how was your walk?”

“That’s good. And it was… illuminating, though not as much as I’d hoped. Is our guest still alive?”

“As far as I know.”

“Good.” She moved past Murphy into the ship, through the curtains which had been put into place. As soon as she stepped inside she halted before a blade could strike her chest. Raising an eyebrow at Octavia, who lowered her weapon sheepishly, she chuckled.

“Taking guard duty seriously I see?”

“Yeah well, when the Princess gives you orders right?” They both look at the grounder, still unconscious on the table. Clarke walks over to him and inspects his wounds, noting that one of Murphy’s friends Nate Miller had taken over as blood donor. Finn is on the ground, leaning against a wall looking pale. Bellamy must have gone back outside. She unloaded the medicines she had onto a bench beside where the grounder lay, still unconscious.

The Grounders wounds looked a bit better but there was discolouration around them which worried Clarke. She didn’t like how high his risk of infection currently is but wasn’t sure she wanted to risk using the weed to heal him. Then she remembered the renegades who she had wounded then healed. She stuck her head back outside,

“Murphy, are any of the renegades who had their hands removed still alive?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

“Good, can you have one of them brought to me?”

“Sure… Hey! Atom! Can you grab one of the traitors for the Princess?” The boy in question obeyed quickly, and soon one of the renegades was hauled into the dropship by Atom and Bellamy. She was pale, barely conscious and her wound was clearly infected. Clarke added infections develop at increased rates to her mental list of differences between the ark and the ground. At least it boded well for the grounder, which was injured at the same time but not yet showing symptoms of infection. She had Atom and Bellamy place the renegade down in a chair and secure her. Clarke then took some of the red weed and created a simple poultice which she applied to the girl’s stump. Clarke then cleaned her hands and administered a few other medicines to the grounder that she knew to work, including pain relief. She looks back over at the renegade, then at Bellamy.

“The poultice on her arm will either fight off the infection or kill her. If she’s still alive in the morning I’ll try it on the grounders wounds.”

“Alright Princess, why don’t you go get yourself some food and find somewhere to sleep? There’s not much more you can do tonight.” Clarke wants to argue, she wants to review the wall and the watches and do more planning but Bellamy reads the look on her face. “The wall is sturdy, Murphy organised a watch rotation and everyone else will be going to sleep soon anyway. Go and rest, oh mighty princess.” He teased lightly, and Clarke nodded. She could feel the stress of the day start to take its toll so headed out to enjoy the night.

Chapter 7: A Worthy Apprentice

Chapter Text

Clarke wakes from a restless sleep to the sound of whimpering. She looks down from the tree she had settled herself in for the night to see a small form curled up on the ground below her. She slid down the tree trunk and landed quietly, recognising the little girl Charlotte. She shook her lightly, startling her awake.

“Hey hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.” The girl took a few gulping breaths, sobbing. Clarke wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her close, letting the child curl into her chest until she calms down, rubbing calming circles on her back. A few minutes later Charlotte calmed down again and her breathing evened out. Clarke kept her in her arms, whispering reassurances in her ear until she felt the little girl fall back into sleep. She laid them down and let herself fall back to sleep.

Dawn came quicker than Clarke was hoping, blinking awake, this time to the sound of birds singing. The morning air was fresh and cool and the ground around them was damp with dew. She sat up stretched, her back clicking. The warm body beside her grumbled but was otherwise undisturbed by her movement. She brushed a loose hair from the girl’s face. What could a 12 year old have done to end up in the Skybox? And how could the Ark be so heartless as to put this child in prison? She shook it off. They were on the ground now and if Keenai was to be believed, the only laws these kids would have to listen to ever again will be hers. The blonde stood up and brushed herself off, stepping lightly until she was sure her steps wouldn’t disturb Charlotte. She greeted the morning watch quietly and wandered into the dropship to check on her patients. The moment she stepped into the ship she felt it, the same cool tension in her gut that she had felt for the boys who’d died the day before. Kneeling beside the rapidly cooling body of the renegade, she judged the girl dead for about three hours. She left the body be and went to check on the grounder. His wounds were a violent red and she could feel the heat of a fever radiating from him. Infection had taken over during the night. Her stomach knotted and she had to take a breath to calm herself. Without any antiseptics, his chances of survival were plummeting. She grabbed the med kit again and had a rummage through it. There were a small number of water purification tablets in the bottom but no other drugs. She wasn't too surprised; medicine had been in high demand on the Ark and strictly regulated, why would they waste any on a suicide mission? She picked up the rest of the red weed that she had collected the day before and contemplated trying again with making the poultice but decided not to bother. She had no idea how to begin trying to make it, it would just be a waste of everybody's time, time the Grounder didn't have to spare. Not wanting to leave the toxic plant around where it could be mistaken for food or medicine, she gathered it all into her arms and headed outside with the intent of burying it.

Clarke was patting down the last of the dirt when she heard rushed whispers coming from the trees outside the wall. The blonde drew her blade and looked up at the watcher who was closest. His attention was on the noise as well but his relaxed stance calmed her slightly. Still, the leader quickly scaled the wall and looked over it to see Octavia engaged in what looked like an argument with Atom. She couldn't hear the words but focusing on their mouths she could tell they were arguing about something Bellamy had told Atom. She watched for a few more seconds before jumping down from the wall, startling them..

“Morning. Everything okay here?”

“Oh, uh... hey Clarke.”

“Morning Griffin...”

“I asked you a question, don't make me repeat myself.”

“Right, yeah no, everything is fine.”

“Are you sure?” The blonde looks at them both, they are obviously lying to her. “O?”

“It's nothing to worry about Princess, just Bellamy being a dick and Atom behaing like his bitch.”

“Hey! I'm nobody's bitch!” Octavia spun on him,

“Oh yeah? Then why are acting like it?” Clarke put a hand in between them.

“Will one of you explain what you are fighting about? Because I have bigger problems to deal with right now but I can't if I'm distracted by unrest in my camp.”

“Bell told all the guys that if they don't stay away from me he'll do something to them and Atom is listening to him.” Clarke couldn't contain her groan.

“Octavia, I'll talk to Bellamy. He can't go around threatening my people, but you can't go around forcing yourself on people whether your brother is threatening them or not. No means no. Atom, Octavia is her own person, siblings or not Bellamy doesn't own her, if you don't want to 'stay away' and she doesn't want you to, then don't. If Bellamy has a problem with it he can take it up with me. Just try and stay in sight of camp at all times, even if you don't want to stay inside the walls. Any other problems?”

“No ma'am”

“No Princess.”

“Good.” The blonde turns back to camp but Octavia calls her back.

“Hey, how is the grounder doing?”

“Not good, he is infected and the poutice I tested on the renegade didn't work, if I can't figure out any antiseptic then there is nothing more I can do for him.” Octavia looked at her strangely.

“What?”

“I was thinking last night...”

“Good for you, about anything in particular?”

“The grounder... surely his people have some sort of medicine?” Clarke's eyes narrowed in thought.

“You think we should try and find his people?”

“Yeah, I mean, we probably should anyway, if he dies then they'll want to know.” Clarke smiled. She had had a similar thought, that by approaching them first she could hopefully be able to difuse the situation but it hadn't occurred to her to approach them for medical help.

“Good idea Blake, go and find your brother, Murphy and meet me in the Dropship in about 20 minutes.” Octavia seemed to preen under the praise and ran off to carry out her task.

22 minutes later, the Delinquents' equivalent of a council; Clarke, Murphy, Bellamy, Octavia, Harper and Finn were gathered in the Dropship around the wounded Grounder, yelling at eachother. Bellamy had instantly opposed the idea, deeming it too dangerous. Harper agreed with him, though they were outnumbered by Clarke, Octavia and Finn. Murphy was suspiscously quiet, listening to the different groups arguments. Princess had a point, their chances of peace were far greater if they were the ones to initiate contact, however there was also definitely a danger involved. Murphy opened his mouth to give his piece when there was a movement behind him. Within seconds everyone in the group except for Finn had a weapon in their hand. The intruder squeaked and took a step back towards the door. Clarke was the first to lower hers.

“Charlotte, what are you doing in here?”

“I heard you yelling...” The girl was clearly regreting her decision to investigate the noise and looked ready to bolt. Clarke smiled gently at her and gestured to her to approach. The girl's eyes were fixed on the prone grounder.

“We were just arguing about how to proceed wth the Grounder, maybe you'd lie to give some input?”

The youngest delinquent looked around the room nervously.

“Um... what were you planning?”

“Well some of us want to go and find the grounders to see if they have medicine that could heal the grounder, and to deliver them his body if he dies. The rest of us think it's too dangerous and that we should try and heal him ourselves.” It didn't escape the other teenagers' notice that Clarke hadn't mentioned who was on which side, as the girl looked between them and the grounder.

“I think...” She hesitated, not sure if Clarke was actually interested in her opinion or if she was just humouring her. At the encouragin nod she continued. “I think that if I was his friend or family I would want to now what happened even if I couldn't save him.” Clarke smiled.

“That is a very compassionate point of view. Murphy, you've been quiet?”

“I think you're all right. It's pretty f*cking dangerous but just waiting around for him to die and for them to come looking for him and revenge is just stupid.”

“It's settled then, I will go and find the grounders.”

“Wait what?!”

“Hell no!”

“f*ck no!”

“You're not going out there alone!” The leader just rolled her eyes.

“Well none of you can go, I need Murphy here to watch over the camp, Bellamy to run guard the renegades, Harper is in charge of the watch rotation, and Octavia and Finn to stay in here and watch the grounder.”

“I could go?” The responses to that are even more resounding Noes.

“Why not?”

“You're too young,” Bellamy informed her, not unkindly but still condescending.

“I'm old enough to be locked up then sent to earth on a suicide mission! I'm not a little girl!” The 'council' continued to launch their disagreements at her; all except Clarke who was running scenarios in her head. Charlotte seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders but she didn't know the forest like Clarke did, she would be slow and if the terrain got rougher she would be a hinderance to the journey, however, Clarke realised, she was young enough that she hadn't completed the full Earth skills class; Clarke would be able to explain away any skills she had learnt from Keenai as simply things Charlotte hadn't been taught yet. Also, the child's presence would either disuage any attackers or, a darker part of Clarke's mind spoke up, provide an easier target that would increase Clarke's own chances of escape. The child was certainly more expendable than one of the stronger, more capable Delinquents. And if the girl survived the trip with no incidences then... well, she was obviously a promising apprentice.

“If you come along, you obey EVERYTHING I say, no questions asked. Is that understood?” They all looked at her surprised, even Charlotte looked stunned that her suggestion hadn't been shot down by the older blonde. After a moment to regain herself, she nodded violently,

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“ Are you sure? No matter how scary it is?”

“I swear, I'll do anything.”

“Clarke, you can't seriously be considering this?” Bellamy was steadfastly opposed, “There's 100 more people out there that could do go with you.”

“Of course I am. It's no less dangerous for anyone else and Charlotte is right, she was put on the Dropship same as the rest of us, she should be treated the same as the rest of us.”

“But-”

“No, I've made up my mind. Charlotte and I will go and find the grounders. The rest of you have your duties. Murphy, get someone to dispose of the body. If the grounder dies don't touch him.” With that, she went over to the supply stash she had ammased while waiting for the others and started to stock up. They took it as a dismissal and scattered, all except Charlotte – who hovered slightly awkwardly, and Bellamy who looked like he was preparing another argument. Clarke handed a couple of the supplies to Charlotte and sighed when she sensed the young man open his mouth. “I don't want to hear it Blake. This is my decision and you will obey it. You don't have to agree with it or like it, you just have to obey.” Her tone brooked no argument and the look she threw him was stone cold. He sighed in return and then nodded, jaw tight. She could tell he still wanted to argue but Clarke flicked her eyes to Charlotte and shook her head. “Good. While I'm gone get Monty and anyone else versed in tech to work on contactig the Ark, I don't like not knowing what's going on up there. Tell them to do whatever it takes.”

“Okay Princess.”

“I don't know how long we will be, if we don't come bac, do not send anyone after us. Your priorities are keeping the camp secure and getting in contact with the Ark. Use Wells as your spokesperson, Jaha should at least get oer himself enough to listen to his son.” Finished loading up, Clarke puts a hand on Charlotte's shoulder and steers her towards the exit.

----///---///----////----/////----////----////---

Clarke was right about one thing, Charlotte was slow. She was also loud, her footsteps breaking sticks and scattering leaves. The older girl finally had enough.

“Okay stop!” She spun to look at Charlotte, who had frozen in shock. “Watch where you are putting your feet, avoid loose sticks and leaves, where possible step on rocks and tree roots. When you put your foot down, place the outside of the ball of your foot down first then roll down onto the full ball like this.” She demonstrated a few exaggerated steps an watched as her apprentice copied her. It wasn't perfect but it was “better, walk where I walk until you get used to it. It will hurt your ankles a bit until you get used to it. Also try to avoid putting your heels down unless you really need to.” She turned around again and continued through the forest. Unlike the novice behind her, Clarke wasn't watching her steps, instead keeping her eyes on the subtle signs of a trail in the trees and on the ground. They had tracked the grounder scout's trail back to a cleared trail about 3 feet wide. The path as not exactly well worn but it was there and Clarke assumed that by following it she would run into some grounders eventually.

They walked in silence for a couple of hours before Clarke felt a tingle on the back of her neck. She kept her pace but brought her hand up casually to tug on the hem of her pants, as though they had slid out of place while she walked. The movement would bring the attention whomever was watching them to the long machete-like blade she had commandeered from one of the delinquents back at camp. She kept the hand she had moved on her hip and left the other hanging loosely at her side, swinging it as she stepped. They hadn't been attacked yet, which was promising, but that didn't mean that they weren't in danger. The blonde kept walking for another 20 or so minutes until she was comfortably sure that she knew where each of their watchers were and that they would not think that any change in behaviour was because of them. Sighing loudly, Clarke paused near a fallen tree and turned to Charlotte, pulling out her waterbottle and taking a few long sips. The younger girl copied her, completely unaware of the audience that were sparking Clarke's instincts.

“How much further do you reckon it will be?”

“I don't know, the scout didn't have any distances recorded –” Clare had told Charlotte that they were following a map in the grounder's book, “just the directions. I haven't seen any signs of people but hopefully we find them soon, I don't know how much longer he'll be able to hold on.” She starts walking again, putting the canteen away and taking out the grounder's notebook and flicking through it.

“What do you think will happen if he doesn't make it?” Clarke suppressed a smile as Charlotte's curious nature led her to play the part Clarke had intended, wittingly or not.

“That will depend on his people. We will give his body back to them, they can have Dax too to inflict whatever punishent they wish. If they are satisfied with that then we move past it and try and figure out some sort of treaty.”

“And if they aren't satisfied they'll kill us all, won't they?”

“They'll try. They have the numbers but judging from what he was carrying, we have the superior weapons and now we have a fortified position it won't be an easy massacre. Of course, they might kill us whether Dax's life satisfies them or not. We are apparently invaders.”

“But we didn't know that there were people down here!? And it wasn't our choice to come down in the first place.”

“But they don't know that and they won't unless they are willing to talk.” Charlotte fell silent, mulling over what had been said. Clarke noted that another watcher had arrived in the trees, this one ahead of them.

“Clarke?”

“Yes?”

“What if the grounders don't speak English?” That gave Clarke pause. Her current plan depended on being able to communicate clearly with the grounders. She hadn't considered the possibilty that, despite the area they landed in being once part of the United States of America, the population would not speak English. Of course, she herself had the Old World languages that Keenai had taught her, should they prove more useful than English, but there was no way that she would be able to explain her knowledge of them to the delinquents.

“Then we will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

They walked on further, the number of people watching them in the trees steadily increasing. Clarke hoped that meant that they were getting near to a camp, but also was growing concerned that they were yet to intervene. What were they waiting for? The ones Clarke could count outnumbered them five to one. They were outmanned and out-gunned and in unfamiliar territory, so what were the grounders waiting for? Charlotte's pace was waning and Clarke could tell the young girl was getting tired. Maybe the grounders wanted to tire them out so that they had less energy to run? Or perhaps, like the scout they'd shot, they were hoping to learn something from the pair? Deciding that there was no harm in changing tactics and that honesty would be the best policy when dealing with the grounders (as opposed to the white lies she had no qualms feeding the delinquents), Clarke decided to learn some things for herself.

“Charlotte, why were you arrested?”

“Huh? Oh, I was sentenced for 'assulting a guard'. I was taking my parents' things to the redistribution centre after jaha floated them, the guard who floated them was there and I just lost it.” Her voice quavered and Clarke knew without asking that the girl's nightmare from the night before involved Jaha and the floating chamber. She herself had had that same nightmare many many times.

“How old were you?”

“Eleven. I'm twelve now.” Clarke nodded. Usually crimes commited by those under the age of 12 were treated with a deferred sentence, a black mark on the child's record but not enough to get them in the Skybox. As an eleven year old orphan though, the Skybox would have been a far easier solution than finding the girl foster parents. It would have also meant fewer rations and resources they had to spend on her. “Do you think the grounders float people?”

“Probably not for every little thing like we do but I'd be surprised if they didn't have any capital punishment.”

“What are you going to do with the renegades? The ones who took their bands off?”

“I haven't decided. They're going to die one way or another. I sentenced them to death, I don't plan on going back on that. They're going to lose their hands too, but the when and where and how I don't know.”

“What if-” Whatever Charlotte was going to ask next was cut off as the girl let out an involuntary shriek. Clarke had the machete in one hand and her knife in the other before she could blink, both aimed at the grounder who had dropped from the trees 5 feet infront of them. Six others joined him, each towering over the two girls. They were dressed similarly to the scout, furs and leather and masks made of bone. All were heavily armed.

“Sen yu swis daun.” One of them barks out and Clarke tightens her grip on her blade. Charlotte was right, they don't speak English.

“Look, we don't want anyone to get hurt. We are looking for a doctor, for a healer. One of your people has been wounded and we don''t now how to fix him.” Clarke explained slowly. From what little she could see of the grounders' eyes, they either did not understand or did not care for her words.

“Chof op! Sen yu swis daun!” He motioned with his sword for Clarke to lower her blades. She did so, but did not put them away. “Chon yu bilaik? Chit yu gaf?”

“I do not understand what you are saying. Do you speak English?” The grounders moved closer to them, not saying anything. “Charlotte. Keep your hands where they can see them and obey everything they tell you.”

“But-”

“I know you can't understand their words but you can understand their gestures.” With that, Clarke sheathed her weapons and put her hands up.

“We come in peace! Your scout was wounded by accident and needs a healer urgently.” The grounders approached, weapons raised and Clarke allowed them to take her hands and secure them behind her back. They did the same to Charlotte, who looked terrified but to her credit was keeping it together. While someone stripped her of her weapons, another one of them picked up the book Clarke had dropped in favour of her weapons. He flicked through it and said something to his companions, who growled discontentedly.

“Weron yun hon em op?”

“We need a healer! One of your people was injured in an accident and-” Clarke didn't stop the stike from connecting, her head snapping sideways with the slap. She did fall silent at that.”

“Teik em au!” The order to the men resulted in Clarke and Charlotte being shoved forward and half lead half dragged down the path. At least we'll learn where their settlement is. Clarke thought to herself for a second before her vision went black and a bag was pulled down over her head.

Chapter 8: Well That Didn't Go To Plan

Chapter Text

The grounders didn’t speak as they lead them blindly through the forest so Clarke put her focus on trying to judge where they were going. It was not something that Keenai had been able to teach her because he hadn’t been able to touch her. There was too much noise around for her to make note of any audible landmarks and the grounder leading her had a habit of picking her up every once in a while so that she couldn’t tell when there were slight adjustments to their path. Very little light came through the bag, only enough for her to tell roughly where the sun was, but not exact enough to keep track of where they were going. They walked for a very long time and the older blonde captive was growing suspicious that they were walking in a very roundabout route. Apparently the grounders suspected what she was trying to do. The ticking clock not only raised her suspicions but also her concerns. The grounder back at camp did not have very long to live if she couldn’t get back with help. While she appreciated their concern for security, she did not appreciate their slow pace. Suddenly the air around them changed as the wind changed, bringing with it the bitter tang of smoke and the smell of animals from Clarke’s right. Lifting her head so that she could see the sun through the bag, she judged that they were approaching the village from the south east at present.

Noises increased as she was lifted onto the mans shoulder, presumably so that she didn’t know where in the village they had entered. The light vanished when they entered a building and the sounds lessened. She was jostled as felt them descend a staircase; there was a grinding of metal and her leg brushed what felt like bars before she was dumped without ceremony on the ground. One of her shoes was removed and she was cuffed, then the bag was pulled off her head. Blinking in the half light, her eyes readjusted to see Charlotte in a similar position out of reach. The girl was shaking and had tear tracks on her cheeks. Briefly Clarke regretted bringing her but she shook it off. She’d had her reasons. Taking stock of their situation, she found herself in some sort of underground cell. The chain on her ankle connected her to a wall. The walls were faded and dirty tiles and leaves were strewn across the floor. Metal bars and a door that their captor was locking shut kept them in should the heavy chain fail.
“Please, we don’t have time for this! Your scout needs help NOW!” The captor paused, “Please, you can keep us here but send a healer to our camp! I know you know where it is. I don’t want him to die, that’s why I’m here! We came for your help.”
“Veida na badan gon wormana!” Clarke took a deep breath. She is not entirely convinced of their lack of English, having sworn she had seen slight recognition in his otherwise unreadable expression.
“If you understand a word I’m saying, know that if he dies it will be your fault.” The grounder turned and left then, and the blonde flopped onto her back with a frustrated groan.
“Clarke? What are they going to do to us?”
“I don’t know. Probably nothing good but I don’t care as long as they HELP HIM!!” She screamed the last part, thoughts racing. Charlotte bit back a sob, tears rolling down her cheeks.

