So, this is my first story on here. I was super heavily inspired by the writing of another 100 fanfic on here - bonus points to you if you figure out which one. More background and history on the world as well as more characters will come in to play in the next few chapters, plus the slowest of slow burn Bellarke story line.
Enjoy! I'd appreciate any and all feedback!
Chapter 1: The Apple
It started out as quite a warm day, the bold blue sky with rare white clouds gave the promise of a perfect summer afternoon to the citizens of Arka. As Clarke walked down the path that wound through their front garden, her arm linked with her father's, her eyes travelling lazily but happily over the beds of neatly planted, brightly coloured flowers and shrubs, she breathed in deeply. The heady scent of jasmine and fresh air filled her with energy and appreciation for the nature that surrounded them. Vivid green trees towered next the stone wall of the garden, blocking it and the house from the prying eyes of any fellow Arkians who happened to be walking by. The house itself stood proud and strong at the far end of the path. It was made from bricks, actual bricks of various red hues which had been salvaged from buildings that were built before the bombs and repurposed by their ancestors when they had first come to the ground. Dark green vines were running up one side of it, weaving around the white framed windows, reaching for the sun as they slowly devoured the walls they crept along. Clarke had always loved the vines, she thought they completed the house, giving it a character, a history. Her mother had suggested several times they cut them down, that it was quite unbecoming of a council member to allow their house to be overrun by such a wild and messy plant, but her father appeared to see what Clarke saw, and told his wife to leave them as they were. He had said "Their only crime is trying to survive, Abby. Why should we kill them just for that?". Abby always pursed her lips slightly and looked at him with her head tilted to one side, but she also always acquiesced to his wishes and the vines stayed put. It was quite a large house, especially by Arka standards, standing two stories high with a porch extending out the front and around one side. Brick steps lead up to the large wooden double doors adorned with a delicately patterned but striking knocker in the shape of an owl. And through those dark and curvy doors, in that proud and beautiful house, for 19 happy years, Clarke had known home.
That morning, she and her father were walking away from their home, down the path and through the imposing iron gates, on to the streets of Arka. They strolled at a leisurely pace, neither having work that day and knowing that they had hours to waste walking along the cobbled stone paths and glancing around them at the community they belonged to. Their street was in the nicer area of the city, reserved mainly for council members and filled with impressive, sometimes even luxurious houses that were built by the original citizens of Arka who had come down from space over a hundred and fifty years before. The residents made sure to keep the area nicely maintained, with precisely trimmed hedges, clean pathways and freshly painted house numbers by the gates. As they walked, they passed a few of their neighbors, smiling warmly and exchanging pleasantries about the weather, upcoming plans for the summer and, with the last neighbour they encountered, the correct way to grow a lavender plant. Clarke mostly kept quiet and let her father do the talking, Jacob Griffin was nothing if not charming. She could instantly tell that Miss. Sydney's poor plants were being drowned by her constant watering efforts and would probably greatly improve if she merely left them alone. But Clarke had always thought Diana Sydney was a raving bitch, so she smiled and kept her mask of polite attentiveness in place while her dad shrugged apologetically at the elder blonde woman and guided Clarke further down the street. Once they had turned off from their street and crossed a small dirt and stone road, they stepped on to the path of the little park that would lead them in the direction of the city centre, her dad chuckled lightly to himself. She turned to look at him inquisitively as they kept walking, arm in arm through the park.
"What is it?" She asked, "What's funny?". He smiled broadly and shook his head a little, keeping his gaze forward.
"Many years ago, back in her early days on the council, your mother got into a fair number of arguments with Miss. Sydney. They had different perspectives on how the city should run, how it should treat its people. Anyway, they were always getting into it, interrupting meetings with their heated discussion." He paused, still not looking at her but still grinning.
"Why is that funny?" Clarke asked him, not really surprised that her mother would have fought Diana, but not quite understanding why that was so amusing.
