Chapter One - As Fate Would Have It
The chains around Clarke's wrists were heavy and cold as she was lead towards her doom, a guard on either side of her holding her arms. She stared down at her feet, her once bright eyes dull and cold, making her look like the broken girl she was. Tears slipped down her cheeks, whether from sadness or anger she wasn't sure. It could've been sadness, she had just seen her own father hanged despite his innocence. Or it could've been anger, the kind of anger that sends moisture from your eyes and hatred from your heart.
Clarke Griffin did not have few things to be angry about. No, she could build a mountain of words that reached past the sky, all words of her anger, and still she would have more things to add. She was angry at the sheriff for the lies he had told, she was angry at her mother for her casualness as her only daughter was dragged away and her husband was killed. She was angry at the king for allowing such things to happen, at Wells for breaking her trust, and she was angry at so many other people for so many other things that she thought she might burst from the emotion she held within her that seemed to swell the more she thought of it.
Clarke Griffin was a broken girl, with broken eyes and a broken heart. And now, as she stood in between two guards before a jail cell that was being unlocked for her, she felt nothing.
"Like father, like daughter I suppose, " one of the guards said, not bothering to keep his voice down as he removed the chains binding Clarke's wrists and pushed her into her cell, "but I would've thought that a girl who has lost so much due to recklessness would know to keep her mouth shut and her hands busy.".
Clarke glared at the man, mustering up all the anger and hatred she could as she grabbed the rusty metal bars of her cell and leaned as far forward as she could without her face touching the metal. "And I would've thought that a man who has pledged his life to doing good by both the people and their king would care to know an innocent man from a guilty one," she hissed, her eyes cold and emotionless despite her features being marred by anger, "but I suppose that's just the way things work. It doesn't matter who did or didn't commit the crime, in the end, you just want someone to hang".
"You're mad," the guard replied, "better for everyone that you're next.". The guards turned and started walking towards the door, and as they went, Clarke couldn't keep herself from replying.
"I'm not mad," she began, knowing that she'd gained their attention even though they never slowed their pace, "I'm a fatherless daughter with wretched excuse for a mother who's insane with rage and grief." No one replied, but as Clarke heard the door closing and being re-locked, she decided that she was more angry than she was sad.
"So what'd they get you for?" a new voice asked. Clarke jumped slightly, turning her head to the cell beside her. She was sitting on the stone floor, she'd been sitting there for quite some time and not a single person had spoken to her. Though, there was a boy with dark hair, gentle eyes, and a skin tone she'd never seen before who'd offered her an understanding smile.
"Treason, I believe." she huffed, rolling her eyes a bit.
"Ouch, I figured you just assaulted a guard or something." the girl replied.
"I die in the morning according to the laws of the king." Clarke said.
"Well we're all waiting for death." the girl responded. She moved into the light, so Clarke could see her properly. She had long, dark brown hair and striking blue eyes. All in all, she was gorgeous, and so tiny, and Clarke wondered what she could've possibly done to end up here. She continued, "I'm waiting for my trial, but they're going to kill me anyways so I don't really see the point.".
Clarke crawled over to the bars separating her cell from the girl, peering through them to look at her. "What's your name?" she asked.
The girl hesitated before answering, "Octavia, what about you?".
"Clarke." she replied curtly. This girl seemed nice enough, but Clarke didn't want to give her life story to a complete stranger, a prisoner none the less.
"Well Clarke," Octavia said, her voice slightly appraising, "you sure gave that jerk a piece of your mind. I think you may have scared a few people though, talking the way you did. God knows they should be scared anyways, maybe we all should be if we're cursed to eternal damnation like everyone seems to think.".
Clarke rolled her eyes, "A bit dramatic don't you think?". Octavia smiled slightly.
"That's what my brother always says." she replied, her eyes softening a bit before returning to their previous distrusting mask.
Before Clarke could say anything further, someone else spoke from across the room. "You shouldn't talk about him like he's here," they said, their tone sharp, "like you said, we're all waiting for death, and he's not very likely to be better off.".
Octavia's eyes flared with anger, "Just because you're bitter and hopeless, doesn't mean the rest of us have to be, Raven.".
"Ya? Well I got arrested, and got Finn arrested in the process," Raven growled, a warning in her voice clearly telling Octavia and anyone else listening to back off, "I have every right to be bitter, and I lost hope a long time ago.". Octavia didn't say anything, and neither did anyone else. No one spoke at all, and all Clarke could hear in the silence was the pitter patter of tiny rodents feet on the stone floor.