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Clarke was on edge. She was sure that, on some level, she had been understood by these Grounders. These people who had somehow survived Praimfaya and now ruled the surface of Earth. Praimfaya. The word was one Keenai had taught her, the word for the bombs that ended the Old World. The language was one of his favourite and whenever she had asked where it came from, who had spoken it, he would always tell her that it is the language of the strong and had not existed when the bombs fell. She had been confused, how did a language that died out long before the bombs fell have a word to describe them? She is not confused anymore. The language, Trigedasleng, had not existed in the time of the bombs because it was, presumably, created afterwards. An amalgamation of all the local languages and dialects that had blended and combined as the survivors came together, forming new civilisations from the ashes. As a child she had spent hours contemplating the strange tongue and picking out the bits that sounded like rough distortions of English, the sounds not quite right and the meanings slightly off. She had always supposed that it was from this strange warrior's language that the English versions had descended. Apparently it was the other way around. She wasn't sure if this development was good or not. It means she has an advantage but it also means that she has to be even more careful. All of Keenai's other teachings, all of his instructions about survival could have been learnt from information contained upon the Ark or developed from a natural ability and talent. But this? Being able to speak and understand a language that only evolved in the 100 years the Ark had spent tens of thousands of kilometres above the surface, floating in orbit? There is no possible way, no human way, that Clarke could have learnt this, no way for her to explain it away as a fluke, as a bizarre and macabre interest. She will have to continue to speak only English and keep her fingers crossed that they get at least the gist of her words, that English has survived the emergence of this new language. For now she values her life and the lives of her people over that of the shot grounder. If he dies, their chances of an alliance are slim. If the Grounders find out she speaks their tongue then they will have evidence that the Arkers knew of their presence and their invasion is an intentional one. If that happens then peace will be nearly impossible. You never did want to make things easy for me did you Fos? Thoughts of Keenai and his annoying smirks and half smiles fill her head and Clarke lets her mind wander happier memories as the cell gets darker and night comes.

The darkness was all encompassing and Charlotte’s waking cries had long been replaced with sobbing nightmares. No doubt worsened by whatever she imagined the grounders would do ot them. Clarke however had no notion of this, as she had pulled herself from her lighter memories and descended fully into her mindEarth not long after sunset. She was revising a number of memories now in preparation for the dawn, including the lockpicking lesson she had undertaken as a 13 year old and the torture resistance that Keenai had forced on her for as long as she could remember. Pain was different in her mindEarth but it was no less real. Torture lessons with Keenai had been, well, torture. But not simply beacuse of the pain. Keenai could not touch her to torture her, so she had had to us her own will to rip out fingernails and peel flesh from her mindEarth body. She hoped it would be easier, that steeling yourself against the pain would come more naturally when you were not having to steel yourself against causing it too. When in doubt though, Clarke could always retreat to her mindEarth. She was less aware of her body here, it was an afterthought, like when you look at someone else and know from experience that the way they are sitting must be uncomfortable but you are unable to feel that discomfort. It was for this reason that she knew her body was being watched and had been for several minutes. Sighing she pushed away a particularly unpleasant memory and opened her eyes, looking up into the darkness at the silhouette outside the bars of her cell. All she couldn’t make out any features and there was no movement betraying a reaction to her consciousness. She sat there for several minutes staring up at her visitor before the figure moved, their head tilting towards Charlotte’s quivering form. They seemed to regard her for a few minutes then looked back at Clarke before turning and disappearing into the black corridor behind them. A guard most likely, sent to check on them.

Clarke slept lightly and woke the moment she felt light fall across her face. Dawn was creeping up on the horizon and trickles of the day made their way into the cell from the holes in the high ceiling. Sitting up and stretching, she looked around the cell, glad to see that her young friend was still laying there asleep, albeit a fitful, nightmareridden sleep. This dawn would bring pain, Clarke was sure. Wounded grounder in the dropship aside, Clarke was a captured invader with information to give. They would not be able to guarentee that any information she gave was truthful, but there was a greater chance of her words being honest ones if they are said under the duress of torture. They would probably torture Charlotte first. If not to get information out of her, then to try and convince Clarke to speak. It would be a pity but she was older than Clarke had been when her torture resistance training had begun. She had faith that the child would be strong enough to survive and there was no information that Charlotte could give that Clarke did not wish for the grounders to have. In fact, having them torture Charlotte would be far easier than Clarke trying to pretend that the torture was affecting her. A plan formed.

She could hear birds beginning to awaken and the shuffling of people starting their days. Footsteps echoed through the corridor outside the cell and only then did the blonde realised that she had heard nothing of the sort from the visitor during the night. Not a footstep, not the rustle of fabric nor the clanking of weapons. Putting the thought aside for later contemplation, she climbed to her feet to greet the four grounders who had entered the room.
“Good morning.” They said nothing, entering the cell; One of them holds her in place while the other unchains her. The others go to do the same to Charlotte, who has woken and is cowering slightly. Clarke tugs against her captor, “HEY!! Don’t touch her! I’ll do everything you want just don’t touch her!” The grounder smirked at her.
“Yu na dula ething enti’ei gada.” Clarke narrowed her eyes at his tone and his words. You'll do everything anyway girl. She quickly assesses her situation. Her own tone went from desperate and pleading to cold and hard.
“I said, Don’t touch her.”
“Ai nou badan kom skaigada.” He wraps a hand around the back of the twelve year old’s neck, twisting in her hair. Charlotte strikes out at him but the blows are glancing at best. When they have no effect she spits at him. He is taken aback but does not drop her, instead balling his other hand into a fist and bringing it to collide with the side of her face. Charlotte’s lip splits open and her nose crunches. Seeing the recoil of his punch, at the same time as he hit Charlotte, Clarke’s knee smashes the face of the grounder who had just unshackled her ankle. She kicked again, this time her booted foot smashing into the front of his throat. He fell back stuggling for air through his crushed windpipe. The man holding her is shocked and Clarke makes the most of the distraction to escape from the loosened grip. She drives her elbow into the man’s sternum and then, using the same move she had on Bellamy, smashed her head back into his face as he buckled.

He recovered quickly but she too was quick. Knowing her arms are not strong enough to do real damage to someone who had presumably grown up fighting, she relied on her legs. Jumping onto the man she wrapped her legs around his neck and squeezed. He flailed and tried to throw her off, slamming her body into a wall. The pain shot through her left side but she held on. The other two had dropped Charlotte and moved to help their friend. Clarke felt him going limp under her so allowed herself to be pulled off him, only to flip over in her new captor’s grasp and land neatly on her feet behind him. That particular move came from all the hours of swinging through trees in her mindEarth but translated well into fighting. Ducking low the blonde immediately brought her knee into his crotch. He was wearing some sort of protective piece but it only prevented permanent damage and he sunk down with a gasp of pain. On his knees, he was at a perfect height for Clarke to pick up the chain she’d been tied with and wrap it around his neck. He struggled but soon fell unconscious.

The fourth guard was standing in the doorway, his sword held out in front of him. Clarke watched him hesitantly, stepping towards him and being sure to favour her right side. He followed her movements with hard, welltrained eyes and the blonde knew he would not be as easy to take down as the others, sword or no sword. Chain still in hand Clarke wound it twice around her fist and let the rest drag on the ground. She estimated it to be about 3 and a half feet long. He stood ready, unmoving but lightly balance on the balls of his feet. He would not allow this skaigada to escape under his watch but he knew that things would not go well for him should he have to kill her to keep her here. A few feet from him she stopped just beyond the reach of his blade, bearing what seemed to be as little weight as possible on her right leg.. He lunged, aiming for a wounding blow, enough to slow the surprisingly resilient captive down but not enough to cause serious harm. As soon as he moved, the blonde girl shifted too, all her weight moving to her right as she swung the chain like a whip in the same movement she used to dodge his weapon. The chain whipe coiled itself around his hand and the hilt of the blade and he felt his arm get wrenched forwards and he overbalances from the lunge.

Clarke almost yelps in surprise as he topples downwards. She cannot dodge him with their hands now joined by the wrapped chain. She hisses with pain as she slams into the gound with a grunt and cries out when not half a second later he lands on top of her head colliding with hers and sword slicing into her torso, shoulder and arm, the weapon trapped between their bodies.

Charlotte’s amazement at how Clarke takes out the first three grounders vanishes into horror as she watches the blood spurt from her leader’s arm and the crack of the two fighters’ heads smashing together. She screams and reaches out towards Clarke’s bleeding and unconscious body.

Chapter 9: Perspectives

Chapter Text

Anya's eyes widened at the sight before her as her personal gairds rushed past her and into the cell. The general watched as they paused to haul the nearest guard up, and she hissed out a breath at the bloody mess that was the elder prisoner's unconscious body laying beneath him. This was not how she had planned on beginning the interrogation.

“Em ste kik raun Wormana,” She is still alive General, a guard informed her, feeling a faint pulse in her neck. Anya felt relief flood her. It would be very hard to negotiate with these invaders if their hostage was dead.

“Teik em gon fisa. Sou nou teik emo wan op.” Take them to the healers. Do not let them die. The guards obey, collecting the unconscious forms of the prisoner and her victims to take them to the healer's. Anya's attention turned to the only conscious person in the cell. The girl was curled into herself against the wall, blood oozing slugishly from her lip and nose, the latter bent out of shape and clearly broken. She stepped towards her, drawing her sword.

“Please! I'll tell you anything! Please don't hurt me!” The child whimpered in gonasleng. She was crying and showed many signs of weakness. She must have only just begun her training as a seken, a little old but perhaps that was just how these invaders did things.

“What happened here?”

“Y-you speak English?”

“Answer my question girl.” Clarke had told her to obey the Grounders so she did, between sobs with a cracking voice.

“T-the men came in and, and picked us up and, and she told them not to touch me... She said she'd do anything they wanted as long as they don't touch me and then, then he said something I couldn't understand and he grabbed me and I was trying to fight him off then he hit me in the face and she attacked them. She almost beat them but the one with the sword fell ontop of her and knocked her out.”

The skaigada had beaten 4 of her guards unarmed and singlehandedly? These skaikru were even more dangerous than she had thought, if they do not begin training until their bodies begin adolescence yet a can take on 4 full grown men before they read adulthood. Her other scouts had reported almost 100 young warriors in the invasion party, her troops outnumbered them 3 to one but if all were like her current prisoner that may not be enough should it come to a battle. The general made a mental note to ask Indra to have more warriors on standby, Tondisi being the closest permanent military post.

“Will she be okay?” Anya refocused on the child whose voice trembled when she asked after the life of her fos. The weakness in her was pathetic but Anya found herself pitying the goufa all the same.

“That is for the fisa to decide. What is your name?”

“Um, I'm Charlotte, she's Clarke.” Sharlot and Klark. This Sharlot would be easy enough to break, almost too easy. So easy that Anya was certain that she had no information that the invaders wanted hidden. No fos worthy of the title would bring a girl as woefully unprepared to withstand torture into a situation like this.

“Your fos cares for you?”

“Fos?”

“Klark. Your First, the one who teaches you how to become a warrior like them.”

“Clarke's not a warrior.” Anya raises an eyebrow.

“She is not?”

“No, she's a doctor.”

“Doktor?”

“Yeah, she helps people who are sick or injured.” They had captured a fisa? What sort of people would send their fisa on a mission such as this one? Especially when, according to the second scouts she had sent, there are wounded in their camp who need her? And what people were they that their healers, who did not dedicate themselves to the warrior arts, were still such proficient fighters?

“So you are training to be a doktor too?” The small blonde shook her head, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“No, not really. Clarke hasn't had a chance to teach me anything yet, but I want to be.” A noble aspiration, one that explained the weakness pervasive in her.

“She does care for you though? It is apparent she does not wish for you to be harmed.”

“I, I guess so. She protects me.” Good. Anya turned to one of the waiting guards.

“Teik ai bida woda an' waipa ga honon.”Fetch me some water an a cloth for the prisoner. She sheathed her sword and sat herself down on the ground in front of the girl. The guard returned with the bowl of water and cloth she had requested, as well as a cup of water. She placed them beside her, dampening the rag and moving closer to Sharlot. She cleaned the blood from her face and set her nose for her as she would for her own seken after a fight. Then she passed the cup over and watched as she gulped it down quickly, not even questioning the contents. Anya saw no point in torturing this girl right now. If her fos lived, the elder would answer their questions soon enough. That did not mean she could not get information from her though.

“So... tell me about your people...”

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Clarke was floating. She was sure she had her eye open but nothing but darkness reached them. Nothing but darkness surrounded her in this strange void she had awoken in. She wasn't afraid though. In fact, she was the least afraid that she had been for a long time. Because this darkness wasn't cold or scary or foreign. She knew this darkness. It was warm and familiar and settled around her like a blanket. More familiar than her own father's arms or her own mother's face. She smiled. A proper smile for what felt like the first time since she was pulled from her cell and put into the dropship. The Dropship. What dropship? Memories swirled in her head, colour and lights and faces but each time she tried to grasp at them they dissolved, always just out of reach, just out of her line of sight. It didn't matter. They didn't matter. She let them fade away and turned her attention back to the soft embrace of the darkness.

/////------/////-----//////---/////----/////---/////

She had been wrong. Though about what, she was not sure yet. The general paced back and forth in her quarters, trying to make sense of what she had just learned. If the child, Sharlot, was to be believed, then none of these invaders are warriors. Instead they are children, untrained and unwanted, sent on a suicide mision as punishment for breaking the laws of their people. A people who live in a metal box, a larger version of the one these youths arrived in, floating in the space above the sky where there is no light or air or warmth aside from that which they make for themselves using tek. It sounded ridiculous, the sort of tale a parent might invent to tell their children at night to help them dream, or when they are in trouble to warn them from bad behviour. A society where no one was allowed to make mistakes, where speaking out or slipping up was punishable by death. The death, the floating, was also something Anya could not comprehend. Having the air torn from your lungs, your blood boil and your flesh freeze all at once. As a child she had seen a man who had drowned in a flood, his body blue and bloated. Was it a similar result? The child had described it in much detail before she revealed that it was her own parents deaths that she had witnessed this way. And when the girl herself had lashed out in grief, she too was sentenced. IF she believed Sharlot, that these people had sent their children to die because youthful mistakes made them expendable, then the Coalition had nothing to fear from these 100. They were not dangerous warriors but lost children, possibly even classifiable as refugees.

But if they were not warriors, then what of Klark? If this child's story was true then how did the general's other prisoner learn how to fight so proficiently? Either Anya had been wrong and these invaders were not warriors, or she had been wrong and this child was not as weak or innocent as she had first thought. She had been prepared to believe anything the girl had told her as the honesty of a terrified child, but unfortunately for the girl, her fos' skills put her story into question. Had all the children been warriors, then the blonde's dual role could have been an anomolly, a coincidence, but Sharlot had mentioned that training to fight was forbidden on the Ark unless you were training to become a guard. And Klark was training to be a healer. Anya stopped her pacing and let out a silent sigh. Klark would live or she would not, her injuries were severe and she would not be in any state to talk, let alone be tortured, for a very long time. Which left Sharlot.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

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Anya watched, steeling her heart as the child was dragged from her cell and into the waiting torture chamber. She could see the girl struggling, hear her begging, feel her wide, terrified eyes fixed on the general but she clenched her jaw and let it happen. This is how they survived. Being strong and unflinching. Showing no weakness. The battle hardened warrior cursed herself silently for the traces of weakness edging her thoughts. It made no difference that this child was younger than Tris, that she is a healer instead of a fighter. She is still the enemy. Feeling another set of eyes on her, Anya turned ot look at Xero and noted the excitement in his eyes. It seemed her captain had no issues with her newest decision. She acknowledged him with a nod then entered the chamber, closing the door behind her.

Chapter 10: The Three Pillars

Chapter Text

Clarke winced but grit her teeth; her knuckles protested against the treatment but she continued to slam her fists into the wall of her room. The noise echoed around the cabin and beyond but at this time of day there wa no one else around to hear it. She continued her pounding until her vision blurred with tears and her arms burned and her knuckled throbbed. Only then did she sink to the floor, back against the wall as she curled into a ball. Her hands shook as she wiped tears from her face, leaving a smear of blood from where her skin had split. Sobs wracked through her, fueled by anger greater than she had ever felt before.

“Chil yu au, ai seken.” The cool voice did little to sooth her burning hatred, nor did the order to calm down.

“Nou, ai nou na chil au! Em bilaik-”

“Em pleni.” The voice came firmer now, the command accompanied by a heaviness pressing down on her shoulders. She shut her mouth.”Tel ai chit hap.”

“You already know what happened.”

“Tell me anyway. I want to hear you say it.”

“I got kicked out of class and failed the test because that fuc-”

“Language.”

“-Because that bastard-”

“Clarke!”

“...Fine. Because Franco kept poking me and cheating off of my work!”

“Are you sure that is why?”

“Yes?”

“...”

“No...”

“You were asked to leave the class because you put the poor boy in a headlock until his face turned blue. You are lucky that you were not arrested.”

“He shouldn't have kept touching me after I told him to stop and he shouldn't have cheated.”

“And you should not have responded with violence. You were in the wrong here. You know it. Who are you angry at Clarke?”

“I'm angry at him and Mr Waller.”

“And...”

“That's all.”

“You were angry at them, now you are angry at yourself for reacting the way you did.”

Neither said anything for a while, Clarke's breathing slowly leveling out and her eyes drying. This time she did not suppress the wince that came with flexing her wounded hands. She was not used to actually hurting herself, the life of an 11 year old on the Ark not particularly dangerous one. The dreams Keenai brought to her were a different story. Sighing she stood up and looked at the wall. There were slight indents in the metal and a few smears of blood but overall it was alright.

“Tend to your wounds and your mess, we will speak more of this later.” Keenai's weight lifted away and the tendrils of Darkness receded from her mind. He was still there, running arong her spine but she knew he would not bug her again until later arrived. She went about cleaning the blood from the walls, then looked down at her hands. They were swollen but the bleeding had stopped. She groaned, knowing that if she wanted them to heal, she would need a cold pack from the medical wing.

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It is several hours later, after Clarke had gone to the medical wing and had been chewed out by her mother, forced to appologise to Franco and given a stern talking to by her father that Keenai spoke again.

“Violence is useful. It gets results and is a sure way to demonstrate strength. But it should only be used when necessary. I will not tell you that if should never be your first option, sometimes violence is the only option. But today it was not. You could have spoken to Mr Waller. You could have moved away. You could have simply hit him. Instead you demonstrated ability ou have no business possessing. You are angry because you allowed your emotions to overtake you and in doing so you could have put yourself in danger. Why did you punch the wall like that?”

“Because I was imagining Franco's face.”

“You cannot lie to me Clarke. I am in your mind.”

“Then you already know the answers and I don't have to say anything... I punched the wall because I was angry... and I kept doing it because it felt... it made me feel strong.”

“And now? Now that you cannot even feed yourself because of the swelling. Now that you will not be able to hold a pen or move a chess piece for at least a week? Do you feel strong?”

“You know that I don't. I feel weak and pathetic.”

“I teach you how to fight and how to inflict pain so that you can be strong, not so you can use it whenever the fancy strikes you or to weaken yourself. True strengh comes from restaint and it does not need to be felt for you to know that it exists. What you felt today was powerful. Do not confuse the two. If you are intent on feeling powerful then you must find a way that does not weaken you. Resolve problems like Franco with words, enjoy the power that comes with advancing academically. Perhaps choose a career path now instead of next year, so you may begin training in it and gain power through recognition of being the first in your field. Power gained through ability and intellegence is always stronger than power gained through fear alone and after today you cannot afford to continue impressing fear upon the people. Not yet.”

“Knowledge is power.”

“Exactly. That is why I teach you so much. Not so that you can use it here and now, but so you can know it when it is needed. Be strong. Know your power and control yourself. You cannot show them the knowlegde I have given you, so you must gain other knowledge that you can show. You think Franco would bother you if he knew that one day you will be Chancellor? Of course not. You will be great one day, you will give orders and they will be followed without hesitation or question.”

“You sound sure of that.”

“Ai get klin bilaik dei. Yu bilaik ai seken, ste yuj, ste fir, ste nayon.”

“Ste yuj, ste fir, ste nayon.” Be strong, be compassionate, be wise.

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Charlotte's entire body trembled as she was strapped down to a chair. She cried and struggled slightly but knew that it was pointless. The woman from before was back but there was no warmth in her eyes.

“What's wrong? What's going on? I answered all your questions, if you have more just ask me, please!” She could see the tools in the room and guess at their purpose. Charlotte might be young but she is not stupid. She knew that the men from the morning wanted to torture them. She had answered all the woman's questions not just because Clarke had told her to. She tried to be brave but she knew her fear was visible.

“Your answers do not add up.” Charlotte widened her eyes, tearing up in fear.