"She came home from work day and she was so angry and riled up, your mother that is. She was ranting at me so fast I almost couldn't keep up, Diana had done something unforgivable again, something to do with the medical orderlies and their schedules. Abby was livid, she paced around the front room and refused to sit and calm down. She eventually stormed into the kitchen and came out again ten minutes later with a glass of wine and a smile on her face." Clarke was more confused than ever at this point but looked on at her father, knowing he was not yet finished with the story.
"I asked her if she was alright and she seemed almost giddy when she replied happily that she was absolutely fine. I pressed her a little, we both know your mother and there's not much that can snap her out of her anger that fast. She looked at me, still giddy and smiling, and said 'One day, Diana Sydney is going to push me too far, and I'm going to snap. And when I do, I've decided that I'm going to get petty and personal with my revenge. I've just figured out the first step I'll take. I'm going to pour vinegar all over that damn harpy's precious garden and watch her weep as her pretty, perfect, council approved flowers wither and die.' And then she sipped her wine, and started reading a book, as if nothing had happened!" He was laughing now, his eyes watching Clarke's face as she tried to understand, this didn't sound like the mother she knew, and it still didn't sound that funny...
"Maybe this is it!" He began to explain, "Maybe the lavender plant is step one, maybe your mother has finally snapped!"
Clarke laughed then, and properly laughed. Loosening her grip on his arm and bending slightly at the waist as she struggled for breath, she took in the implication of his words. They both knew that she would never actually do such a thing, but the thought alone of upright citizen and prominent council member Abigail Griffin sneaking into her neighbours yard at night to poison her plants had them almost snorting with laughter. As their laughter eased off and their breaths returned to them more evenly, Clarke looked again at her father. The subtle shadows from the trees danced across his face and his eyes were moist and glistening from the exertion of laughing. She loved to see him this happy, loved the time they spent together on their days off. Clarke had always been a daddy's girl, Abby was a kind, loving mother, and they had a great relationship, but Jacob treated her like his little princess and she looked at him like he hung the moon. He encouraged her to do all the things she loved to do, made her take all the opportunities she was offered, so that she could have a life filled with experiences. She had met people from all over the city, from all different types of professions. He read her all sorts of books, took her to the lab where he worked and gladly let her help with his research. She cherished these memories and enjoyed working with her father very much, and he had supported her wholeheartedly when she had chosen to specialise in medicine like her mother when she reached the higher levels of her studies. She had learned that she derived joy from working with her hands, as well as her mind.
They were coming to the end of the park now, nearing the next set of streets that would lead them to the days destination, the market. She released her fathers arm and dug around in the satchel that was slung over her shoulder and rested on her hip. She pulled out a leather bound journal and carefully unwrapped it, turning to one of the later pages and studied the images and words carefully. After a minute or two she closed the journal and tucked it back into her bag.
"There's a few plants and herbs I want to pick up at the market today. Do you think we could stop by Hannah's stall first? She's been running out of Lemon Balm by noon most days." She asked as they stepped out of the park and rounded the corner on to another residential street.
"Making some more of your potions?" The corners of his mouth tugged upwards, hinting at a smile.
"They're not potions!" She said shortly, her face serious for a moment before she caught sight of his widening grin, "You know this dad, I know you know this, you just enjoy making fun of me." She sighed as she once again took his arm and they fell into step with one another.
"I'm sorry Princess, I know it's important to you, and it's a good thing you're doing." His face still held his grin as he turned to her, "But I will never forget the image of you standing over that pot as your latest concoction bubbled all over the floor on to your mothers prized rug. The look on your face! You were mortified!" He chuckled then, eliciting a smile and then a wince from Clarke as she recalled the memory, and the serious lecture from her mother that followed it.
"Okay," she muttered, "I can see how to you, that might have been a little funny. But it wasn't to me! And this isn't funny to me either dad. There are so many ways we could be using these plants to help people, help the poorer people of the city who can't afford the expensive medicine they sell or ration at the hospital. The plants and herbs we have access to could solve a myriad of the ailments people face every day, but no one knows how to use them. Only the medical staff and students have access to these books, and they don't care much about finding a way to help the poor if it doesn't help them." Jacob looked over at his daughter as she spoke. Her jaw was set, her shoulders were back and he could see that her eyes were burning fiercely, even though she was still staring straight ahead. She believed in what she was saying, she really just wanted to help people.