Clarke tensed when the sound of keys jingling in the lock of the door met her ears, but didn't open her eyes. She heard the door unlock, and then open, before the sound of soft footsteps filled the room; the sound of a hunter's footsteps.
She chanced opening her eyes, trusting the darkness of night to conceal the fact that she was awake. Walking towards her cell was a tall man in a guard's uniform that looked a bit small on him. She could feel fear coursing through her as she strained her eyes to see the man's face through the darkness of her cell. She heard the gate to her cell being unlocked, and then there was a hand gripping her bicep, pulling her up and dragging her out of her cell.
"What are you doing," Clarke demanded, sudden panic searing into her, "I'm not due till morning!".
"What are you talking about? Where's Octavia?" the man whispered. Clarke gaped for a moment, not believing what she'd just heard. Then, realization kicked in.
"You must be her brother," she murmured, "you got the wrong cell, hers is right next to mine.". Without speaking another word, the man turned to Octavia's cell and unlocked it.
"Bellamy! You came!" Octavia exclaimed, keeping her voice down as she wrapped her brother in a bone-crushing hug. Apparently she'd woken up when Bellamy opened her cell, or she'd been awake the whole time, too uncertain to let it be known that she wasn't asleep.
"Of course I came. Now come on, we have to get out of here before the guards realize what's happened." he hissed back, releasing his sister and pulling on her arm as he headed back for the door.
"Bellamy, wait! We can't just leave everyone else here to die! You have to let them out, they can come with us!" Octavia pleaded, not moving an inch. Bellamy faced Octavia, looking down at her with fire in his brown eyes. Octavia looked up at him with equal fervor, a stubborn look on her face.
Bellamy huffed out a sigh after a moment, before releasing his sister's arm and turning towards the rest of the dungeon, making his way to each cell until every last prisoner was free.
"Where are we supposed to go?" Clarke asked.
A grin overtook Bellamy's face and his eyes seemed to lighten. "The forest." he replied simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
Perhaps, if there were fewer people making their way down the spiral of cold, stone steps, they would've been able to move faster than they were. Thinking of that, Clarke could understand Bellamy's unwillingness to bring anyone else along. They needed to move quickly and silently if they were to make it out alive, which was admittedly difficult with twenty-something people at your back.
"How can you expect us to just follow you blindly into the wilderness?" someone asked, their voice hushed even though it echoed slightly through the stone corridors.
"I don't," Bellamy replied, "but I do expect that you want out of this prison, and I'm fairly certain no one here would survive in the forest without my help.". He stopped walking momentarily to pull a torch from it's place on the wall. "So no, I don't expect you to follow me. But I know you will, even if you don't want to." he continued before taking off again.
It had really only been a matter of time before they ran into someone; that someone being a very much armed guard. The man opened his mouth to call for help, but before he could get out so much as one syllable, Bellamy had handed Octavia his torch and grabbed the man. He flipped him around and covered his mouth with one hand, keeping his hands behind his back with the other.
"This is what we're going to do," Bellamy growled, "you're not going to call for your friends, in fact, you're not going to say anything, is that clear?". The guard nodded quickly, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping slowly down his brow. "Now I'm going to take my hand off your mouth and if you scream, I'll slit your throat. Sound good? Good.".
Clarke could feel a nervous sort of panic rising up in her chest, the second time that night, as Bellamy lowered his hand from the man's mouth and to the hilt of his knife at the belt around his waist. The man didn't make a sound though, and Clarke couldn't say she was surprised. Bellamy hadn't exactly been vague when he told him what would happen if he chose not to remain silent.
Bellamy brought his knife up to the man's neck and pressed the sharp side of the blade against his throat. "W-what are you doing, releasing all these prisoners?" the man stuttered, gulping when Bellamy pressed the knife a bit harder against his throat, sending a trickle of blood down his neck.
"I'm releasing them, simple as that. I guess I wasn't obvious enough." Bellamy snapped back sarcastically, keeping his voice down. The man opened his mouth to speak again, at least that's what Clarke figured he was going to do before Bellamy cut him off with another press of his knife.
"I thought we agreed on no talking." he hissed. The man didn't reply, but his breath hitched in his throat as Bellamy shifted the knife.
"How do you know he won't send someone after us when you release him?" Clarke asked, stepping forward out of the large crowd of people.
Bellamy looked at her, meeting her gaze with his own. "Who said anything about releasing him?" he replied, raising an eyebrow in an almost challenging way.