“What?! But they're the truth! Please, I'm not lying!” The woman did nothing, just stood there watching her as she struggled weakly against the bindings. After several minutes, she finally spoke.

“You really believe that, don't you?” It was phrased as a question but Charlotte could tell the woman didn't expect her to answer it. She nodded anyway, feeling confusion cover her face. “You do not know how Klark learned to fight. You do not know if there is any reason for you being on this planet other than what you have already told me. You do not know if Klark has any alterior motive for coming to this camp aside from searching for help for the man that was shot.” These were not phrased as questions but the young Delinquent still nods. She had no idea of the answers to any of those things. The woman sighed and pulled forward a stool, sitting down opposite Charlotte.

After a few more moments of silence, she found her voice, hoping the Grounder would not be too unhappy with her asking questions of her own. Her throat scratched slightly from dehydration.

“The man we came here to get help for..?” She let her question trail off, hoping the woman would understand. It appeared she did.

“I sent a group of my people to your camp shortly after dawn. I have not heard anything from them yet but it is early still. There was a healer among them.

“So you believe us then? That we just wanted to get help for him.”

“I believe that you believe that. The truth will make itself known in time.”

“What will happen with me?” The woman regarded her for a few moments, before sighing.

“We will keep you here until my people return from your camp. You have my word that you will not be harmed. I will decide how to proceed then.” A weight lifted from Charlotte's shoulders and she let out a deep sight of relief, tension pouring from her body and tears trickling down her face. The woman in front of her had relaxed slightly too, the ice melting from her glare, though it had yet to reach anything resembling warmth.

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Anya hadn't been certain of her decision to trust the girl until she watched the way she almost collapsed from relief at the news she was not going to be tortured. The terror the girl must have been feeling was clearly great and the fact she had not seen it before made the general feel slightly disappointed in herself. The girl was clearl stronger than she had initially believed but then again, if she had been telling the truth, this girl had been imprisoned and then sentenced to a suicide mission for giving in to her emotions before. It should come as no surprise that she had some sort of control over showing them. This realisation did not effect Anya's decision however. It was not weakness, she told herself. She had been Heda's fos and she knew the lessons taught to natblidas; compassion was just as important as strength. As was wisdom, and she was sure that hurting this girl for answers she did not have was not the smart way forward. That was why she changed her mind. It was not because of the look in the child's eyes as she closed the door. It was not because of the physical similarities between the child and Tris. It was not because she was a child. Actually, it was because she was a child. An untrained child who knew nothing of the manoeuvres of her superiors. Anya would not entrust a seken with valuable information, not a seken so young and inexperienced. Willfully harming, torturing, this girl would not get them anything, only incite vengence from these invaders. The injuries acquired by Klark were enough concern, especially if both younger girls were telling the truth but she had attacked also, the blade was not drawn until the level of the threat was established. If Heda had any issues with her handling of her situation, that is what she would tell her. Lexa would understand erring on the side of peace. This was not weakness, this was being a good leader. She had shown this girl that she was strong. Now she would show her that she was compassionate.

A knock on the door draws her out of her thoughts and she opens it to reveal a young man she recognises as the healer's seken.

“Sha?”

“Wormana, Fisa Oro gaf chich yu op.” General, Healer Oro asks to speak with you. Casting a look back at Charlotte, blinking away tears but otherwise alright, she followed the seken out of the room and closed the door. She was unsurprised to see Tris standing outside and felt a wave of pride at her seken's behaviour but now was not the time to stop and talk. Instead she acknowledged her with a nod and signed for her to stay in position before the general followed the seken outside. The main healer's cabin was on the other side of the settlement, and she walked quickly, the short seken jogging to keep up with her long strides. She strode into the healer's hut to see the healer spreading healing balm onto the prisoner's now sealed wound. The guard who had been wounded on the same blade was laying a few beds down, also still unconscious. The second thing the general noticed was that the prisoner was not secured to the bed in any way.

“Oro?” The healer was not a particularly tall or bulky man but Anya knew him to be skilled at his work and battleready despite his chosen craft. He did not startle at her presence, instead finishing his work before turning towards her.

“Wormana,” he nodded in respect then cast a look to his seken, who had settled into mixing antiseptic pastes. He seemed to consider the boy before switching to gonasleng. “I must amend my assessment of her wounds.” He moved away from his patient so that he could speak to Anya with a lowered voice.

“She is worse?”

“Quite the opposite actually. She is healing quicker than anticipated. Her body has reacted to my healing faster than I have ever seen.”

“She will wake soon then?

“I believe so, yes. Perhaps not enough to be fully interrogated, but at least enough to talk.”

“Then why is she not tied down?”

“I did not deem it necessary. Should she wake up she is still in no state to sit up, let alone escape.”

“Secure her anyway, I do not want to risk it.”

“Of course Wormana.”

“Is there anything else you need to speak to me about?” The man could have easily passed that message on via his seken.

“Yes, of course.”

He moved back towards the girl, moving to her other side so that Anya could see what he pointed out. “I am concerned about her physical state.” He lowered the cloth that was covering the girl's modesty and Anya took in a breath. Where the younger prisoner was soft edges, the elder was sharp lines, her ribs visible in stark contrast to the roundness of her face. It must be a quirk of the girl's body that her semi starvation is so easily hidden. A year in solitary confinement... that's what Sharlot had said, for treason, a crime not likely to be forgiven. A year waiting for her execution. Likely they only fed her enough that no questions would be raised. Especially if the guards she had attempted to kill had anything to do with overseeing her confinement. It was a wonder that Klark was as strong as she was. She had not lost too much muscle mass during her imprisonment, Anya guessing that she had passed her time keeping herself as fit as possible.

“Is she liable to die from this?”

“If she resumes a proper diet as soon as possible, I do not think so. However, wherever she is from, they clearly did not have the same concerns for her health. Is it possible that the others in her camp are-” He was cut off by a series of shouts from outside, the loudest of which was the voice of Tris, screaming Anya's name.

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Tris kept her back straight, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She had seen them taking the enemy seken into the cell and had taken up a guard position outside the door when the men carrying the prisoner had left the cell unattended. She had yet to hear any screams from the room but she had confidence that her fos would get the information she needed. Still, she was glad that she had not been ordered into the chamber with them. She was training to be a warrior but she did not see the honour in hurting someone who could not defend themselves. They were the people she was supposed to protect, it was why she wanted to be a warrior in the first place. She looked over when she saw Maks arrive,

“Sha?”

“Ai fos gaf chich op Wormana.”

“Kei.” Not having been ordered into the post, she knew that she had no authority to keep anyone away. If her fos wanted to remain undisturbed she would have ordered someone to make sure of it. She stepped to the side and allowed him to knock on the door. When Anya left the room she made to follow but was waved off, so she resumed her position in front of the door. It was not long before another person appeared in the hallway, flanked by to other warriors and the seken grit her teeth.

“Heya Seken.” He greeted her with a smirk, teeth visible. She narrowed her eyes.

“Heya Capin Xero.”

“Step aside girl.”

“Wormana Anya is busy.”

“I know, that is why I am here.” She did not like the look on his face and not sure what to do. She was the seken of this man's general but he was still a captain. On the battlefield, in Anya's absence, she would for now take her orders from him but this was not the battlefield and the chain of command is different. Yes, Anya had not told her specifically to keep anyone out of the cell, but Anya also liked it when she took the initiative. She had also not yet tortured the prisoner and Tris was not sure it was what Anya wanted to happen. What Tris was sure of was that torture is exactly what Xero had in mind.

“I have my orders captain.” His smile dropped slightly.

“And I am giving you a new one. Step aside!” Her hand closed firmer around her sword.

“And I am standing by my fos.” He snarled at her and she barely had time to half draw her sword before he had picked her up by the lapels and slammed her against the door frame. She grunted in pain as her vision blurred and he threw her sideways onto the ground. He and his men pushed open the door and entered, leaving the girl struggling to find her feet. Raising one hand to the back of her head, Tris drew it back to see the smear of blood. Stumbling forwards she tried to open the door to the cell as the screams began, but it had been sealed shut. Vision black she fumbled out of the cell block, yelling out for someone to fetch Anya immediately. The piercing shrieks of pain echoed out from the cell behind her. She could make out the form of her fos running towards her before she passed out.

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Pain. That is all Charlotte knows. She thought she knew what pain felt like but it turns out she knew nothing. Because nothing she had ever imagined came even close to the feeling of her fingernails being torn from her hands, her skin being peeled from her body, salt being rubbed into her wounds. She screamed until her voice cracked and no more noise escaped her throat, then she rasped instead, begging for it to stop. In the edge of her mind she heard a loud slamming sound and vaguely wondered if it was the sound of her body breaking. Each of her fingers snapped in the force of her attackers grip. She could not keep track of the number of hands on her or register the words spat at her but she knew that they were not questions. These men who had forced their way into the cell were not interested in getting answers. They were not trying to get her to talk. They just wanted her to hurt. They were succeeding.

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Anya took off at a run towards the cell block, seeing her seken fall it took only a second for the screams to reach her ears. Leaving Tris in the hands of Oro, who had followed her immediately, she followed the sound to the skaigada's cell, calling a group of warriors to accompany her. When she arrived, there was already a warrior there, attempting to break down the cell door. The screams tapered off but other sounds informed those outside that the girl's pain had not ended. It took all five warriors to knock down the door and when they got it down Anya did not hesitate to put her sword through the first man she saw. Recognising the flash of red hair of Xero's right hand man she snarled as she drew it out, letting his body hi the floor without ceremony. Xero himself was beaten to the ground while his other companion was swiftly disposed of. The sight of Sharlot laying slumped in the chair, eyes wide and tearfilled but miraculously (or perhaps unfortunately) still conscious, made the general hiss in shock. It had been barely five minutes since she left the cell but in that time the girl had been rendered almost unrecognisable.

“Get her to the healers!” A warrior was already unfastening her from the chair and Anya watched helplessly as she was gently lifted and rushed from the room.

The distraction of Sharlot removed, the general turned her attention back to Xero who was being held between two of her more trusted guards. She rounded on him, striding forward and placing her blade against his throat.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“What you are too weak to do, interrogating the prisoner.” He spat back, eyes burning. She swallowed the urge to kill him there and then.

“And what, pray tell, did you learn in your interrogation? It better be good because after that I doubt she will be able to speak for a very, very long time.” She could see in his eyes that she was correct in her assumption and the moment that he realised his mistake. Had he extracted any form of new, pertinent information before destroying the girl then he would have a defense but as she suspected he had not thought ahead.

He had not been quiet in his disdain for the skai people but she had thought he would at least respect her enough to follow her orders. Apparently not. “None. You have singlehandedly undone all the progress I have made. You have threatened any chance we have for peace with these outsiders. You have endangered our people inside of their camp. You have assaulted your general's seken. You have disobeyed your general's orders. You will pay for this with your life. The manner of your death will rest with the skaigada and her fos. I give them that in hopes that it will make up for your actions against them. Know that I will be advocating for death by a thousand cuts.” she removed her sword and put it away, ordering that he be taken to another cell and placed under guard by only her most trusted warriors; those who were not close to Xero or likely to sympathise with him. Him dealt with, she left the cell block and rushed towards the healers hut to check on Tris and Sharlot. Stepping into the room she was greeted with the sight of Tris laying on a healers cot but that was not what made her freeze. It was the knife that stopped her, pressed against her sekens throat, held in the trembling hand of the no longer unconscious Klark.

Chapter 11: (Unsettling) Conversations

Chapter Text

The darkness that enveloped her was all encompassing. It pressed in on her, tracing every curve of her body, filling her mouth and nose, entering her airways though she was drowning in it. She wasn't drowning though. She breathed it in in deep, slow breaths, in the same way that she had done with her first breaths on Earth. She basked in it, running her fingers along her arms and down her legs. She was floating. Curled like a foetus in the womb. Opening her eyes slowly she let the lack of sight fill her mind and calm her non-existent thoughts. She closed them again and stretched out, extending her limbs. Through her eyelids, lights registered in her mind. She opened her eyes and the darkness was receding, still visible in the edges of her limited world. She was standing, though she could not feel the ground below her feet. She stood in a clearing opposite a river, a cliff to her right and trees all around. Before her, kneeling on the ground with her eyes closed was a blond girl. The girl looked up at her as she approached with careful steps and Clarke watched as she found her feet. Clarke opened her mouth and felt words spill out. Words that were not her own.

“Hello seken.”

“Keenai?” The blonde girl asked, “y-you're here?” Clarke felt her body nod, a smile play on her lips. Why am answering? I'm not Keenai. That's not my name?

“But of course I am.” The girl stumbled forwards and reached out, but her hands fell through Clarke's chest when she tried to touch. Again words that were not Clarke's fell from her mouth, in a voice that Clarke vaguely noticed was not her own either. “You cannot touch me, but do not doubt that I am here. You have done well, this place is exactly as I described it to you.”

“Why can't I touch you? You said that anything I imagined would be real here. I can feel the grass, the water, the trees... why not you?”

“I am not something you are imagining my dear. Even here you cannot reach me.” The words registered somewhere in Clarke's memories, as did the face of the girl before her, but she could not figure out where she knew them.

“Will I ever get to touch you?”

“You will know my touch several times over before it is time for you to feel it for yourself Clarke.” Clarke? But that's my name. Why does this girl have my name? Thoughts swirled in her head but as hard as she tried they would not form into anything cohesive. The girl with her name rolled her eyes and groaned.

“Even when you have a face you talk in circles.” Talk in circles... talk in circles... I've seen this before... where have I seen this conversation before? Clarke felt herself respond, watched the younger girl continue the conversation but her mind wandered, hunting down memories that played at the corner of her consciousness. She knows this girl. She knows the eyes that look up at her, young and full of life. That's my name... Is that me? But I... She walked towards the river and looked down into the water. The face that looked back at her, like the words she had spoken and the voice that made them, was not her own. The narrow features and dark eyes were familiar though. She looked up and across the river, then felt her, no, Keenai's body move, walking forwards as though it was solid ground and not flowing water beneath her feet. She paused before reaching the other side, but the moment her foot touched down on the ground her mind was assaulted with images. Sounds and sights and memories filled her but receded as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind a mind that is clear and memories that are no longer fuzzy and full of holes. Keenai. Clarke. She is Clarke. She is on Earth, in a village full of Grounders. She opened her eyes.

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The first thing she notices is the smell. Though muted, in her mindEarth she had been familiarised with the scent of furs. Other strong scents tickled her nose but she did her best to remain still. Secondly she noticed the pain. It was a burning that began in her shoulder and spread across her torso, turning into an ache the further it got from the wound. The skin across her chest pulled tight when she breathed and she recognised the pain as that of a cauterised wound. It was muted though, not as bad as she would expect and she believed the pungent odor had something to do with it. Grounder medicine… they had treated her injuries. Shifting her attention away from herself she turned her ears to the world around her.

The noise is the third thing she registers. It starts low, a buzzing somewhere in the distance but it grows steadily. The buzz becomes voices which then eventually meld into words.

“Em bilaik riden?”

“Nou, em ste wok.”

“Chit hap op?”

“Xero hap op, nau fis em op.”

“Ai na dou chit na ai.” Are they unconscious? No, they are awake. What happened? Xero happened, now heal them. I will do what I can...

Had they noticed her waking? No… there is movement somewhere to her right – hurried movements, calls for water and cloth and some sort of medicine. There are groans as well, weak and croaking and young. A child? Clarke focused her mind on the pained sounds coming from the bed next to her. She knew those sounds. Where did she know those sounds? It did not take long for the correct memory to surface and when it did it struck coldness into her heart. Charlotte was in here too and from the sounds of it, in extreme pain. It took all her will power not to let her eyes fly open in her rage. Had they tortured Charlotte? What on earth could they have hoped to learn from the younger girl alone? The girl was barely 12 and clearly untrained and terrified. She had no information to give that she would not have given freely. How did they not see that? Did they not care? This was not the plan. She had expected caution and coldness and perhaps the cruel apathy that often accompanies desperation for survival from the Grounders but pointless torture? Blood would spill for this; she would make sure of it.

Focusing on hearing she calculated that the four people she heard in the room were focused on Charlotte. Hoping that none looked in her direction she experimentally shifted, hissing silently as the sting of her wound but also in relief when the only bond she felt holding her in place was a loosely tied string around her right wrist. She was also relieved to feel the weight of her wristband. Shifting her hand around subtly she figured out that while she could not simply slide her hand out, it was tied poorly enough that she could reach the ends of the knot so that she could undo it without having to move her left hand and draw attention to herself. It fell undone quickly and she felt sorry for whoever had tied her up so pathetically, knowing they were likely to face punishment after what was about to happen.

Free from any bonds Clarke sent a silent prayer to anybody who was listening and cracked open her eyes. In the edge of her vision she could see four individuals standing up, presumable attending to Charlotte’s wounds. Closer to her though, in the next bed even, was another prone form. Looking the person over Clarke figured them to be in their early teens, maybe not quite even that old. Female, maybe, but with a head wrapped in bandages and a pre-pubescent body it was hard to tell. For a split second she wondered if this was the actual source of the juvenile moans and Charlotte was in fact unharmed. But the stillness of their body and Clarke’s own training told her that the noises were definitely coming from whoever the four healers were tending. Clarke knew she had options – several of them in fact. Taking a few moments to assess them, she dismissed almost immediately the option of trying to run. She did not know where in the camp she was and with her injuries she would not be able to get very far. She also did not like the idea of just laying where she was and waiting for someone to realise that she is no longer out of it. She couldn’t just sit up and alert them; they would be over here and tie her back down within minutes. She needed to place herself in a position of power but power was the last thing she had right now. She took further stock of her surroundings and noticed the glint of a blade sitting on the table beside her. It sat on a pile of cloth so she could only assume it was there to cut bandages. She had access to a weapon, okay good. But she was still injured and outnumbered. Looking back up towards the healers her eyes stopped on her fellow patient. Clearly a grounder by the clothing and not a prisoner by the hilt of a sword attached at their hip. Clarke found herself grateful for that fact when she formed her plan.

Moving as quickly as she could, gritting her teeth to ignore the pain, Clarke slid off the bed and dropped to the floor, reaching and grabbing the knife she climbed onto the bed of her hostage-to-be. She knelt on the pillow with a knee on either side of the child – a girl she figured. This placed Clarke’s back to the wall and gave her enough height to see that it was indeed Charlotte still groaning with pain as two of the grounders held her down while the other two worked on what Clarke could see were extensive wounds. The blonde placed her knife against her hostage’s throat. Her eyes locked with one of the people holding Charlotte down, a dark skinned woman with a scarred face and cold eyes. The woman released Charlotte to draw her blade but was stopped by a sharp command from whom Clarke guessed was the healer. The man had looked up at Clarke, quick eyes glancing over her position before returning to his work. The woman glared at Clarke but obeyed the order to stay in position and resumed her firm but, Clarke now noticed, gentle grip on Charlotte.

Clarke remained in place also, her eyes surveying the room. The man who had brought her down was also lying in a bed, though apparently still unconscious. The others she had taken down in the cell were absent, though only recently judging from the look of a couple of the beds.

“Please do not jostle her too much.” Clarke startled at the English, for all that she had been expecting them to be able to speak it, the clear and precise articulation was off putting. The healer continued, glancing up at her for a moment. “She has a head wound as you can see.”

“So you can speak English.”

“Some of us, though not all and some better than others. We call your language gonasleng.”

“Who did that to her?”

“Some of the warriors disobeyed their orders and attacked her. My seken and I are doing everything we can but her injuries are severe. I am sorry.” He did not pause in his work. Clarke looked down at the girl she was holding hostage. She was torn between holding her position and offering her assistance to the healer. Her contemplation was put on pause when a woman entered the hut.

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Anya had her sword drawn in less than a second, ready to protect her seken from the threat. Weapon out, she stepped forward cautiously. Klark had turned her attention to the general whose eyes flicked between the girl’s face and the knife she held. Anya rose onto the balls of her feet ready to strike but she knew in her gut that she would not reach Klark in time should the younger woman choose to strike a killing blow. Eyes flicking towards Oro and his helpers she met his eyes, briefly before the healer was drawn back into his duty. Movement pulled her attention back to Klark and the general cursed herself for letting her attention wander. She needn’t have worried, the movement was Klark pulling away from Tris. The knife was put aside and Anya watched as Klark climbed off the table and made a few steps towards the skaigada’s own seken. Anya noticed the moment Klark faltered and without thinking she sheathed her sword and jumped forward to catch the girl before she collapsed to the floor.

Putting one arm under her uninjured shoulder and the other under her knees, Anya lifted Klark up with ease. Anya decided that the blonde would want to be closer to her seken, so moved around the healers to place her on the bed on the other side of Sharlot. The too-light girl in her arms was still conscious, though did not protest to the treatment. Instead she was staring at Anya’s face with piercingly blue eyes and an expression which honestly unnerved her. It was unreadable but not in the emotionless way that the people of the clans had all learnt to use. There was emotion there, written into the curve of her brown and the purse of her lips but Anya could not for the life of her figure it out. She placed Klark down on the bed, careful not to jostle her injuries. The wound had begun bleeding sluggishly once more, likely reopened by the movement of first getting onto Tris’ bed and then climbing off it again. The reminder of Tris had her look over at her seken, who was still unconscious but did not appear to have been harmed. Still, Anya ordered Klark be tied down and had her command been obeyed then her seken would not have been in any danger at all.