"Take the Lemon Balm for example." She continued, "Hannah has been selling out because people use the leaves for the bug bites that accompany the first weeks of summer. And it works well for that, just by rubbing it on the skin. But these books, they say that the plant can do so much more. If I can figure out how to extract the nectar, and what dosages to give, it could provide an effective remedy for fever, headaches, coughs, colds and insomnia! A sleeping pill from the hospital could cost a farm worker half his weeks rations, and there is a way they could help themselves with a plant they already have at home. But no one knows about it!" She sighed again, her shoulders drooped slightly as some invisible pressure seemed to settle upon them.
"I just need to practice." Her voice was quieter now, she sounded almost defeated. "I just need to help them."
Her father placed his hand on top of hers where it rested on his forearm. He gave it a gentle squeeze and pulled her a little closer to him as they rounded another corner. He knew how this conversation went, they had had it before. This was his Clarke. His wonderful, brave, inspired daughter who just wanted to help people. Although she had never been to the worst parts of the city, she had interacted with people from every level of the social hierarchy. Her work at the hospital as an apprentice to her mother had made sure of that. It had also made sure she knew that the hierarchy was cruel and unforgiving to those at the bottom. Too many times she had seen patients go with the treatment or medicine they needed because they were not deemed useful enough in society to warrant it. They apparently didn't warrant much according to the council. A lack of clean water, poor housing conditions, over work, malnutrition and sometimes even a basic lack of hygiene meant Clarke saw more of the lower classes at her job than she ever did of those the council thought worthy of these basic human rights. She had treated too many thin, dirty children who had gone days without a meal. Her heart cried out for them as she snuck them whatever food she could find, wishing she could do more but knowing the punishment for 're-allocating' rations. She never actually cried in front of them, even the first time it had happened when she was only nine or ten herself, accompanying her mother at work for the day. She had tried to keep her face strong as a young boy about her age sat shivering on the table in the exam room. While her mother had expertly and emotionlessly examined the boy, Clarke had noticed the way the bones in his arms and neck were almost pushed through the skin by starvation. She stared openly as she took in the sight, her young mind not fully comprehending what it meant, or how it could happen. She couldn't really see his face, his dark hair was in the way and dirt caked his features, but she saw his eyes dart momentarily to the granola bar she had sticking out of her pocket. When her mother stepped outside for a moment to find a nurse, Clarke slowly and silently approached the boy. She reached into her pocket and drew out the granola bar, quickly shoving it into his hands. His eyes widened, although they did not look up to meet hers. A noise outside the door signalled the return of her mother and the boy hurriedly shoved the food into the deep pockets of his ragged trousers. He hissed at her, and she moved back suddenly as the door opened. Her mother didn't seem to notice anything strange between the two children and started to explain to the boy that he had the flu. Clarke never saw the boy again. She never asked her mother about him either. Something about the bones pushing out of the boys skin had rattled her, and she didn't know what to think. She was too scared to ask her mother, who had seemed so unfazed at the time. Of course, now she knew why that was. Her mother saw that kind of thing every day, and she could do nothing. She was on the god damn council and she still couldn't do anything. She had tried, several times, although never successfully, to implement health initiative programs in the poorer areas of the city. The council always found a way to shut them down, or cut the funding, or just outright decline the propositions. For the third time that day, Clarke sighed.
Finally, Jacob spoke. "I know you want to help Clarke, we both do, and your mother. All we can do is try our best to be good people as often as we can. We help who we can help today. And we hope we can do more for them tomorrow."