“Were you not tied to your bed?” Klark arched an eyebrow and Anya could see Oro stiffen slightly next to them.

“One hand was tied but easily enough to undo.” Klark’s voice was low for a woman’s and had a husky quality to it.

“I was in the process of doing it when Tris called for you Wormana,” Oro spoke up, “I judged her wounds more important than binding a severely injured and unarmed unconscious woman. I apologise for underestimating you, Skaigada.”

“Tris could have been seriously wounded by your lapse in judgement Fisa.”

“She also could have been seriously harmed had I delayed seeing to her Wormana.” Oro argued back. Anya suppressed a smirk at the nervous glances the healer’s seken was giving them. She was angry at Oro but also knew he was right. Yes, he could have instructed someone else to finish tying the bonds but in his position, she too would have underestimated Klark’s healing. Still, her seken came first.

“You will be lashed for your lapse in judgement. I will administer your punishment in private when your duties here are completed.” Oro simply nodded, knowing that it would a token punishment at most.

“You said she was attacked against orders.” Klark had turned her head to Oro, who had moved around to Sharlot’s other side and now faced them. “What will happen to her attackers?” He looked to Anya in place of answering.

“Three men attacked her, two have been killed. Their leader is in custody, I will leave his fate in your hands as it was your seken who was most severely injured.”

“Most severely injured? Who else did they hurt?”

“My seken, Tris, was guarding the cell where Sharlot was kept. They wounded her to get to the cell. She raised the alarm before passing out.” Klark looked around the healers to where Tris lay.

“That is Tris?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am sorry for threatening her.”

“Apology accepted. What do you want done with him?”

“Can I trust that he will be secure in your custody until I am healed enough to administer punishment myself?”

“Yes.” Xero had many allies but so did Anya and her people would respect her authority in this.

“Then keep him breathing until then. I want him to bleed for this, I will make him bleed for this…” Anya watched Klark’s mind tick over, “And I would like a list of all the injuries he and his men inflicted on Charlotte and Tris. It is a shame his comrades got off so easily but there is no changing that now. He will have to bear their share of the punishment, such a pity.” If you had asked Anya, she would say that Klark did not look like it would be a shame at all. “You will keep the bodies of the two you killed until Charlotte is well enough to identify them.” The tone broached no argument and carried an authority of someone who fully expected to be obeyed without question.

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Clarke believed the woman to be telling the truth, but until Charlotte was any better, she could not be sure. She wanted the people responsible to suffer but it was entirely possible that this woman may be protecting someone. Yes, her seken had been injured but by only one person. Until Charlotte could confirm the faces of anyone who had dare to place a hand on her, all the Grounders, including the blonde in front of her – were suspect.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Anya, I am a general.”

“Where are we, Anya?”

“A settlement called Nandal. It is used mainly as a camp for when warriors are stationed in this area but there are also several civilians who have made the place home as well.” Nandal… the name did not sound familiar but it was more information than she had previously. The information about the civilians was interesting, perhaps Anya wanted to endear her to the place and believed them less likely to attack somewhere that housed civilians if they did turn out to be invaders.

“I trust that Charlotte has answered your questions about who we are?”

“To the best of her ability, yes.”

“And you believe her?”

“I believe that she believes everything she has told me to be the truth.” Okay, so Anya wasn’t an over trusting idiot. Good to know. Clarke smiled slightly.

“Good. I told her to do everything your people told her, including telling the truth. I’d hate to have been disobeyed.” Anya tried to hide the tick in her expression at that but Clarke spotted it. What had Charlotte told them about the hierarchy that had developed within the Delinquents? Surely she had mentioned that Clarke had assumed control? So why was Anya surprised by the idea that Clarke expected obedience from her people?

“She said that your people are juvenile delinquents from a floating civilisation above the sky and you were sent here to see if the ground is survivable because your Ark is dying and you are all expendable according to your chancellor. She also said that your crime was treason.”

“All that is true, yes.”

“What treason did you commit?”

“My father was executed for wanting the people to know the truth about our Ark’s problem. I plotted to kill those responsible for his death, including the Chancellor.” While this was not strictly the answer Anya was after, Clarke wasn’t lying either. She had contemplated different ways for them to meet their demise several times during her time in solitary.

“Sharlot informed me that your people believed Earth to be uninhabited and uninhabitable?”

“That is what we have always been taught, though after finding out that the latter is not true, I’m honestly not too surprised to find people here. Did you send anyone to our camp?”

“I did, yes, though I have not heard anything back.”

“I assume you will hold us until they return?”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Because it is the smart thing to do… it’s what I would do.”

Clarke pulled herself up to sit straighter on the bed and looked over at Charlotte. The girl’s eyes were no longer open and though the occasional whimper escaped her bleeding mouth she seemed to have finally passed out. The people who had been holding her had stepped away now that she was not in danger on hurting herself further or injuring anyone else. The trainee doctor mentally catalogued the wounds she could see and guessed at several others that she couldn’t. Her eye was caught by an odd looking texture over a large patch of skin on Charlotte’s leg.

“What is that? Some sort of paste?” The healer, looked down at where she was gesturing.

“It is the skin of a fish, we trade for it with a clan in the south. It is normally used for burns, though it also helps to heal other types of skin damage. Her attackers peeled away the top layers of her skin there.”

“Fish skin?”

“Yes. It quickens healing and relieves pain. The red paste stops the bleeding and prevents infection from taking hold. It is made from various plants… I can show you the ingredients and method later if you are interested. You are also a healer, yes?” Clarke offered him a small smile, pleased to have her skill acknowledged.

“I am, yeah. My mother is the chief of medical on the Ark, she taught me enough that I was the youngest medical apprentice in Ark history.”

“A noble achievement. Perhaps you could tell me your secret?”

“Secret?”

“You have healed far better and far quicker than I could have anticipated.”

“I honestly don’t know the answer to that one. Maybe it has something to do with how the Arkers adapted to living in space? Maybe it’s just luck?”

“Well, I hope your young friend here has the same luck.”

“I hope so too. Though I worry for her mind just as much as I do her body.”

“Her mind? I did not see any substantial head wound.” Clarke laughed for a moment before realising that the man was entirely serious.

“I mean for her mental health. She has been through a lot of trauma in a very short amount of time. She will most likely have some form of PTSD, but there’s also a risk of depression, anxiety disorders or even more severe mental disorders.”

“I am not familiar with these terms?” The healer inquired,

“PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, the old world also called it shell shock in soldiers, among other things. Flashbacks, panic attacks, paranoia, hostile behaviour, nightmares, mistrust of people, things like that following major trauma. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain; it affects a person’s ability to enjoy the things they used to, or even to feel happiness at all. As an illness it affects everybody differently. It isn’t necessarily caused by anything though.”

“I know these symptoms but… your people have ways to treat these things?”

“We have medicine that can treat the cause of depression and we have therapy techniques that help people with PTSD or depression to manage their symptoms. We also have medicine to treat anxiety and some PTSD symptoms. Do you have treatments for them?”

“That is very impressive. We have calming plants that help people who have been affected by anxiety or negative experience, er, trauma, but that is all. It is generally accepted that those haunted by war are best left to live peaceful, quiet lives. They have their place in society but we do not have any way to help them. I would be very interested in hearing about these medicines.”

“I would be happy to share what I know in exchange for your knowledge of ground medicine. If I’d known how to make that red paste, I wouldn’t have needed to come here like I did. I could have cared for the wounded man’s wounds myself.”

“I am sure you did what you could to heal him but it would be an honour to share knowledge with you.”

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Klark was not what Anya had expected. The images she had formed of her, first with her arrival, then with the attack on her men, then with the picture of the treasonous healer who took charge of her people through fear that Sharlot had inadvertently painted. This young woman in front of her was clearly intelligent and had a mind to match her physical talents. As Anya listened to the pair of healers discuss the differences in their peoples approach to healing she couldn’t help but be impressed by how quickly Klark caught on to his explanations. Though she could see that Oro was impressed by the knowledge that the sky people possessed, she couldn’t stop the feeling that medical knowledge was only the beginning. She had seen and heard evidence of the tek used by the skai people and she had to admit that the similarities between them and the Maunon was frighteningly suspicious. She did not believe that the children had come from Maun-de but that did not mean that they were not in alliance with them. These people had tek that could travel among the stars, she refused to believe that they did not possess more fayagons or other weapons. Not on the ground with them but the ones still on their Ark sure did. They probably possessed other, more powerful weapons too – perhaps even missiles. The thought was worrying but Anya also knew that it may be these young accidental invaders saving grace.

“Are you in contact with the rest of your people?” Klark looked over at the interruption and paused, considering her question. Anya was disappointed to see the light in her eye that had appeared when she spoke to Oro vanish and her features resume that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

“Myself or in general?”

“In general. If my people wished to enter negotiations for peace and to let the people in your Ark know of our existence, would that be possible?”

“Not as far as I am aware. Our ship was damaged on our way down, I tasked a few of my Delinquents to try and get communications back but I don’t know if they have managed it.”

“So your people have no way of knowing if your mission was successful?”

“They have a monitoring system that lets them know that we are alive and well, but speaking to them is impossible right now.” It was apparent that the skai girl was not going to elaborate on this system, though whether that because she was being secretive or because she believed it to be beyond Anya’s understanding of tek was not so clear.

“What will happen if you cannot re-establish contact?”

“I’m not sure. They may try and send down someone else as long as they know that we’re alive. I don’t know what the situation is up there; I wasn’t exactly kept up to date in solitary. Until then, I am your best bet for negotiations. We were told that when we reached the ground our crimes would be forgiven, if they honour that then I will probably still have some level of status.”

“Your leader would not only forgive you of treason but also then trust your judgement?”

“He was like an uncle to me my whole life until he killed my father. He told me that he understood that my grief overtook me but that he had to uphold the law.”

“If you are sure, then I will trust you on that. For now.”

“Thank you. I know you have no reason to, so thank you.”

“You have not lied to me yet, that I know of.”

“You said you haven’t heard anything back from your people? How long ago did you send them?”

“I has been two days.”

“You expected to have heard from them by now.” It wasn’t a question. Anya realised the concern she felt over the subject must be somehow visible in her expression.

“I expected them to send a messenger as soon as the situation had been assessed. If the wounded man is still alive then the healer will likely take some time to get him healthy enough to ride but I instructed the group leader to send word when he had established that it was not a trap.” She had been hoping to hear back the day before. If something had happened to the group she had sent, one of the spies in the trees around the skai peoples camp would have alerted her but no such warning had been made. It was clear her instructions were not being followed somewhere in the chain of command and after Xero’s actions, the idea of dissent in the ranks was very unsettling for the general.

“Is it possible that he just doesn’t believe that it is not an elaborate trap?”

“This is likely the case. That or he does not want to believe that it is not.” Anya wasn’t really sure why she was being so open with the skai gada about this but it did not feel wrong either.

“You think he is ignoring your orders?”

“I think that I am going to send a messenger to see what is going on and report back immediately.”

“When you do, can I send a message too? To let my people know that I am safe and to give them some instructions?”

“Of course. Do you need some time or can you tell me the message so I can go now?”

“Tell you messenger to speak only to Murphy. Tell him that I am alive and well and that Charlotte is alive but was wounded in an accident and that I will not leave her here alone. They are to cooperate with your people but he is still in charge. Also tell him that the Renegades who I have not yet seen to are to be kept alive for now, I will finish carrying out punishment when I return. Dax is to be kept alive and in captivity no matter what until I am able to see to him myself. I also give him the authority to end the suffering of any of the Renegades who have already received punishments and are still alive.”

“Renegades?”

“Some of the Delinquents decided to test my resolve and caused some damage to the tech that is letting the Ark know we are alive. I warned them what their punishment would be and they did it anyway. I was in the middle of the executions when one of them managed to get the gun off me. He missed me and hit your man instead. I had them locked up while I dealt with this situation.” Anya considered this; it matched with the account of events that Sharlot had given her, though the younger girl had not given any details about the crimes that had warranted the punishment. Klark clearly expected at least some of those who had already been ‘executed’ to still be alive, meaning that whatever method of execution Klark favoured led to a slow and painful death.

“This Daks… he is the one who fired the gun?”

“Yes, he was also the leader of the Renegades. When I have healed enough to return to the Dropship I will carry out the sentence I gave him then hand him over to you and your people to exact whatever justice you want for your man.”

“If it was an accident as you say, then Daks surely cannot be blamed?” Of course, Anya was already forming a punishment in her mind for the man, but she was also curious to see what Clarke was thinking.

“Whether your man lives or dies, Dax still wilfully pulled the trigger with the intention to kill someone. If it had hit one of mine I would demand justice. In the Old World the crime was called Voluntary Manslaughter. Whether your justice demands his life or not is irrelevant, he is already sentenced to death.”

“A death that lasts long enough for us to enact justice after you have delivered it?”

“I plan to remove his arm and let him bleed out from the wound. If your punishment takes longer I can slow his bleeding but I will not stop it. After you man fell from the tree I ordered those I had already punished to have their wounds cauterized until I could assess the situation.” Until you knew whether you’d need the cannon fodder, you mean.

The way the girl described the sentencing was emotionless and matter of fact and her face had shifted to a completely blank mask, unreadable now thanks to the lack of emotion rather than the abundance. While the latter had been unnerving for Anya, she wasn’t sure she preferred this one any better. There was certainly something very unsettling about this girl’s ability to shut down her emotions. The way her eyes looked at Anya, no, through Anya, made her feel like she was staring into her soul and picking her apart piece by piece until Anya’s every thought and memory was dragged to the surface and held bare before her. A violent shudder went up her spine and Anya’s eyes were dragged from Klark’s eyes and down to her mouth which had pulled into a sharp smirk. The girl from the sky knew exactly what effect she was having on the general. Anya had never before felt such an urge to flee, especially not from a child laying wounded in a healer’s bed, but she also had the distinct impression that if she stayed any longer, she would find herself spewing out everything she knew in an attempt to warm the ice blue abyss of Klark’s eyes. She cleared her throat and looked away from the girl, straightening her back.

“I will pass along your message to your people.” Not trusting her voice, she said nothing further, turned on her heel and stalked out of the hut.

Chapter 12: Strongest of the Strong

Chapter Text

“Grounders!!!!” The call went up a couple of hours after dawn in the south eastern border of camp. Everyone awake to hear it scrambled for their makeshift weapons and lined up along the top of the wall in accordance with the orders Murphy and Harper were calling out. In the few minutes it took for the grounders to reach them after they had been spotted, every able bodied Delinquent was awake, armed waiting anxiously for whatever was about to happen. Those who could see the approaching grounders were muttering to each other, staring in wonder not at the people but at the animals they sat astride. Horses. The 8 individuals that they could see stood in a line, hands on weapons but not drawing them.

“What do you want?!” Murphy yelled down from where he stood, knife in hand. One of the grounders, a tall imposing man whose face was obscured with an intricate mask of bones stepped forward and dismounted smoothly.

“We have brought a healer, as per your leader’s request.”

“Where is she?”

“Your leader and her second are being held at our camp until we send word to our general.” Murphy turned to Bellamy, who had climbed up behind him. The man shrugged.

“It makes sense that that’s the truth. If they’re lying, there isn’t exactly anything we can do about it. I say let their healer look after the other grounder. It’s why Griffin went after all.” Murphy thought about it for a moment then nodded.

“Open the gate!” He ordered and was obeyed. He turned back to the grounders. “Your healer and one other can come in but you will have to leave your weapons outside.” There was a nod and one of the other men climbed off his horse and the pair began to disarm while speaking among themselves in a language none of the Delinquents recognise.

The healer was not quite as tall as his leader, though still remarkably large compared to the malnourished and slight population of the Ark. He wore no mask but his face was covered by a thick beard and several tattoos. He carried a satchel which one of the Delinquents at the gate inspected while two others patted them down for hidden weapons. An advantage of their time in the Skybox was that they were all rather adept at finding hiding places for contraband. They removed a few hidden small blades and a garrotte wire. Monroe pulled a curved knife out from it the bag.

“It is a medical tool. For cutting away bad flesh.” He explained simply. Murphy allowed the blade to enter and then began to lead the way to the Dropship.

“Murphy,” he turned to Harper, who’d jumped down from the wall and walked over to them, axe swinging lazily in her grip. “I assisted Clarke with the operation. Let me take them, you can keep an eye on things out here.” The pair had been sharing leadership since Clarke’s departure and while Harper had mainly been focused on security, it was true she’d had more to do with the patient than he had. He nodded and stepped off so that she could take over.

Inside, Octavia stood beside the unconscious man, jaw clenched. She hadn’t left his side when the call went up, but she had picked up the sword she’d made for herself. She only stepped aside at Harpers prompting. The healer moved quickly towards the man and set his satchel down on the table beside him.

“Can you explain his wounds? What has already been done to heal them?” Between Octavia and Harper, they described the injuries and what Clarke had done to heal them as best they could. Without waiting for them to finish talking, he began to unwrap the wounds, hissing lightly at the sight before him. From his bag he first took a small bottle which he passed to Octavia.

“Make him drink this.” While she obeyed, he took out the rest of the things he would need and started by cleaning his hands. He looked in curiosity at the transfusion setup in the while he cleaned himself up. His first task was to cut away the bits of flesh around the wounds that had become discoloured with infection. Once that had done, he cleaned the wounds out with what they guessed was some sort of antiseptic before applying a paste to them.

“Do you think that he will survive?” Octavia asked, wiping sweat from the man’s brow with a cloth while the healer cleaned up.

“The infection is bad but unless it has entered his blood then it should heal in time.”

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“How did this happen?” The leader spoke up for the first time since entering the Dropship. He had been looking around the space with sharp eyes and a distinctly unpleasant sneer. He then turned his gaze on Harper, unimpressed by the weak, wiry arms that had crossed across her chest, axe still firmly in her grip. The Delinquent returned his look with an equally unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“He was hiding in a tree. The guy who fired the gun was aiming for Griffin but she pushed it away from her and the bullets hit him instead. We didn’t know he was there until he fell. We didn’t know anybody was here until then.”

“Where is the man who shot him?”

“He’s-”

“-Being held prisoner, when Clarke gets back she will decide what happens to him.” Murphy interrupted. “Is there anything else you needed?” The healer glanced up at him then shook his head.

“We cannot move him yet, he will have to remain here until the infection has cleared and the wounds begin to heal.”

“Of course. You will send someone back to your people to release Clarke and Charlotte?”

“No.” It was the grounder leader, not healer, who answered that question.

“What? Why not?”

“As long as we have your leader, you will not dare harm us. I will send for their release when he is well enough to leave.”

“You can’t be serious. We aren’t going to hurt you. If we wanted any of you dead we would have just left him to bleed out.”

“I will not send anyone until I can be sure of that.” Murphy sensed that he would not get any further by pushing so he backed off, not wanting to piss off the already displeased looking grounder.

“Fine, if there is nothing else your healer can do for your man then you are welcome to go and wait for him to get better outside the gates.”

“No.”

“Perhaps you misunderstood. You can see that your man is safe, we clearly don’t want him to die, so now you can get out.” Murphy straightened his back and pulled his face into the sneer he used to help him keep the more unruly Delinquents in line. Though it might have worked on his fellow teenagers, the grounder simply looked back at him with a sneer of his own, his face contorting and his eyes taking on a distinctly unpleasant quality. Murphy thought he recognised it from the time Pike had decided to use him as a punching bag. When the grounder stepped towards him he was ready for it, dodging the swinging fist before closing the gap and lifting his blade, jabbing it shallowly into the man’s neck, not enough to do any real damage but enough to make the man freeze. Murphy might not have been an expert on knowing the locations of all the veins and arteries but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t matter if he decided to slit the man’s throat. “On second thought, you’re staying here.” He kept eye contact with the man for a few moments while Harper grabbed a few straps that were lying off to the side – they had been removed from the now dead renegade and hadn’t been put away yet. She bound the grounder’s hands in front of him then tied his feet just enough so that he could walk.

With the grounder leader secure, he looked over to where the healer was standing. The man had not moved a muscle throughout the altercation and was standing calmly with the blade of Octavia’s sword at his neck. There was none of his leader’s hatred or contempt in his eyes, only mild curiosity and maybe a flicker of concern but it did not seem to be directed at his companion at all. Murphy stepped off when Harper placed her own weapon to the man and let her drag him towards the ladder. The upper level of the dropship had been mostly cleared out, stripped of anything usable in favour of building their defences. Its current inhabitants were the surviving renegades, gagged and bound; they hung limply from where they had been secured to the walls. Murphy climbed the ladder first, blinking a bit at the putrid mixture of blood, sweat and excrement that permeated around the room. He stood over the hatch and watched as the grounder obeyed the command to climb, grabbing him and hauling him up when he reached the top.

Murphy couldn’t help but smile at the shocked look on the grounder’s face when he saw the other occupants of the room. Harper followed him up and the two Delinquent leaders hauled him over to a wall. His hands were unbound then one by one attached to two of the walls, pulled almost straight out on each side of his body. His feet were retied so he could not separate them and a gag was placed around his mouth. His glared promised a slow and painful death but he was ignored. Once he was tied up, Murphy searched him again, removing all loose items from him including any straps or belts that could be removed without untying him.

When he next looked up at the grounder’s face he found that his glare had shifted, the dark eyes scanning the broken spirits around him. Murphy let his own eyes wander and agreed that the room was certainly a sight. The prisoners were all dehydrated and starving, many of their clothes had been looted by the Delinquents who had tied them up. The bare skin exposed the hardships of growing up on the Ark. None of the Renegades were members of the privileged and most has been in the Skybox for quite a while and it showed. Their hollow skin bruised easily and the treatment they had received hadn’t exactly been gentle. Those who had had their hands cleaved off by a vengeful Griffin looked even worse; their cauterized stumps burnt and blistered all showing signs of infection. Their skin was pale; they were limp and sweaty, blood spattering their bodies. None of the Renegades were particularly lucid, but the wounded were definitely unconscious and Murphy actually went to check that they were still breathing. As he went to follow Harper back down the ladder, he looked back at the grounder prisoner and was pleased that the man’s confident expression was faltering – when the man looked at him, he glanced meaningfully around the room then back at his newest prisoner.

“Yeah… Griffin really isn’t the sort of person you want to piss off.”

Back on the lower level he sealed the door to the Groundbox and took a deep breath before descending the ladder, dropping to the floor from a few rungs up. While they had been dealing with the leader, the healer had been waiting with Octavia. She had, at some point, lowered her sword and was trying share with the healer her limited knowledge of the transfusion set up and a few other items that had been sitting in the top of the med kit.

“Murphy, this is Nyko.” Octavia gestured to the healer who nodded respectfully, “and this,” she ran a hand down the arm of her patient, “is Lincoln.” Murphy tried and failed to supress a smirk at the look the younger Blake was giving their patient. Nyko bowed slightly to him and he turned his focus back to him.

“Mofi, you are in charge here?”

“Yes, I am. I’m Griffin’s second in command.” He pointed his knife at the man, not as quick to trust as the younger girl had been. “Your friend just tried to attack me unprovoked.”

“I assure you, the only friend I have in your camp is laying right here.” He gestured to Lincoln’s still body. “Though I will still apologise for Baston’s actions, know that it is well within your right to take justice.”

“Justice huh? So if I went up there right now and put this knife through his throat, none of your people would bat an eyelid?” Nyko was watching him carefully, taking in his relaxed posturing and the way he casually gestured with is blade.

“I… I do not understand this phrase.”

“Bat an eyelid, you know, give a sh*t.”

“He made an attempt on your life, it is your right to demand he meets the fate he was going to put to you.”

“Punishment fitting the crime, isn’t that refreshing. Hmmm… luckily for – Baston was it? Luckily for Baston I’m feeling merciful. I’ll let him live, he can stay up there until you are all ready to go, when you send a messenger to get them to release Griffin I will let him go.”

“And until then?”

“Until then you will go with Harper and tell the others at the gate, in English, what happened and what I just said. Then you will tell them to send a messenger to your people to tell them what I going on. I want to hear proof from Griffin that she is alive.” Nyko looked slightly troubled at this.

“I am not in a position to give any of them orders. I can ask them but…”

“Yeah, I get it.” Murphy jerked his head towards the door. “Come on then, tell your assuredly-not-friends what’s happening then you can come back and nerd out over Griff’s medical bag again.

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The woman stares hard at Nyko from behind her mask, her jaw set and her fingers wrapping and unwrapping around the hilt of her sword. He stared back at her, holding as firm as he could. Her head tilted a little to the left as she considered her options and the group before her. Nyko stood calmly, unarmed and without his medicine bag, his hands hung empty at his sides. To his right, Harper stood ready to fight – axe in hand and muscles coiled to spring, she was doing her best to look intimidating but she wasn’t sure if it was working (the quivering in her hands may give the game away). On Nyko’s other side was Bellamy, standing in the self-assured stance of the Ark Guards, arms crossed over his chest, knife visible in his hand. Beyond them stood others of the newly formed Delinquent Guard, all armed and doing their best to look threatening. Murphy stood off to the side, leaning against the wall watching the proceedings carefully.

Several moments of silence followed Nyko’s relaying of events. Baston’s friends mulled over the healer’s words, no emotion visible on their mostly-covered faces but with clear tension rising off them as they consider what to do next. Their loyalty was with their leader and with this latest development it transferred to the dark featured woman who was trying to decide whether or not she should order every one of the invaders dead and punish the healer for not doing more to support Baston. His unbound hands and the general lack of disarray in his clothing was enough proof that he had done nothing to defend the leader. Her orders from the general had been to go to the invaders’ camp, if the prisoners were telling the truth then to see to it that their scout was returned to health. Once the situation had been assessed they were to send a messenger back to Anya and it would be up to the general to make the next step with the prisoners while they continued to observe the skai people. If she did choose to comply with the demands the skai people were making through Nyko and a messenger was sent to Anya, then Baston would be eventually released and Wormana Anya’s orders would be fulfilled. However, nowhere in her orders was she given leave to appear weak. These barely armed, skinny limbed children were invaders, pathetic as they may be, and giving in to their demands went against every grain of her being. Baston was strong, he would survive whatever these clearly untrained infants could throw at him and if he did not, then at least they would have cause to wipe the invaders from the face of the earth and get back to facing down real threats.

“Send the messenger, Kora. Wormana needs to know what is going on. I know those were your orders.” Nyko intoned once more, a slight tone of pleading infiltrating his voice. Kora stepped up to her until her face was mere inches from his and hissed out her response.

“Ai hedon don ge lok em veida tro an’ ai’m’op, Naiko. Ai nou badan yu an’ ai nou badan disha goufa op nowe.” Her knuckles whitened around her sword grip. “Yu gaf sen op infou, dula dison yu op.” A gob of spit hits the ground at his feet before she backs off, giving the command to her people to set up a watch on the camp and letting them know that they are to carry no message without permission from her or from Baston. Nyko lets his shoulders fall and feels a sword come into contact with his neck as he is lead back into the skai people’s camp.

Instead of being taken back to the metal construction, he was lead into a poorly constructed hut and told to sit down on one of the flimsy seats that had been taken from the ship.

“What did she say? And don’t summarise, I want to know every word that came out of her mouth, got it?” Mofi ordered coolly.

“She said that her orders were to find the invaders and to watch them. She does not answer to me and she will never answer to you, well, she said ‘these children’, but she meant you. If I want to send a message then I must do it myself.”

“So what now? Will you take the message yourself?” He considered it briefly then shook his head.

“Now I heal Linkon. When he is better, then maybe I can go, but not now. My orders are to stay with him until he is healed, that is what I must do.”

“So what now? We just sit around and wait?” The healer could see the frustration on the young leader’s face and noted, not for the first time, what a sallow face it was. Indeed, all of the skai people had the same sickly, underfed look to them - their limbs too skinny and their skin too thin. He wondered what their home, wherever they were from, must have been like.

“It is all you can do, improve your camp, keep up your strength and wait. The general may send a messenger of her own, then you will not have to wait as long. But you will still have to wait.”

“Will your people let us go out of camp? To hunt and to collect water?”

“As far as I know, they don’t have orders to keep you prisoner here. As long as you do not cross the river or go beyond any visible border, then you should be okay. And whatever you do, do not go near the Mountain.”

“Mountain? You mean Mount Weather? Why not?”

“The Mountain is an evil place. The people who live inside it, the Maunon, they steal our people. Most are never seen again but those who are have been turned into monsters – ripa. They do not recognise their own family, more likely to rip their loved ones throats out with their teeth than to say hello. The ripa steal more people for the Maunon. There is the fog too, they send it out from the mountain, a yellow cloud that melts flesh from bone. If you ever hear the horns or see the animals flee, you should run also. Get underground if you can, or inside your metal building.” Nyko watched as the goufas exchanged looks.

“We were told Mount Weather was empty, but I suppose they said that about the entire planet and clearly they were wrong. Our people sent us there, told us to find supplies in the bunker. There was an accident and we landed here instead. We decided to just stay close to the ship rather than try to hike there.”

“That accident probably saved your lives. Had you tried to get to the mountain, my people would have killed you immediately.”

“Huh… good to know.”

“You thought the world was empty? You have mentioned that before. Where are you from if not from Earth?” Another look was exchanged and eventually Mofi sat down opposite him, gesturing for the others to leave and go about their business. Looking Nyko in the eyes he leaned back in his seat and proceeded to share the story of the Ark.

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“Shouldn’t you be helping?” The voice was heavily accented and though she spoke softly, Finn still jumped a foot into the air. Turning around he saw the grounder that had surprised him. It was the other female of the group camped outside, tall, lean with skin of warm ivory, she had removed her mask before approaching him so he could see her light brown eyes and curved smile. She was pretty, was his first thought once he had gotten over the shock. She had a knotted scar on her forehead along her hairline and a winding tattoo across one of her eyes that twisted and ran along her cheekbone before disappearing over the top of her left ear. She was also laughing at him, a light and gentle laugh which undermined everything he had seen of the grounders so far. She looked like she was waiting for him to speak, which is when he remembered her question.

“Oh right,’ he glanced back at where Monroe, Fox and Atom were trying to put together a haphazard looking smokehouse. “I think they can manage without me.”

“Really? Because it looks like it is about to-” she doesn’t finish her sentence and she doesn’t need to, the logs Atom had just leaned up against the frame up choosing that exact moment to tumble down around him, one landing on Fox’s foot. Looking sheepishly over at the grounder, who seemed very pleased to have been proven right, he goes over to help tidy up the mess while Atom helps Fox hobble off towards the Dropship.

Aware that the grounder is still watching him, he does his best to help Monroe get the smokehouse’s walls back in place and lashed to the frame, though he’s not sure he did any better than Atom. The grounder shared his sentiment, giving him a slow shake of the head whenever he glanced over at her. Atom returned and took over again, flipping Finn the bird when he found he had to untie and straighten the spacewalker’s crooked work. Waving off the light natured jibes Finn walked back over to the Grounder.

“I take it back, they do manage better without you.”

“I tried to tell you. Are you supposed to be talking to me?”

“I was told to watch you so that is what I am doing. They did not say I could not speak while I did it.”

“Alright then.”

“What is your name?”

“Finn.” He offered his hand with a smile, she looked down at it and raised an eyebrow. She lifted her own hand but instead of shaking his she placed a fingertip on the top of his wrist and pushed the offered hand down.

“I don’t think we are quite there yet Fin.” He failed to hide his disappointment but bounced back quickly,

“Well do I at least get your name? You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Maybe that is where I want you to be.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

“How would you know what I mean?”

“I’m told I have a way with people. You like me, I can tell.”

“Are you sure this way isn’t the opposite direction? You are certainly entertaining, I will give you that.”

“Is that all you’ll give?”

“For now.” Finn blushed but held her eye contact, trying to figure out if she was talking about just her name or something more.

“Hey! Spacewalker!” Finn jumped again, losing his footing in his haste to spin around to face Octavia. The grounder laughed again, as did Octavia. She waited until he picked himself up off the ground, and then offered the empty water can she was holding.

“Murphy said to tell you to stop flirting and go and collect more water. Jasper some others are going to gather plants soon, you can go with them.”

“Your people call that flirting?” The grounder spoke up, smiling teasingly at Finn who was doing his best not to look embarrassed. He grabbed the water can and trudged off, pausing only long enough to hear Octavia rephrase her sentence to trying to flirt before he muttered a

“whatever, see you around,” and he went in search of Jasper. Octavia looked the grounder up and down and held out her hand.

“I’m Octavia.”

“My name is Aila but please do not tell him that.”

“Your secret is safe with me. How are you inside the wall?”

“I climbed. We were told to keep an eye on your people, I can’t do that if I can’t see you.”

“Right well…” The skaigirl considered the situation, “you should probably go outside again, before I have to make you.”

“As interesting as that would be, I think I shall go on my way.” O watched the girl walk lightly over to the wall and scramble up and over it easily. There was something in her stride that reminded Octavia of the way Clarke walked, dancing on the balls of her feet, avoiding loose dirt, leaves and sticks so that each step was soundless.

Shaking it off, she headed back to the tent Nyko had been set up in. The healer had offered to treat the Delinquents various injuries, those from the ground and a few still present from back on the Ark, and Murphy had accepted the help on the promise that Nyko would demand nothing in return. Nyko and Fox looked up as she entered; the latter had been brought in for her foot and was complaining about Finn standing around claiming to be ‘supervising’ their work. Truth be told, Murphy had nothing to do with sending the spacewalker to fetch water but there was something about Finn’s happy-go-lucky attitude that grated on Octavia. She had liked him initially, he was cute and friendly and being around him got on her brothers nerve (always a bonus), but the way he acted like hard work was beneath him reminded her too much of Bellamy’s endless complaints about the Privileged on the Ark. She was just as keen to get out and explore the Ground and have fun as the next Delinquent, even more so after being kept penned up for so long. But she also knew that the Grounders posed a serious threat and if they wanted to survive on the Ground they would have to work together. She sat down and went back to helping the healer mix medicines and listen to him talk about his people’s way of life.

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Several miles away and a day later, Clarke was performing a similar task. Oro showing her how to combine a dark blue flower she identified as poison sumac and a dry, powdered form of the red riverweed to create a smooth orange brown paste he claimed lowered body temperature and heart rate as well as combated infection and inflammation. Though she was healing quickly she could not manage more than a few steps at a time so she was making the most of being trapped in her hospital bed, speaking to Oro and offering her assistance wherever she could. Sitting on the bed, she helped Oro’s seken, a lanky preteen called Maks, replenish the supplies that had been used on her and Charlotte’s wounds. Charlotte had not woken yet, but Tris had been floating in and out of consciousness for a few hours, not fully lucid yet but it was a good sign. Clarke didn’t have a lot of experience with head wounds but she offered advice where she could.

Anya had visited a few times, speaking with Oro or Clarke herself. The guards who Clarke had injured had all awoken and all except one had been dismissed from the healer’s tent. Clarke had done her best to act sorry and to keep her face straight when Anya informed them of what had happened and ordered them not to lay a finger on either sky girl. Their conversation had been in their own language, so Clarke had to be doubly sure not to react to anything they were saying. The general told Clarke that she the messenger had been sent and was expecting a reply before sunset the following day.

It was clear to Clarke, not just from the condition of the healer’s tent and the fact that the Ark had never seen any bright lights from the Ground that these people’s usage of Old World tech was nigh on non-existent. She had yet to see a gun anywhere and it was clear that they had no radios or other means of long range communication faster than a swift messenger. There was no electricity and she wasn’t sure whether there was running water or not. She had seen plenty of remnants of the old world but they had been repurposed for other, unpowered tasks. It made sense, she supposed, that by the time the first survivors were focused on anything aside from surviving, their knowledge of how to create and maintain technology was lost. If it weren’t for the compulsory education system and career regulation the Ark founders had put in place, the Ark would probably have faced a similar problem. The way the grounders had worked around this technological gap and came up with their own innovations was impressive. The blonde was eager to be able to get out of the tent and explore the village and other aspects of grounder life.

What did not make sense, or at least, what Clarke could not figure out, was the lack of plastic everywhere. Metal and wood were the building materials of choice despite the fact that literal tonnes of plastic should have been left over from the Old World, the substance not being prone to decomposition. It was probable that because plastic, unlike metal, could not simply be melted down and reformed, the grounders had no reason to keep it around, taking up space and making a mess. Did grounders have rubbish dumps? She had seen a few documentaries on the Ark about Earth’s environmental issues, records kept so that when the time came for the Arkers to return to the planet, they do not make the same mistakes as their forebears. Mind lost in thought and hands busy with work, Clarke did not notice Anya had entered the tent until her rough voice was dismissing Oro and Maks from the tent. She looked over at the general but the older woman was paying her no mind, her attention on Tris’ sleeping form. The general’s face was soft and while Clarke did not know the woman well, she could tell Anya was upset about something. The sky girl put her head back down and refocused on her work but kept her ear on Anya as she sat down next to Tris’ bed side and took her hand.

“Yu nou gaf riden nou mou, seken. Ste sonop, nau teik yun blinka slak, beja.” You don’t have to sleep any more, Second. It is morning, open your eyes, please. Clarke was very careful to keep her hands moving at the same pace. “Ai gada imfou gon yu, kom yu nomon. Yu gav wok op nau.” I have a message for you, from your mother. You need to wake up now. Clarke scooped the paste into a jar and stoppered the lid as quietly as she could. “Ai moba Tris, ba yu nontu, emo don hon em daun. Maun-de em gada nou.” I am sorry Tris, but your father, they took him. The Mountain has him now. Clarke sets the jar on the table as memory of Keenai’s words drowns out whatever Anya said next. ‘The local people fear the Mountain darling; only the strongest of the strong survive in its shadow.’

Chapter 13: When I Wake Up

Chapter Text

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away.”

“Keenai.”

“Yes dear?”

“Stop being weird.”

“I'll always love you and make you happy

If you will only say the same

But if you leave me and love another

You'll regret it all someday.” Clarke looked up from her painting to where the young looking man sat by the river. Keenai’s shoes lay beside him, his pant legs were rolled up and his feet trailed in the cool water. He was resting back against a large boulder, eyes closed and singing softly. He ignored Clarke’s request and the air filled with the gentle song. Clarke sighed and left him be, returning to her artwork. She had been painting without really paying attention, letting her hand move the brush across the canvas, leaving in its wake colours far brighter than she would ever see on the Ark. Looking back at it after Keenai’s distraction she let her eyes focus on it and take in the reds and golds of the creatures wings, the startling green of its eyes. The phoenix stared back at her, fire trickling from its feathers. It seemed to shiver as though it was eager burst off the canvas and fly away. Clarke put down the paintbrush, if the phoenix believed it was ready to fly, then she would let it.

She glanced at Keenai, his voice unwavering in song.

“You told me once, dear, you really loved me

And no one else could come between

But now you've left me and love another

You have shattered all of my dreams.”

He was facing across the river, paying her no attention. The blonde ran her tongue across her front teeth and took a deep breath. She scanned the form of the phoenix, every detail and line, picturing its different angles, the way the sunlight above her would shimmer off its plumage. Clarke imagined its wings spreading and stretching as the phoenix shook off ashes and sparks; she watched it twist its neck and didn’t try to suppress her grin as it tore forward, inch by inch pulling away from the canvas, slowly then all at once erupting into the air, forcing Clarke to step back. She watched as it spun and danced in the breeze, free from its 2D prison. Clarke ignored the burning of Keenai’s eyes into her, knowing he wasn’t really displeased as he kept up his singing. The phoenix’s cries as it circled above them joined his tune,

“In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me

When I awake my poor heart pains

So when you come back and make me happy

I'll forgive you dear; I'll take all the blame.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away.”

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“…Please don’t take my sunshine away…” Klark’s singing trailed off, though she hummed the tune one more time. The skaigada had yet to notice her, engrossed in her task of changing Sharlot’s bandaged. It was a touching scene, the young fos singing a gentle lullaby to her even younger seken.

“That is a lovely song. You have a beautiful voice.” For all that Klark had not seemed to notice her presence, when the general stepped fully into the healer’s tent and spoke, Klark did not startle in the slightest.

“Thank you.” Anya returned Klark’s nod and moved further into the tent to take a seat beside Tris.

“I am here to ask you to join me for breakfast in my tent tomorrow. I wish to speak with you more about your people.”

“Only if you will return the favour; I have a few questions about your way of life that I haven’t managed to find the answers to by myself.”

“Of course.” Within reason. Anya was curious as to what questions Klark could have for her and doubly curious about what questions Klark had already found the answers to. She was under no delusions that Klark was not watching and analysing everything around her – she saw the way sharp blue eyes moved constantly over everything and couldn’t help but draw comparisons to a similarly sharp pair of green ones. Klark may not have made any indication that she knew Anya was there listening to her song, but the general would not be surprised if Klark had known of her presence before she had gotten within six feet of the building.

“Do you sing often?”

“Sometimes… usually when I feel at peace. It is a habit I picked up from my teacher. He wouldn’t sing often, but when he did it was usually for something good. Or something important.”

“Did he teach you that song?”

“It is a song from the Old World, written 200 years ago. He used to sing it as a lullaby when I was a child. When I got older he would sing it as a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yes.” Anya felt like she should ask Klark to explain further, but she had already turned away from her to clear up after her task. “Was there something else?”

“…No… I will see you in the morning.” Anya ducked back out of the room, waiting until she was several feet away from the tent before pausing to shiver. She had no reason to feel so unsettled. Klark had neither said nor done anything out of the ordinary, but as with all the general’s interactions with her, she was left shaken. The tune of the song wafted through her head on repeat as she walked back to her tent, shirking off her fur jacket and falling heavily into the solid wooden chair at her desk. A sigh echoed around the room, her eyes immediately finding the folded piece of parchment on the table. Heda was growing impatient. Anya reached for a fresh piece of parchment and began to pen her reply.

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Monty groaned loudly and let his head fall against the metal workbench. Three days he had been trying to find a way to contact the Ark to no success. He didn’t claim to be an engineering expert – he had always been better at making moonshine than tech, but he was better off in the brains department than any of the other Delinquents. The teenager looked around him at the miles of wire and complex looking switchboards in the cramped control room of the dropship. The only thing he had learnt so far was that the Dropship’s coms system was nothing like the Ark’s intercom system he had been trained to work. Leaning back in his chair he scratched at his wrist, trying to think of an alternative to repairing a system he knew nothing about.

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Aila straightened, her sword in hand the second she heard the familiar beat of hooves on fallen leaves. The rider came to a halt and the woman relaxed slightly, recognising one of the Wormana’s personal messengers.

“Heya, yu don kom hir kom Wormana?” Perhaps the general’s messenger would be able to settle the growing tension between the invaders and the scouting group.

“Sha. Weron Baston kamp raun?” Or not.

“Baston-”

“-Bilaik honon kom skaiyons.” Kora cut Aila off before she could explain, telling the messenger that Baston was the skai people’s prisoner.

“Hakom?”

“Nyko biyo em a jomp op un skaiyon.” Nyko said that he attacked a skaiyon.

“Nyko ron yun ridiyo op?” Was Nyko telling the truth?

“Sha.” Aila cut back into the conversation, hoping to keep Kora from turning Nyko and the skai people into scapegoats for Baston’s temper. Kora went to disagree but the messenger did not let her speak.

“Em eintheing, chit ste odon ste odon. Chon bilaik yun seken kom capin?” It doesn’t matter, what is done is done. Who is second in command?

“Ai laik Kora, seken kom capin.” I am Kora, the Captain’s Second. There was no denying Kora’s status and Aila began to lose hope that the general might receive a favourable, or even impartial, account of the invaders.

“Ai teik infou kom Wormana gon yu en infou kom Skaiheda gon skaikru.” Aila felt herself perk up a little, if Anya had allowed the messenger to carry Griffin’s message as well as her own, then perhaps their negotiations were going well back at the Trikru camp.

“Ge ron ‘i, oso kamp raun hir.” The messenger nodded and spurred his horse into a walk, following Kora towards the invader’s camp.

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Clarke was lying on her bed in the healer’s hut staring at the ceiling through the darkness. She had been asleep, she thinks, or maybe she had gone to her mindEarth without realising. Either way she had dreamt that Keenai was laughing at her. She couldn’t remember why he was laughing, whether she had told a joke or fallen or if he was laughing just for the sake of it. All she was certain of was that she was the focus of his laughter. The noise bounced around in her skull, simultaneously making her want to scream with frustration and cry with relief. It may or may not have been a dream, but it definitely was not a memory, which meant that Keenai might still be out there (or in there). Focused on her own thoughts, the blonde almost missed another sound, nearly drowned out by the ghost of Keenai’s laughter. It was soft, something between a whimper and a sob, but muted, like the person was trying and failing to hide their tears. Sitting up, she looked around the hut for the source of the sound and found herself jumping from the bed the moment her attention zeroed in on Tris, whose eyes were blinking awake.

Moving around the still unconscious Charlotte, Clarke rushed to Tris’s beside. The girl looked over at the movement and when she saw Clarke approaching she tried to sit up only to wince and fall back onto the bed.

“It’s okay, you’re okay Tris, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yu- Yu bilaik… skai… skaigada.”

“My name is Clarke, do you know where you are?” Tris just looked up at her, confused and afraid. Clarke looked around but for once neither Oro nor Maks were asleep in the curtained off area reserved for, Clarke assumed; the healer on duty. “You are in the healer hut, you were hurt bad. Please try and stay still.” The girl gave no indication that she had understood Clarke but she did not try and get up again either. With no idea where the healer or his apprentice had gone, Clarke went to the entrance to the hut to see if there were any guards on duty. No luck there, Clarke stepped out into the camp and looked for signs of life by the light of the moon and the few bonfires that still burned. She had not spent much time outside of the healer’s hut but knew from experience that Anya’s quarters were somewhere off to the left. Picking her way as quickly as she dared with the dull burning pain of her wounds she spotted a large hut with guards posted outside. They raised their weapons as she approached.

“Hod op! Chit yu gaf!” She stopped and raised her hands in surrender.

“Please, Anya needs to come to the healer’s hut! Tris is awake and I don’t know where Oro is.” The guards looked at one another and nodded, the shorter of the pair going to knock on the door. Less than a minute later a sleep dishevelled but wide awake Anya opened the door. Her knife in her hand, she looked ready to kill whoever had disturbed her rest. Her eyes quickly found Clarke.

“Tris is awake.” The blonde blurted out before the guards had a chance to speak, pointing back in the direction she came from. “Oro and Maks weren’t in the hut, I didn’t know who else to-” Her continued explanation was unnecessary for the moment she mentioned Tris’ name Anya had put away the knife, pulled her jacket over her sleeping clothes and pushed past the guards. Clarke did not even attempt to keep up with Anya’s run to the healers tent, pacing slowly so as to a) not agitate her healing wounds more than needed and to b) give Anya some time in private with Tris.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Anya burst into the hut and ran straight to her seken’s side. Tris had managed to prop herself up in the bed and had been rubbing her temples when her fos entered.

“Anya!” The general dropped to her knees and grasped one of the girl’s outstretched hands, her other coming up to wipe tears from her eyes. It was rare that Anya allowed her emotions to overwhelm her but the sight of her seken’s honey coloured eyes had her blinking away tears of her own.

“Tris, yu ste kei? Yu ste laksen?”Are you okay? Are you hurting?

“Sh-sha, ai melon ste laksen. Chit don kom au? Chom*ouda skaigada don ste hir? ” Yes, my head hurts. What happened? Why was the sky girl here? Tris tried to sit up further but Anya pushed her back into the bed.

“Set raun weron yu ste kamp. Xero don jomp yu op. Yu na ste laksen gon suna, ai moba. Oso ste en fisakova, yu don rid op gon thri sintaim. Klark en Sharlot skaigadas, ste laksen seintaim.” Stay where you are. Xero attacked you. You will be in pain for a long time, I am sorry. We are in the healer’s hut, you have been asleep for three days. Clarke and Charlotte are also hurt. Giving the girl some time to process this, Anya stood up and detached her hand from the smaller one, going to find her some water.

As Anya sat back down and helped Tris take a few sips she noticed Klark slip back into the room. The skaigada was holding a hand to her wound and failed to supress an audible wince as she walked. Oro would not be pleased with the girl if she had managed to reopen her wounds yet again. Putting the cup aside, Anya ran a cool damp cloth over Tris’ face to wash away the tear tracks and to sooth what she is sure is a pounding headache. She heard Klark shuffle around the room for a few moments before she was forced to blink when the hut was suddenly illuminated. Feeling Tris flinch under her hand Anya told Klark to blow the candle back out. In response, Klark simply held her hand between the flame and Tris, blocking some of the glare.

“I want to test her pupil response. Does she speak English? She didn’t respond to me earlier.”

“I speak.” Tris’ spoken gonasleng was not perfect but she could understand it quite well, Anya had made sure of it.

“Good. My name is Clarke, I was training to be a healer back in the sky. I am going to test your pupil response, which means I’ll move the candle close to your eyes to make sure they both react properly to the light. It will tell me if and how your brain was hurt by the attack. Okay?” Tris looks to Anya who considers Klark. Listening to Klark and Oro talk the last few days she had realised how different their healing techniques and knowledge of the body were and she trusted that Klark knew what she was doing. She nodded to Tris, who then agreed to Klark’s request.

Klark sat on the bed beside Tris and got her to turn her face towards her. Looking into her eyes she uncovered the candle, holding it between both eyes and then moving it side to side in front of her face. Next she made a barrier with her hand so that only one of Tris’ eyes was exposed to the flame. Anya watched, intrigued. From what she could tell, Klark was looking at the way the dark part of the young girl’s eyes grew and shrunk with the light. She had no clue whether they were responding properly so simply waited for Klark to finish and share her findings. After what felt like hours Clarke set the candle aside.

“Well your reaction is good but I am a little concerned about the size of your pupils, your left one is slightly larger than your right.”

“What you mean?”

“The dark part of this eye isn’t the same size as this one. It could be a sign of brain damage but without any tech I cannot be sure. It is also not uncommon for someone to have different sized pupils, I don’t know what yours were like before this so I have nothing to compare them too. Do you feel dizzy or sick to the stomach?”

“Dizzy?”

“Like the world is spinning or you can’t focus on anything.”

“Yes, dizzy. Not sick.”

“Okay, I am going to get you to talk to Anya in your language for a little while, about anything, to see if you are having any problems speaking okay?”

“Okay.” Anya listened while Tris spoke to her for a few minutes, talking about her training and her family. She tripped over a couple of words but she spoke clearly and quickly, sounding like the brave but easily excitable girl Anya was training and raising. Klark stopped them.

“She is speaking normally.”

“Okay, that is good. I think you have a concussion which is a mild brain injury but should heal on its own if you take care of yourself.”

“Take care, what- how?”

“Well because I cannot be sure, I will say that you have to stay in bed and make no sudden or strong movements with your head for quite a while. I will say stay in bed for maybe three more days and then take things easy for at least a few weeks, maybe months. You will get tired very easily and have trouble focusing for a while.” Anya could see flickers of fear in Tris’ face before she looked away from them, looking down at her hands and picking at her nails. It was a nervous habit that Anya had tried to break her of but had yet to succeed apparently. Anya could tell that Tris was scared of something and so placed her hand over smaller fidgeting ones.

“Yu na fis op ai seken, nou get yu daun. Yu na rid op nau, ste nattaim.” You will heal my second, don’t worry. You should sleep now, it’s night time. Anya stood and Clarke followed her lead. “It is late, you should both go back to sleep. Oro and Maks are out collecting plants, they should be back before dawn. I will make sure they know that Tris has woken. I will see you in the morning, reshop.”

“Reshop fos.”

“Goodnight Anya.” Waiting for Clarke to climb back into bed, Anya gave them one last look over before snuffing out the candle and going back to her own bed. She would tell Tris about her father in the morning.

Chapter 14: Negotiate Now, Panic Later.

Chapter Text

A crisp draught had found its way into her tent, causing Anya to bury herself deeper in the furs of her bed. She cracked open her eyes and groaned, recognising the dim light of early dawn. She took a few more minutes to doze before dragging herself out from under the covers. After a quick wash in the basin she pulled on a shirt and laced on her boots. Ready for the day, she sat at her desk with the letter for Lexa. It was an ashamedly rambling mess and not yet finished. Taking up her pen, she begins to cross out the parts where she had let herself go off on a tangent about Klark’s eyes or ended up repeating herself about the shivers their piercing blueness give her. Lexa would not understand, she would see the way Klark affected her former fos as a weakness of Anya’s part. The two would have to meet for Lexa to even begin to understand what it was like to look into depths of the sky and have the sky stare back at you. She had almost finished reworking all she had already written when the guard outside her tent called out to inform her that Klark and their breakfasts had arrived. The general stood and cleared off her desk, stowing the letter and writing implements in the box of personal effects beside her bed. Taking a deep breath in anticipation of the conversation to come, she replied to the guard and waited for her visitors to enter.

Klark sat opposite her, picking out different foods from the platter between them and placing them on her plate. She had not spoken yet other than the obligatory greetings and questions about what the food was and where they sourced the water. She had not really looked at Anya either, her gaze alternating between dancing around the tent and fixating on the food. It was clear, and had been clear every time Anya had seen food placed in front of the skaigada, that she was exercising a great amount of self-control to not simply descend upon it like a starving beast. The general was not surprised though, she had seen the state of Klark’s body while she had been unconscious. She had seen the visible ribs and sallow skin of malnourishment. Turning to the food herself, Anya selected a few slices of fruit and her personal favourite, a few rounds of honey and milk soaked bread that her cook had fried in animal fat. They ate in near silence, only the sounds of chewing and the occasional uncontrollable moan of pleasure at the wonderful flavours before them. After her plate was done and Klark was halfway done, Anya decided it was time to break that silence. Clarke continued to take small mouthfuls while Anya talked.

“So... you had questions?” There was a pause while Klark finished her mouthful.

“Yes. There was something you wanted to discuss?” She looked at Anya now and instantly the general wished she could go back to a few moments ago when she was not the focus of that steel gaze.

“We need to come to an agreement.” An eyebrow was quirked in her direction.

“I thought we already had?” Anya nodded slowly, they had, of course, reached one agreement already.

“We have agreed about the fates of the attackers, not your people as a whole. I need a proper arrangement, something I can present to my Commander for her approval.” Something that will convince Lexa that her old fos is not going insane and that not immediately wiping out the sky people is a perfectly reasonable course of action.

“Commander? Your superior? I thought you were the general. Is this Commander the one I should really be speaking to?” Anya’s eyes narrowed at the implication that she was not in charge. She wanted Klark and Lexa to eventually meet, yes, but the way her breakfast companion said it rankled her, as though she would not have even considered speaking to Anya about this if she knew there was someone else more important. Besides, Heda was too busy to be getting involved in these matters from the beginning; she had duties to attend to and had trusted Anya to deal with it instead.

“I am the general, in times of war the largest of Trikru’s armies fall under my leadership. The Commander is everyone’s superior. She is busy ruling over the twelve clans in the Coalition she built. You will speak with her if and when it is deemed appropriate and necessary. Until then you talk to me.” There is a flicker in Klark’s eye that Anya doesn’t recognise but gives her a sinking feeling in her gut, like she said something she really should not have during her defence of her position. She changes tactics.

“How can I be assured that your people in the sky will honour anything you pledge?”

“Pledge? I am not planning on pledging anything, it is far too early in these negotiations for that. As for my people, I suppose you will just have to trust that I can make them listen. As I have said, my mother is their chief healer and sits on the council. The Chanchellor-“

“-whom you tried to kill, along with the rest of your council. Why would they respect anything you have to say?” The first moment of uncertainty Anya had very seen from Klark was almost as off putting as the air of confident authority she carried with her.

“Because I will make them. They won’t have a choice if they want to exist here without a war, which is not something any of us would survive. They killed my father, I was not the first person to ever seek revenge for that. I never actually harmed any of them. There is also the fact that the moment we stepped foot on the ground, our crimes were officially pardoned.”

There had been something in that phrasing which caught in Anya’s mind. Why would Klark assume to not survive war? Did she lack confidence in her people as warriors? Sharlot had mentioned that only guards were trained to fight, perhaps their civilian to warrior ratio was so low that she felt regardless of their prowess they would lose simply due to numbers? Anya was not sure, so decided to clarify.

“You would lose a war?”

“Huh?”

“You said none of you would survive a war. You are so sure you would lose?” To Anya’s surprise, Klark actually laughed.

“I said none of us, that is including your people. Well... some might survive, if there are a lot of you, but this forest at least would be decimated, any nearby villages would be lost, your armies would definitely suffer severely if not destroyed completely. My people would probably suffer similar fates, depending on when and how this hypothetical war began.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the only possible outcome of war. Wars destroyed villages, yes, but the forest? Their entire armies?

“The Coalition’s borders extend far beyond this forest and our people number into the tens of thousands. Though I fail to see how a war would manage to destroy an entire forest.” Klark seemed only to grow more confused by this answer. Anya was in the same state, unsure of how Klark could be so mislead as to the effects of war. When the blonde opened her mouth to explain further, Anya regretted asking.

“Weapons? Bombs, grenades, land mines. Even without explosives, guns can destroy trees and drive off wildlife easily. Have your people not fought wars before? Mine haven’t but we are still equipped and we have recordings and photos from the Old World as proof of what our weapons can achieve.”

Anya was hit by the sudden memory of the first time she saw a village destroyed by the Maunon’s missiles, how in the span of moments a thriving town and hundreds of innocents had been reduced to a pile of rubble and destroyed corpses. This was what Klark thought war was? It was obvious why she thought the Trikru would not survive such an onslaught but why would her people not sur- wait, no... Did Klark think the people of the Coalition possessed such weapons of mass destruction? That their people would be on equal footing should such a war break out? Anya wasn’t sure whether to be horrified at the implication or relieved that Klark believed them to be on even ground in that regard, because ‘equipped’? The youths that landed with Klark clearly lack these weapons but the people in the sky apparently had no such troubles. These were a people who survived no matter the cost, even going so far as to send their young to their deaths to give themselves a little longer to live. Klark and Sharlot had mentioned that learning to fight was illegal for the general population but they wouldn’t need to be able to fight if they had fayagons. An untrained goufa could massacre an entire village in seconds if they were handed one. It made Anya doubly anxious to get confirmation that Klark’s people will honour her decisions.

“Our people have had many wars, but none featuring destruction to that level. We prefer to wage our wars with swords and spears and arrows instead of guns, it is more honourable.”

“Dolce et decorum est.” Anya knew her confusion was visible on her face, the words Klark spoke with unfamiliar even with her command of gonasleng. “It is Latin, an old language from the Old World. It’s from a poem written by a soldier from the First World War. He might have gotten it from somewhere else but I only know his version. The full phrase is “Dolce et decorum est pro patria mori” It is sweet and honourable to die for your country. The opposite of what his poem was about, actually. There is no honour in war, only death and suffering.”

“You know a lot about the Old World.”

“Well we had almost all of earth’s history stored in our records from before the bombs. The Ark was originally 12 satellites all from different countries, people from all over the world with their own versions of history. The 12 stations joined together on Unity Day, the people became one in order to preserve what we thought was the last of the human race. It was important for us to learn all those histories so we could pass them on to the next generation. Do your people not keep records of the past? Don’t you have things left over from the Old World? I mean, you’re on Earth, surely there must be a lot of relics around, books and photographs and technology.”

“Such things exist, yes, but only a few are capable and even fewer bother to learn from them. We learn the history of our clans, of the Commander and our children will learn the history of the Coalition. We do not tell stories of the Old World. The Old World is gone, it died and dwelling in it will do us no good.”

“I disagree. I think knowing history is vital to surviving past the moment. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. That’s another Old World quote.”

“Then we agree to disagree. The people of the Old World, with all their history and tek could not survive praimfaya, my people did.” Anya took a gulp of water before attempting to steer the conversation back on track. “So we agree that war is not an option?”

“Yes, we agree that war can only end in blood and fire.” Klark nodded solemnly.

“Then you will need to find a way to speak to your people. If they plan to land on Trikru territory, or on any other clan, then they will need to build an alliance with the Commander and with the clan in question, they would need permission and a plan for what they do after they get here. I cannot negotiate that with you. As for your landing party, you are still invaders. You are still here without permission, setting up camp, hunting and foraging in Trikru land. What do you propose we do about it?”

“We are not invaders, we are refugees, forced to flee an inhospitable place. Have none of your people ever been forced to move from one village to another to flee conflict or persecution? Because their homes were no longer safe?” They had. Several border villages were abandoned in the wars with other clans, Azgeda in particular. Anya remembered an instance when she was a child, her father opening their home to a family from further north whose territory had been overrun by Azgedans and who had no warriors left capable of driving them off.

“You wish for the Commander to grant your people refugee status.”

“If it is possible, yes. I’ve been thinking about it the last few days, it seems the most logical way of avoiding bloodshed.”

It was not a bad idea, but not an easy one to accomplish either. Those who took refuge village to village we’re almost always from the same clan or from clans with an existing alliance. Occasionally Trikru would take in Shallow Valley or Broadleaf refugees if it was safer for them to flee to the east than to the west when the flood seasons came but the arrangement was long-standing and any disputes were settled by the Commander. It would be unlikely that the sky people would be accepted as refugees unless they agreed to bow before the Commander, the clans would not accept outsiders who did not answer to the same authority. When Lexa built the Coalition she made it so no clan could reap the benefits without bending the knee. It is what made the deadzone such an inhospitable yet heavily populated area.

“Your people would have to recognise the Commander’s authority, you would have to bow to her and follow her laws for it even to be an option.”

“And there we have a problem. Jaha is not going to go for that.” Jaha? But hadn’t they just been talking about the youths, the Delinquents, as Klark seemed to be calling them? Was Klark not their leader? Did she not have authority over them as she had been claiming?

“Jaha, that is your Chancellor?”

“Yes. Thelonious Jaha.” If Anya was not mistaken, Klark was being purposefully obtuse. Jaha’s authority was not required for the Delinquents to become refugees, only Klark’s. The leader in question was looking at Anya strangely, as though she was waiting for her to finish processing the information. Seconds later Anya realised what it was. If they took in the Delinquents as refugees, then they would no longer be under the authority of Skaikru and have no way of petitioning their chancellor or swaying their beliefs. If Skaikru were to be refugees on Earth, then all of Skaikru would have to be, not just these children who had been sent here to die. It must have shown on Anya’s face when she clicked to the reality of the situation because Klark was now giving her a resigned smile.

“Then we do have a problem.”

“There is no way we would be able to convince the Commander to give us the land? There is no inhabitable land that your people do not occupy?” Anya’s mind goes immediately to Maun-de. The area was technically in Trikru land but no villages were built in the territory the Maunon had carved out for themselves with acid fog and ripas. The thought gave her pause, there was no way she could knowingly send the Skaikru, invaders or not, into the grasp of the Maunon. They would perish, or worse, they could find more in common with the monsters, hiding in their cave with their fayagons and missiles and tek than they would with the people who lived above the surface. By sending these children, who had more reason to distrust the Trikru than they did to distrust the Maunon, into their land, she could be giving the Maunon an arsenal and an army capable of walking in the light. Better not to let them anywhere near each other.

“No, there is no land where your people would be safe. All our territory, all our land was hard won and will not be given away easily. Your people would have to find land beyond the known World, far to the west, if they do not want to have to bow to the Commander. I do not know if those lands are able to support life, or if they are, if they are not already occupied.” Klark was silent, considering her response to this carefully.

“If that is need the case, as soon as I am able to talk to the Ark, I’ll start trying to convince them to agree to becoming refugees. As long as you can convince your Commander to accept them.” Lexa would not be easily convinced, the skai people would need to prove their worth to the Coalition before Heda offered anything in return. Their medical knowledge, their tek and indeed, though Anya was not entirely convinced, their knowledge of the Old World would be of value.

“I will send a messenger to the Commander, he will tell her of this conversation as well as our agreement regarding the fates of Sharlot’s attackers and our man’s.”

“Your messengers must have good memories.”

“They are trained to, how else are we expected to communicate with all of our people?”

“On the Ark we have tech, radios that let us talk to one another from side of the Ark to the other in real time. I have people trying to repair the one we have at the Dropship. It was damaged.”

“I thought you said your people could tell if you had come to harm?” It had not been those exact words but that was what she had gathered from the conversation.

“They stuck us all with monitors, tech that sends information about our bodies, our temperature, how fast our heart is beating, if we are eating and drinking enough. The information is sent to screens in the Ark for them to read.”

“I see. How interesting.”

“You trust your messengers not to forget anything? Or to tell anyone something they shouldn’t?”

“They know that their lives will be short and painful should they break our trust. And anything truly confidential between Clan leaders is sent in a written letter so that only the leaders can read it.”

“Makes sense I-” Klark was interrupted by a call from outside the tent. Anya stood.

“Sha?”

“Wormana, Fisa Oro gaf chich yu en skayon op, em fig skaigada na wok op.”

“Mochof. Come Klark, Oro thinks that Sharlot may be waking up.” Klark rose to her feet then paused, hissing slightly and pressing a hand to her shoulder. Anya was impressed by the way she simply shook off the pain and strode out of the tent. She did not run to her seken as Anya had, perhaps because the girl was not yet fully awake. Perhaps it was because of her injuries. Anya wasn’t sure but there was something about Klark’s lack of urgency which itched at her.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Charlotte woke up crying, tears escaping her eyes before they had a chance to fully open. The girl’s whole body seized with each shuddering sob. It took her a few seconds for her mind to wake up, for her to consciousness to reconnect to her body. Then she began to scream. Maks and Clarke jumped to hold her still, Clarke speaking to her quickly, trying to calm her as she thrashed her head, eyes wide but unseeing. The three of them were alone in the tent, Clarke had gotten Oro to carry Tris to the healer’s own cot and had then shooed him and Anya into his sleeping room as well when it seemed Charlotte was indeed coming around. She had also had the presence of mind to have Maks strip down to only a plain cotton shirt and his trousers and cover his braids with a headscarf. With the youth’s face yet unmarked by tattoos, he could easily be mistaken as just another Delinquent in the Dropship. Clarke knew that Oro was itching to come to her aid but also knew that having a strange grounder looming over her was the last thing Charlotte needed. It took several minutes but eventually the girl calmed down enough for Clarke to get pain numbing elixir down her throat, talking to her gently the whole time, assuring her she was safe, that Clarke would protect her, that no one would hurt her any more, that she needed to stay still and try and relax. The elixir took effect quickly and sent the girl back to sleep. She would not be under for too long this time and when she wakes she should be nearly free of pain for a few hours. The elixir was strong but not recommended for continuous use. The girl would have to face her pain on her own eventually, but for now, while Clarke talked to her, explained their situation and assessed the extent to which the attack had harmed her mind, Charlotte would be given the mercy of the grounders strongest pain medication.

“Will she be okay?”

“I hope so.” Clarke could hear Anya comforting Tris, who had no doubt been awoken by the screaming, in the brief silence that followed Charlotte’s even briefer excursion to the land of the living. She clapped Maks on the shoulder, giving him what she hoped was a comforting smile. The lad was clearly shaken but he was the only person Clarke had seen in camp who wasn’t obviously a grounder at first glance. Oro stuck his head out from behind the flap, checking that the coast was clear before coming back into the tent looking very concerned.

“I checked her wounds this morning; she is healing quickly, same as you are. She should not still be in that amount of pain.” The healer moved closer, peering down at the wounds that he had redressed only a couple of hours prior. Clarke looked them over too, pleased to see no signs of infection and fresh skin already growing over some of the shallower cuts.

“I’m not sure how much of that scream was current pain and how much was residual pain and fear.”

“Residual pain?”

“Her mind is still remembering the pain she was in when she was last conscious, she hasn’t been awake enough for her brain to catch up to the rest of her. I want to be alone with her when she wakes up again, so that I can talk to her properly. She and Maks are too similar in age, if he were really from the Ark she would recognise him from school. I do not think she will thrash around so much this time.”

“I will have him stay in the other room with us. Try and get her to drink some water when she wakes again.” She had been planning on doing that anyway.

“Of course.” They all looked down as she let out a moan, Oro taking that as his cue to usher his seken into the sideroom where Anya and Tris were still talking quietly about them in hushed trigedasleng that Clarke was pretending not to understand.

“Clarke?” Her throat was hoarse and she coughed to get the word out. Clarke responded by lifting a cup of water to her lips and helping her to drink.

“Small sips, until your body gets used to it.” Charlotte obeyed, taking increasingly larger mouthfuls until the cup was empty.

“What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“I was in the room, with the lady… She was going to hurt me then she changed her mind... then she left. Someone came for her… I… I heard someone arguing outside. Then… then a thud, then people came in… I… I think… three of them… they hurt me. I remember it hurting. It hurt everywhere. They were touching me and hurting me and hitting me and they weren’t even asking me anything! I would have told them anything! But they weren’t asking me anything! I tried to do as I was told! I swear! But they just hurt me and kept hurting me and all I can remember was the pain. I’m sorry! I tried to do what they said! I promise! I’m sorry but it hurt so bad! It-” Seeing that Charlotte was getting herself worked up, Clarke placed a hand on an uninjured part of her shoulder and pressed her gently into the comfort of the bed. It would be no use to anyone if the girl freaked out.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. The men who attacked you were disobeying orders. Two of them are dead. The other will be soon. If you want you can have a hand in his execution.” After a few shuddering gasps of air Charlotte calmed again enough to ask what was going to happen now.

“The general of this camp, the lady you spoke to earlier, she and I have made an arrangement. You are too injured to move yet so we are going to stay here a while longer. They have sent messengers to the Dropship to tell the others what is happening.” Clarke continued telling Charlotte about her conversations with Anya after insisting that the general had had nothing to do with her attack. She wasn’t sure if Charlotte believed her or not but oh well, scepticism is healthy. She told her about Tris, who got hurt trying to protect her from those men, about Oro and Maks and how they were teaching Clarke about grounder medicine while she recovered from her own injuries. She showed the younger girl that her wound was healing, then, at Charlotte’s request, she went through each of the girl’s own injuries, explaining what had been done to fix them and how Charlotte could help to accelerate her healing. She also explained the less pleasant details of her recovery, including how she was expected to relieve herself while confined to the bed. All the while, Clarke watched and measured Charlotte’s reactions to different topics of conversation; how her breathing sped up whenever Clarke mentioned the room she had been held in or the events that lead to the creation of the injuries instead of just the injury or its healing. She barely reacted at all at mention of any of the grounders aside from her attackers, expressing an interest in meeting Tris and the healers to thank them in person.

“I will ask Maks to come in first, okay? Oro’s seken, he helped us heal you and he isn’t very scary.”

“I’m not scared.” Charlotte defended herself, though the tone and the look made her sound like a child on their first day of school, all shaking knees and false bravado, rather than the confident preteen Clarke had known briefly a few days prior.

“I know you’re not, but Oro is a big guy and can be pretty intimidating. I was scared the first time I saw him.” Clarke could have sworn she heard someone scoff from behind the curtain, but didn’t turn and look. “So is Maks okay? I warn you, he doesn’t speak English, only their warriors do, but he is very friendly okay?”

“Okay. Like I said, I’m not scared.” Clarke smiled indulgingly and nodded. She made a show of walking over to the curtain and looking around it before speaking, not wanting it to be too obvious to Charlotte that their entire conversation had been eavesdropped on by four grounders. Maks was very excited to be asked to come out first and Clarke had to physically stop him from rushing in and startling her. she slipped through the curtain and made a few adjustments to his dress, removing the headband so that Charlotte could see his braids and motioning for him to put his jacket and knife belt back on, though to leave the weapon itself on the bedside table.

Charlotte looked anxious as he approached, but not panicked. He smiled at her and waved and she waved back.

“Heya, ai laik Maks.”

“Hi, I, uh, like Charlotte?”

“Laik. La-ik.”

“I laik Charlotte?” He smiled wider and nodded,

“Sha, you bilaik Charlotte.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She turned back to Clarke, “can I meet Oro now? He speaks English right? He can translate?” Clarke hadn’t seen anything concerning in Charlotte’s responses to the barefaced grounder boy who had perched on the edge of Clarke’s cot, in fact quite the opposite, so she nodded and called out for Oro. The instant the healer stepped into the tent the atmosphere changed.

Every muscle in Charlotte’s body tensed and despite the damage to her limbs she immediately sat up straighter, scrambling back on the bed to put as much distance between herself and the man. Seeing this, Oro tried to leave the room again but Clarke stopped him. Instead, she put herself between the concerned healer and the hyperventilating Charlotte and forced the girl to look at her.

“Hey hey hey, easy easy, it’s okay, you’re okay. Deep breaths now darling. Deep breaths. Look at me. Breath in, and breathe out, another one, deep breath in, count to three and let it out. Good. Keep your eyes on me. You’re safe. No one here will hurt you. Now talk to me sweetheart, name three things, three things you can feel right now. Go on.”

“You-Your hands. The blank-blanket. The pillow.”

“Good, and two things you can hear.”

“Um… Your voice. And, and birds, I can hear birds outside.”

“Very good, and something you can see, what can you see?”

“You. I can see you.” Her voice and breathing grew steadier as Clarke held her, talking her through the panic attack. When she was confident that Charlotte had her breathing under control she moved slightly so that the girl could see past her to where Oro still stood near the tent flap. She stiffened slightly but did not freak out again.

“The man behind me is Oro, can you say his name?”

“O-Oro.”

“Good. He is a healer. He saved our lives. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He just wants to meet you.”

“I-I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t scared, I know I wasn’t scared. But if I wasn’t scared then why, why did I…”

“You experienced a very traumatic event, it is a perfectly natural response. I’m here for you okay? It won’t be easy but we will work through this together. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I- I have PTSD right? Like nightmares and flashbacks and panics attacks? That what this is right?” The condition was unfortunately relatively common on the Ark, mostly in those who had witnessed the floating of a loved one. It came as no surprise to Clarke that Charlotte knew about it.

“Yes, it is. But you’re strong. I know you can learn to control it.”

“You mean get better?”

“I mean control it. It might not ever go away entirely, but you will learn to manage the symptoms and be able to judge when an attack is coming on. I helped my mom with patients for years on the Ark, I can help you, I promise.” Clarke hoped that Charlotte would be able to control it properly, the girl was indeed strong and brave and Clarke still hoped that once her physical injuries had fully healed she would want to train as her seken.

Oro did not try to approach Charlotte again, instead gathering his medicine bag and leaving the tent to find himself some breakfast while Clarke talked to Charlotte about different methods for monitoring her panic attacks. They would simply have to wait and see exactly what it was that triggered them – Clarke guessed that the presence of any large male grounder would probably cause one until they were able to desensitise the girl to them. In their conversation the largest different Clarke noticed in Charlotte was in her personality. Not that Clarke had known her for very long, but the girl did not seem to be as stable as she was before the attack. She could speak with maturity about her wounds and about their situation as a whole but if the conversation turned towards the way Charlotte had comported herself in Clarke’s absence would turn the girl into an apologetic mess, practically turning back into a child again.

“Would you like to meet Tris now? She speaks English too.”

“Yes please.” Oro stood up and went behind the curtain, coming back with Tris cradled in his arms. The girls waved shyly at each other while Tris was laid on her own bed. Oro moved away, glad that with the distraction of Tris, Charlotte had not reacted badly to his proximity.

Clarke stepped back as well as the girls introduced themselves. Considering the average age of the Delinquents, the two grounder seken’s were likely the first people her own age that Charlotte had been around since before her arrest. It would be good for her to socialise.

Clarke stepped out of the hut, pulling her jacket tighter around her while she looked around. There was a log lying on its side along the length of the healer’s hut so she took a seat. The healing hut was an interesting construction; not exactly a hut but more permanent than a tent, with one and a half of its walls made of heavy canvas and two and a half a mismatched combination of wood and sheet metal and stone. The rest of the camp was similar, buildings ranging from full canvas interwoven with animal pelts to entirely concrete relics from before the bombs. Sitting there, taking in the fresh air and sunlight, Clarke ran over her current predicament in her head. She should get back to the Dropship. She didn’t trust that her allies there would be able to manage indefinitely and it had already been far longer than she was expecting to be away for. She had stayed, under the guise of caring for Charlotte, to learn more about the Grounders. That goal had now been achieved, at least as much as she felt it could here, with her limited freedom and limited interactions beyond the healers tent and those who worked there.

Her breakfast with Anya had filled in many gaps in the picture she had been painting of Grounder society, though Clarke doubted the general had any idea just how much information she had provided. Anya was an interesting character, for all her stony glares and blank masks it was surprisingly easy for Clarke to make her to talk. Clarke had not expected her to react so vehemently in response to the questioning of Anya’s authority in comparison of her Commander. She knew that the general had seen her reaction and Clarke found herself actually pleased that she had changed the direction of the conversation, hoping that the general would make things a little more challenging for her but Anya still gave freely plenty of information that she could not seem to see the immediate importance of. Did Anya not look beyond the immediate future or did she simply not care. If the latter, it made Anya even more interesting. A tactician, not a strategist, made for an odd choice of general. Perhaps the woman had some other connection to the Commander, something that would get her into her position beyond skill as a warrior. Then again, perhaps it was just Clarke who had this effect on Anya, she didn’t know. It wasn’t what was important right now. What mattered was deciding what to do next.

Charlotte was awake, she was talking but she was suffering from PTSD and reintroducing her to the world without her having panic attacks would take time and patience that Clarke honestly wasn’t sure she could be bothered providing, but she had built up an image of the caring mentor in the eyes of the grounders and in the eyes of Charlotte herself. So she had promised the girl that she would look after her, that she would help her heal and learn to manage her freak outs. It wasn’t as though Clarke was incapable of the task, therapy is a mandatory part of medic training on the Ark and Keenai’s darker side had forced her to be able to conceal all manner of tortured emotions, locking away things like fear and panic so deep within herself and later her MindEarth that she hardly registered them anymore. She had plenty of first hand tricks up her sleeve that she could teach her would-be seken. But that meant either staying here and leaving the Delinquents under the probably not-so-watchful eye of John Murphy, or taking Charlotte back to the Dropship before her body had a chance to heal. Neither option was optimal but though Clarke would prefer the latter, it would depend on Anya letting them leave. Putting Charlotte’s health at risk like that would put a bit of a dent in the image she was sculpting for herself.

She had briefly considered leaving Charlotte behind to heal physically (and play the role of Anya’s hostage) then worry about her mental health later but there was no way Clarke could leave her alone with the grounders without an extremely valid reason and there weren’t any that Clarke could think of that Anya would buy. The older woman may open up easily to Clarke but that didn’t mean Anya believed anything she was told in return. Clarke would have to find time to meditate after Charlotte goes back to sleep. Surely there would be an answer somewhere in all of Keenai’s lessons.

Clarke felt movement near her, so doing her best to not to react, she kept her eyes ahead of her as Anya sat down. Keenai’s seken had not been blind to the way that Anya reacted to her presence and she took great pleasure in it. There were a few others on the Ark who reacted similarly, her favourite teacher for example, at one time Clarke had thought that maybe they could sense her fos’ presence at her side. Here, in Keenai’s absence, Clarke was coming to accept that it was she herself who could make even war hardened generals shiver with a look.

“We did not finish our conversation over breakfast. You said you had questions, about my people.”

“I did.”

“Well? Are you going to ask them?” Clarke gave her a sideways smile.

“There is no need. You already answered them.”

“I did? When?” Clarke had been right, Anya had not realised just how much she was giving away. Luckily for the general, Clarke was growing bored of that game and the ease with which she was winning points, so she decided it was time to show her hand. She turned towards Anya, to look into her face as she listed everything she had learnt that morning. She had not learned anything more of the Mountain yet, but guessed that that would require a more direct approach.

“Your people number in the tens of thousands, living in twelve distinct clans each ruled by their own leader. The Clans are united in a Coalition under your Commander who I am going to assume was the one to create it. The Coalition is clearly a recent development if it is something that is only now beginning to be taught as history. You also have experienced several wars, I presume between the clans and mostly over borders and resources prior to the Coalition. I would guess that despite the Coalition those animosities between clans still exist. You do not use anything resembling what my people would consider modern technology, at least not in day to day life and not widespread. You do not have electricity nor do you have any means of long or short range communication. Judging by your reaction earlier I would guess that you also lack firearms and other such munitions. It is against human nature to have the power to destroy your enemies and then simply not use it, especially not for reasons as symbolic and fickle as honour, not when it could mean the difference between having ample hunting area or access to multiple water sources and having your people starve or thirst to death. You don’t have these weapons but I could tell by your face that you know what they are and what they can do. You do not interest yourself with knowledge of the Old World so that experience must be first hand, meaning that someone on Earth does have them and knows how to use them, which is something I would like to look into further at a later date.

“You scavenge old world materials, you hunt and gather a lot of your food but you definitely farm, there is no other way you would be able to sustain wheat production to serve bread to an army this size regularly. You don’t have running water in this camp but since you knew what I meant by it, it also must exist, I would guess some of your larger villages probably do. In terms of society your people are not entirely illiterate but it sounds like reading and writing is something only your leaders and I guess their heirs are taught, probably a few others too but as it is not vital for survival nor is learning about the old world a common past time I would guess few others bother to learn even if they have the opportunity. You also have very low regard for the people of the Old World who did not survive the bomb, I think you called it Praimfaya? Anyway, I can’t decide whether you think less of them because they died or if you disregard them because they are dead and you are too busy focusing on the living to dwell on those who are gone. You are not an unreasonable people and are familiar with the concept of refugees and likely even have protocols in place to help integrate them into the villages they end up in, starting with the refugees submitting to their new village’s leaders and laws.” Clarke watched with satisfaction which grew in parallel with the dawning horror on Anya’s face as she realised exactly how much she had revealed during their earlier conversation. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone how loose tongued you were and I doubt you will be so careless going forward, though I do certainly appreciate your openness.” Openness, Clarke was certain, was not a word one would ever associate with Anya. The younger blonde was content to sit in silence for a while so that Anya could process this new development.

It was a pleasant morning, if a little colder than Clarke was used, to so she sat there for almost an hour, watching people go about their business and listening to the unintelligible murmur of Charlotte getting to know her new friends. She was almost ready to check in with Anya, who still sat next to her deep in thought, when there was the sound of a scuffle followed by a shout from inside the tent, a high pitched squeal of terror. The noise knocked Anya back into awareness and she was only just slower than Clarke in rushing back into the tent. They were greeted by a very confused Tris and Maks moving quickly away from a clearly terrified Charlotte. When the latter saw them enter she yelled out again, scrambling back to keep as much distance between herself and the new arrivals as possible.

“Charlotte, what-“

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t do it! I SWEAR! I didn’t do anything! It’s not my fault! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, it just happened! Please believe me! Please don’t kill me! Please!” Clarke followed her gaze, expecting Charlotte to be addressing Anya in what was clearly a flashback or PTSD episode but found herself dumbfounded to realise that Charlotte’s eyes had not moved from her own face, it was her that Charlotte was pleading for her life to. “Please Clarke! I’m didn’t mean for it to happen! Please don’t kill me Clarke! Please…” the begging continued, Clarke unable to move or respond. Finally Anya stepped in,

“Chit don kom au? What happened?” Tris and Maks shared a look of confusion before the former swallowed and answered not with words but with a pointed finger. All eyes followed it to a flash of metal now half concealed in the furs of the bed. There, broken open and clearly nowhere near its owner’s arm, was Charlotte’s wristband.

Chapter 15: Days Old Information

Chapter Text

Tris and Maks shared a look of confusion before the former swallowed and answered not with words but with a pointed finger. All eyes followed it to a flash of metal now half concealed in the furs of the bed. There, broken open and clearly nowhere near its owner’s arm, was Charlotte’s wristband.

Anya rushed towards the bed in the same instant that Klark turned tail and strode back out the hut. Seconds later, through what must have been a most intense pain, Sharlot somehow manages to throw herself from the bed onto the floor at Anya’s feet, the general now becoming the focus of her pleas for her life.

“Please, please don’t let her kill me. I don’t want to die! I didn’t do it, they’ll tell you, I didn’t do it. It just happened, please don’t let her kill me. I’ll do whatever you say! I promise, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” Anya knelt and gentle wrapped her hands around the girl, lifting her from where she was prostrate before her and into a sitting position, fascinated by how the girl’s terror seemed to have overpowered her pain.

“Sharlot. Sharlot. Shhh…. You’re okay, you are okay. Please, let us put you back into the bed.” Oro helped Anya to lift her, the girl not putting up any resistance to being manipulated back onto the bed. She did not quiet down, so Anya had to take the other two sekens over to the other side of the tent hut to question them over the noise, while Oro administered a tonic to calm the girl.

“Tris, explain first, in english please.”

“She didn’t do anything Wormana, we just talking and silver ring just, it made noise like, like… a bee. Then open and fall off and she trip round.”

“Maks, chich don kom au?” The boy repeated the same story in trig and Anya knew it to be true as he did not understand gonasleng. The general walked back over to the now calmer girl and crouched beside her so she could look into her eyes. The sekens resumed their places perched on either side of her, Oro carrying over the still invalid Tris.

“Sharlot, why do you think Klark will kill you?”

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Clarke wasn’t entirely sure where she was, only that she was now surrounded by trees instead of within the walls of the camp. She was not alone, the moment she had strayed ‘too far’ from the tent a pair of guards appeared in the corner of her vision. She didn’t care. She needed to think and she couldn’t do that surrounded by the mix matched building and enquiring glances of the grounders. She didn’t have time to meditate into her MindEarth. She didn’t trust herself to stay aware in there and she didn’t trust the grounders to be around her unaware body.

If you want the Ark to think that you’re dead, then you’d better actually be dead! Is that understood?! If that’s really what you want then I’ll help you get the band off and take your whole arm with it.

Clarke’s own words echoed in her head as she paced back and forth in between the trees, studiously ignoring the pain in her still healing body. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How did I let myself get so distracted? When the hell did I actually start to care about her? About any of them? Do I care? I suppose I do. I mean, I have to, don’t I?Iif I want to lead them. If I want to reach this supposed destiny that Keenai keeps insisting I have. Keenai. Why isn’t he here? This was so much easier on the Ark! Without Keenai in my head I have let myself forget that these people are chess pieces, nothing more, nothing less. Charlotte is just a pawn, one I was perfectly willing to sacrifice a few days ago, so why didn’t I just do it? Why did I leave? I should have followed Anya into that hut, taken her sword and done what I said I would. I should not have hesitated. Why did I hesitate. Why d-?

Clarke’s step faltered, a new line of thought taking hold. Why do I need to? Charlotte is in no condition to remove her wristband herself. She is way too f*cking terrified of me to ask the others to do it for her. If she had no part to play in the crime then why do I need to find her guilty? I could leave her be. Accept whatever explanation she can offer and then pardon her. Why not? A sigh escaped her lips, she knew why not. Because regardless of her exact wording when she made the decree, she still made it.

Follow through. Power through threats can only be maintained if you demonstrate that you are willing to follow through. She doubted that Charlotte took off her own wristband. Why Tris or Maks would do it without prompting she had no idea, but the blonde knew the younger girl wouldn’t and currently couldn’t do it alone. Perhaps the attack had caused a malfunction? Or something was going on up on the Ark which had caused it to disengage. But then why or how was Clarke’s own wristband still securely in place? Clarke hated this, hated not having the answers, hated being on the ground where there was so much distance between herself and the answers and no communication other than messengers which took days and days to get anywhere when the situations changed so quickly. She shook away the thought, she couldn’t let herself be side tracked – she had a mission. She had to make a decision. The grounders respected strength – that much was obvious. She needed to be strong, strong enough to enforce her own laws, regardless of who was breaking them. As far as the Ark is concerned, Charlotte is now dead. By her own decree the girl had to die by Clarke’s hand. Anya would understand Clarke’s desire, her need, to carry out justice.

Steeling herself for what was to come, she marched back toward the healers hut where her would-have-been-seken had stopped screaming but could still be heard begging and crying and pleading with whoever was with her. It would be easier this way, Clarke realised, as the hut got nearer. Charlotte’s death meant she had no reason, aside from Anya’s current need for a hostage, not to return to the Dropship. There, she could know exactly what was happening and she could be sure her will was being obeyed. And because it would be by her own hand, she would not have to demand retribution she had no interest in from the grounders. Had they killed Charlotte in the attack, Clarke would have had to kill their man in response and peace would get nowhere.

By the time she was a few feet from the tent Clarke had not only resolved herself against the death to come but absolved herself of it, just as she had accepted and moved on from the loss of the Renegades. Stepping into the tent, she was forced to backtrack. Anya, or more, the point of Anya’s sword pricking her chest, guided her back out into the daylight she had been so enjoying less than a half hour earlier.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, you are not killing that child.” Great, Charlotte must have managed to explain things through her pathetic begging.

“I am not killing a child, I am executing a criminal who has broken my laws and you have no right to stop me.”

“I do not need the right, I have a sword and an army and I am saying no. You have not even heard her explanation.”

“I do not need an explanation. I promised death to anyone whose wristband was removed. You will not make me break that promise, you would need more than a sword or an army to do that.”

“How about chains and a cell then? Your wounds have clearly healed enough that you no longer need the constant presence of a healer and you cannot be trusted with the safety of the other patients.” The guards who had followed Clarke into the forest and back stepped up to each grasp one of her upper arms. Clarke considered the updated situation. Apparently Anya did not understand.

“Did Charlotte explain to you what the wristbands mean? That because of this, our people who remain in the sky now believe that Charlotte is dead?”

“She did, yes.”

“Did she explain, that the only way I would allow the Ark to consider her dead, is if she actually is?”

“Yes.”

“And did she explain, through all that crying, that I have already executed five renegades who doubted my sincerity? That two more wait imprisoned for me to return and carry out their sentences? Has she offered any explanation as to why she should be treated any differently to any of them?” Clarke could see a flicker of doubt in Anya’s face before the general was able to shut it down. All in all, Clarke was quite impressed with the way Anya was standing up to her, the older woman’s discomfort in Clarke’s presence barely noticeable. Still, she took a moment to compose her response.

“She did not remove the band, no one in there did. According to Sharlot, Tris, Maks and Oro it buzzed like an insect for a few seconds then simply fell open. Perhaps your tek malfunctioned, or perhaps your Ark decided they had no further use for her. Regardless, Sharlot is innocent and I cannot let you kill her for a crime she did not commit.”

“What would you have me do then? When we return to our people and they see that she has no band? That I have broken my word and allowed her to live?”

“Blame my people. Or her injuries. It had to be removed to save her life.”

“That sentence is oxymoronic.”

“Did you just call me a moron?”

“No, well, kinda, oxymoronic. It contradicts itself. I cannot sentence her to death to save her life. So you would have me break my word?”

“Why does it matter so much that your people in the sky do not think that you are dead?”

“Because if they doubt, even in the slightest, that the earth is not survivable, then they will look at alternatives to prolonging their lives, starting with culling innocent civilians who the council do not deem to be necessary or valuable. I thought we had covered this already.”

Anya met her eyes for a few moments.

“Can you not wait? You seem to believe that Sharlot did not do this. Can you not wait until you receive word from your people? Perhaps they have an explanation. Perhaps others were affected by this?” A reasonable request she supposed. But at the same time, it had been a long week and Clarke was having trouble thinking straight with all the possibilities and all the different options in front of her. She had made up her mind, she had thought she knew how this was going to play out but Anya had refused to follow the script and now she didn’t have time to step back and re-evaluate. Not with the general standing there with her stupid sword in her hand and her stupid logic and her stupid face. Clarke exploded.

“Do you plan on sending another messenger then!? So I can ask for an explanation? Or must we wait until the current one returns and then send other and repeat the process over and over for days old information on situations that change by the hour!?” Clarke wrenched her arms free and stepped away from the warriors. “How do you people do this!? Not knowing what is happening is driving me crazy. You’re asking me to make decisions without all the options! I can’t do this, not here, not now. I need more answers! I need to be where my people are.”

The general stayed calm throughout Clarke’s outburst, though inside she was taken aback by how different the blonde in front of her was the one she was having breakfast with that morning. Listening to the complaints, a solution began to form that would hopefully calm Clarke’s already terrible fury.

“Then we will go to where your people are. As soon as our messenger returns and I have slightly more updated information about the situation at your camp, we will go.” That made Clarke pause, physically taken aback by the proposal. After a lifetime of Keenai offering simple solutions to problems that would have her raging for days, the moment was all she needed to snap out of her emotion fuelled state and gather herself.

“Really?”

“Really. As long as you are comfortable leaving Sharlot behind in Oro’s care.”

“I am okay with that. Until I know more she’s basically Schrödinger’s cat anyway… don’t ask, I can’t be bothered explaining.” She waved off Anya’s confusion regarding her analogy in favour of processing this surprising change of events.

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“Hey Murphy, another Grounder is here. Says he needs to talk to you.” Murphy gave a sigh then nodded, not taking his eyes off the Delinquents he was overseeing. He hoped this message was something along the lines of ‘I’m coming back soon’. Frankly he had had enough of this responsibility lark. He had never faced anything like it before. Everyone wanted something from him and he had hardly had a minute to himself since Griffin had gone jaunting off in search of the Grounders. Several times he had been tempted just pass off his apparent leadership onto Blake, but something in him, call it his survival instinct, just wouldn’t let him risk disappointing the Princess. Pulling himself out of his self-pity he headed out to the gate to see what the Grounder wanted.

“You are Mofi?” The mounted messenger filled the entry to the Dropship camp. His immense horse making him almost as tall as the wall they had built and Murphy found that annoying responsible part of his brain note that he should get someone onto fixing that soon. Relaxing his shoulders and palming his dagger he met the massive man’s gaze.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“I have a message for you from Klarkgrifon. It is for your ears only.”

“We can talk over there; we stay in sight of my people though.”

“Very well.” The man dismounted, leaving his horse to follow Murphy over to a spot near the wall.

“What does Clarke say?”

“I am to inform you that she is alive and well. Sharlot is alive. She was injured in an accident. Your leader will not leave her alone in our camp. You are to cooperate with my people. You are still in charge. The Renegades she has not seen are to live for now. She will finish punishment when she returns. Daks must live and stay captive without question until her return. You are authorised to end the suffering of any punished renegades who still live.” He spoke in stilted, broken sentences that surely weren’t word for word what Clarke said. But Murphy knew the information must have come from the Princess. Her last instruction made him shiver a little. She expected him to kill any of the wounded Renegades that were still alive. More than that, the fact he had been given permission to kill them, as though the Princess expected him to want to kill them. Sure, the noise they made was annoying but he was an arsonist who did what it took to survive, not a murderer. He would kill them because he was ordered to, not because he had any desire to.

“Do you have a report for Klarkgrifon in return?”

“Um… yeah. Tell her that…” He struggled with the words to summarise everything that had happened in the last two days. “You will tell her exactly wat I say right? You won’t skip any bits out?”

“I will give your report as it is given.” Somewhere behind his stoic mask Murphy got the distinct impression that the grounder was offended by the insinuation that he would do anything other than his job.

“Uh, good… Tell her that we have been cooperating as much as possible but one of the grounders, dude named Baston, sent here with the healer, he attacked me, tried to kill me unprovoked so we had to take him into custody. We haven’t hurt him or anything, just ocked him up with the other prisoners. The healer seems decent enough, he said the injured guy Lincoln will live if you give him long enough to heal. Can’t move him yet though, so we’re kinda at a stalemate there... Uh... Sucks about Charlotte, hope she gets better. Everyone here is alright all things considered. The other grounders are camped outside, we only let the healer Niko or something or other and Baston inside. Monty’s close to figuring out the coms issue, I think, but he’s pretty out of his depth. Jaha Jr keeps shirking his duties. Um…” Murphy looked around, trying to think of anything else to tell Clarke. “They told us some really messed up sh*t about Mt Weather, sounds like we really dodged a bullet steering clear of it. Ask the grounders where you are about it, if they haven’t already said. Most of the Renegades are already pretty dead but I’ll finish them off for her.”

After a few prolonged moments of umming and uhhing the messenger interrupted his thoughts.

“Is that all?”

“I guess so. Make sure she gets it word for word.” He received a grunt and a nod in return before the messenger turned on his heel and stalked back to where his horse waited, exiting the camp with the other grounders on his tail.

Once the gate was closed again, Murphy realised he hadn’t thought to mention the changes they had made to the Dropship camp itself. Oh well. He waved the bunch of delinquents who had become his over to relay Griffin’s message.

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“They are invaders, their weapons are pathetic and there are less than 100 of them. even more, their leader is absent. Why does Wormana hesitate? Why can’t we just wipe them out and be done with it. It is what we have done in the past, whenever they have come crashing from the sky and burned our lands. What is different now?”

“This isn’t one or two outsiders being put down, this is 100 youths, some of them barely old enough to be sekens. You listened to their story, you’ve heard Anya’s message. They are refugee-”

“-Shof op Aila. Em bilaik veida. Yongon ou nou. Emo ste kwel, oso beda frag em op kom nau, fou em wo shil em op en emo homplei-.” (Shut up Aila. They are invaders, young or not. They are weak now, we should kill them now before they can protect themselves with walls and go and hunt)

“Homplei? You think they are capable of hunting? Enough to feed all of them? They spend all their time building those pitiful walls and failing to build huts. We do not need to kill them, the hunger will take them first and we will not risk injury. Wormana surely knows this, this is why she has us stay here.” Mora had been, of all of them, the most unimpressed by the sky people’s abilities. Aila looked between the others of her squad, listening to them express their displeasure over their new orders. Why Anya had to send this particular group on this particular mission together Aila had no idea.

“Why are we arguing. We have our orders and we have given the messenger our report.” Sala was Aila’s favourite among her peers, eager and young but a wicked shot and guided by a strict moral compass. He was the only other who did not seem to have taken personal offense to Anya’s orders.

“Orders to stand watch over invaders, to protect them from predators while they further destroy our forest. Orders to lead them to the river so they can collect water and find plants to eat. That is not the order given to a barricade, Mora, nor is it an order we should just stand here and accept, Sala. Aila is right; this is a protection detail for refugees.”

“Refugees in Trikru land come from Trikru land. Nowhere else. Not even with the Kongeda. We should be escorting them to the border, to another clan or to the dead zone.” The bloodthirsty Jin had fought beside Aila before and the woman knew him to be disgustingly prejudiced against any who did not have ‘pure’ Trikru blood in their veins.

“So what? You want to go against the Wormana? I agree with your opinion Jin and I have expressed the same concerns in my report but I will not betray my general.” Aila was honestly surprised by this, not the agreement with the xenophobic rhetoric but the refusal to disobey Anya’s orders. It had been no secret among the squad that Baston held no fealty to Anya, and as his ex-seken, she would have expected Kora to have the same lack of respect for the general. Guess I was wrong.

“I am not suggesting we disobey our orders, no. But I am suggesting we go about getting new ones. Do you really think Heda would agree with this? That she would let them set up camp here, like this? I have served with both Heda and Wormana for years in the wars against Azgeda. I know that wormana will likely be sending a messenger to Heda soon, she will want to update her on the situation.”

“It is treason to interfere with any message between Heda and her generals. You know this.”

“We will not interfere with Wormana’s message, we will just be adding one of our own. Wormana is not here. She will send a messenger to Heda before the one she sent here returns. I know she will. We will be providing the Commander with the most up to date information possible.” Jin could be persuasive, she would give him that. But Aila knew when lines had to be drawn and ground had to be stood. She shook her head and stepped back from the circle.

“No, I don’t like this. We have our orders and I will follow them. Twist the laws all you want Sala, I will have no part in this treason.”

“Then take no part Aila. Go and babysit your refugees and let the real warriors do what we believe is necessary. Rest assured Heda will hear nothing that is not true. These vermin should be stamped out immediately.”

“Yes, go, Aila. Leave us… and take Sala with you. I will not have him part of this either.”

“Sha Capin Kora.” Was the sarcastic drawl Aila left them with, dragging the protesting Sala towards the camp. Once again surprised, but also relieved that if Heda did not agree with Jin’s logic Sala would be spared any guilt of treason. Relief short lived, worry built in her gut as their plans of where to intercept the messenger faded into the trees behind her.

----////---/////-----////-----/////------

“Do you trust them?”

“Not as far as I can throw them, but the message definitely came from Griffin.”

“Well... do you trust the Princess?” That was the question wasn’t it, Clarke seemed to know what she was doing, and it wasn’t like she was here for him to question her. She wasn’t here and the situation was not what she thought it was. But still...

“I don’t think we have much of a choice. We’ll do what she says as much as we can. Monty has been working on a new theory to contact the Ark, dunno what it is yet but I guess we’ll find out, we can’t do too much about the Grounders here, we don’t have the weapons to drive them off and we don’t want to start something we can’t win.”

“And the Renegades? Are you going to, you know...?”

“Put them out of their misery?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. She said I could.” John Murphy was many things, an asshole, an arsonist, a reluctant leader, a survivor, but he wasn’t a murderer. But was it murder at this point? They were already basically dead, killing them now was a mercy above everything. And if he didn’t... Clarke, whether he trusted her or not, demanded obedience. She didn’t give a sh*t what they did as long as they followed her orders. She wasn’t here but she’d be back, he had no doubt about it. And if she came back to learn that he had disobeyed her... she probably wouldn’t kill him, maybe, but she wouldn’t let him get away without consequences either. He pictured his position of power, the first he’d ever held, being handed off to one of the others, Blake or McIntyre probably. It wasn’t a picture he enjoyed. Mentally shaking his head, Murphy dismissed the others, telling them to start digging graves for the Renegades.

He hadn’t asked for this, but for the first time since his dad died Murphy found that he actually cared what someone thought of him. He was afraid of Griffin, he had seen how she moved, how hard she could hit. He had seen the look in her eye when she laid down the law and he had seen the complete lack of hesitation for cutting off that first kid’s hand. No hesitation. No second guessing. No mercy. He tried to ignore how similar the mantra was to that of the Ark and Jaha’s version of justice, but when that failed he realised why they were so similar. It was about survival. He had no issues understanding that. It wasn’t just the exquisite thrill you get from causing someone terror and fear and pain. It was a necessity, because if you didn’t do it, if you didn’t enforce the laws that you believed in then someone would come and take your place. Someone willing to do what was necessary. Someone like Blake, Bellamy, a full grown man with guard experience and Griffin’s trust, or Octavia, scrappy as hell and worshiping the ground Clarke walked on. Someone like McIntyre with her high marks in Earth Skills and that f*cking axe Griffin seemed to like so much. He still didn’t know why he had been chosen. But if killing a couple of already mostly dead people was what it took to stay chosen, then that is what he would do.

-------//////-----//////---------///////--------/////////--------//////////---------///////////---------

The renegades died quietly. There was no grand audience summoned or a big speech made. Murphy didn’t enjoy the act but it wasn’t as hard as he had expected either. Mostly because he had commanded Jaha Jr to help bring the renegades due for death down from the prison cell and out into the trees beyond the wall where their mass grave had been dug next to their already decaying peers. They were not strong enough or conscious enough to fight the strap Murphy tightened around their necks, strangling them one at a time until the last body fell into the hole and dirt was thrown over the top of them. He didn’t have a very large audience, but he didn’t need one. Just as it had on the Ark, gossip spread quicker than wildfire around their camp and within the hour every Delinquent knew of the blood on his hands. There was a new respect and an added fear in the eyes of the 100 as he returned to his self-assigned duty of washing out the prison and tormenting the remaining four prisoners. The looks made him feel strange, not as pleasant as he had expected to. Murphy was even less comfortable with the look in the eyes and faces of the grounders who had watched the executions – probably making sure that it wasn’t any of their own he was disposing of.

He had no way of knowing the respect wasn’t due to the killing but to the burying of the bodies. He didn’t know that, in the eyes of the grounders, he had just damned the souls of the Renegades to wander this life forever, never moving onto the next. He just knew that something in the air had changed.

-------//////-----//////---------///////--------/////////--------//////////---------///////////---------

Jin smiled to himself then, catching her eye, smirked at Aila. Of everyone to call themselves a member of Heda’s Kongeda, the commander herself was the most invested in the beliefs of their people. In the belief that no matter what someone did in this life, they deserved the chance to go on and do better in the next. Even renegades and thieves deserved a pyre; deserved a prayer. Here was yet more proof that these invaders should be met with blades not kindness. The lack of respect the branwada showed for life only grew and Jin looked forward to giving Heda the insight she would need to make the right decision. He had no doubts she would understand their concerns, especially not with this latest development. Perhaps even the traitors Aila and Nyko would come crawling back to them.

-------//////-----//////---------///////--------/////////--------//////////---------///////////---------

The commander’s messengers, those trusted individuals attached to each unit of the army and to each major town for the soul purpose of carrying messages to and from the commander, were protected by some of the toughest laws in the coalition. Attacking one was paramount to harming a member of the Order of the Flame. As such, their routes were not kept secret nor did they have to change the paths they took. If you knew the roads and you knew when a messenger had been sent from point A to point B then it was only a matter of timing as to whether or not you could cross paths with one. So as it stands, it was about as easy to intercept the messenger as Kora had expected.

It was far easier than anticipated though, to convince them to carry a second message. Usually Heda’s messengers were bound to travel between a commanding officer and the commander, wherein lay the risk at interrupting their journey. Unless you presented the commanders seal they would usually ride on past, or strike you down where you stood blocking their way. This one however, seemed to be almost eager to carry a second, more updated report with them. Jin had done all the talking, and whether it was his silver tongue or the wormana’s sigil he carried, he had been successful.

Onwards toward Polis the messenger rode, carrying two very different messages for their commander who eagerly awaited their news.