He squeezed her arm again and let go of it as they veered on to the last street before the market. It was less extravagant than the one she lived on. The houses were less impressive in size and appearance, fewer flowers graced the smaller gardens and the cobbled ground was bumpier underfoot. It was still a perfectly respectable place to live, and many professional couples who worked in the more coveted jobs were allocated these homes by the council. She looked around ruefully. I wonder if I'll end up living here. Her experience and training at the hospital meant that she would most likely end up becoming a doctor. And being a doctor with the Griffin name was likely to land her a nice house, when she eventually married. Only married couples were allocated nice houses like these. As if sensing her discomfort at her own thoughts, her father spoke again,
"Come on Clarke, it's Sunday, it's market day! Try not to let your worries put you in a bad mood." He tugged gently at her sleeve as they finally approached the end of the street and could see the large open square across from them, dotted with stalls that were laden with merchandise and already filling up with people. Voices echoed through the crowd as merchants shouted about their wares and customers argued vehemently over prices. Rich and intoxicating smells made their way to Clarke's nose and she inhaled deeply. Jacob opened his arms wide and gestured to the scene before them. "On market day, anything is possible! Now let's go get you those Lemons you want!" She smiled, a small but genuine tug at her lips.
"It's Lemon Balm dad...it's a plant, I'm not looking for the fruit. But you are right, it's market day, and I won't let anything spoil market day!" She straightened up and walked purposefully across the street. As soon as she was in the square and her father had caught up to her, she turned left and guided him through the maze of noise and colour towards her favourite stall. Hannah Green's stall sold the largest variety of plants and herbs in Arka. It helped, of course, that her husband worked on the farms and had access to the local vegetation. Clarke smiled as she approached the beautiful yet undeniably motherly figure standing behind the tables covered with all types of flora and fauna. She grimaced a little at the recollection that Hannah was a mother, Clarke remembered her sometimes mentioning her son (whose name she could not recall), who had gotten in to some trouble and disappeared just over a year ago. She's such a lovely woman, she was probably born to be a mother, she was probably great at it. She must miss him so much. Why did he disappear? Clarke thought sadly to herself as she pushed the smile back on to her face.
"Mrs. Green!" She called out, pushing herself past several shoulders to stand in front of Mrs. Green who looked up and beamed brightly as she saw the familiar blonde girl approach her.
"Clarke! My dear, how are you? It's so good to see you again!" She leant over the table and took Clarke's hand in both of hers, giving them a gentle squeeze before she let go and gestured at the table before her. "Are you looking for anything in particular today?"
Clarke's expressioncouldn't help but mirror that of the woman before her, their smiles spreading wide and blue and brown eyes gleaming with genuine pleasure at the friendly greeting. The younger girl's face, however, did not hold the pain that was trying to mask itself on Hannah's face, always present but always repressed. Her son. Clarke thought. Why wouldn't there be pain? She could not know how it felt to lose a child the way Hannah had, to not know where they were or if they were okay. She mentally gave herself a little shake. Market day. No worries allowed on market day.
"I'm doing well Hannah, thank you for asking. How about yourself? You seem to have a lot in stock today, I'm glad I got here early!" Her eyes wandered over the plants and her slender fingers hovered gently over a few as she tried to recall their names. In the background she could hear Mrs. Green telling her that she was well and that her husband had made several extra trips in to the woods to ensure they were well stocked for market.
"He scratched his leg up pretty badly, fell over some tree root he didn't see. Always in a rush that man, never looks where he's going!" Mrs. Green smiled as she recalled her husband, and Clarke smiled at the love for him that was so clearly written on the woman's face. "Now did you say you were looking for something?"
Clarke felt she may have in fact gone a little overboard as she handed Mrs. Green a handful of gold and silver coins. She had taken almost half of the Lemon Balm Hannah had in stock, as well as some Aloe plants, several handfuls of Tea Tree, Comfrey and Thyme and a small amount of Milk Thistle. That should be more than enough for her to keep herself busy that week, and possibly the week after as well! She gathered up the parcels containing her purchases, thanked Hannah and handed her an extra coin before turning to find her father engaged in an intense debate with a merchant a few stalls away. She walked to join him and heard the tail end of the conversation as she got close.
"Oh but Mr. Griffin, does one really need a reason to spoil the ladies in his life?" The vendor said with a playful grin as he spotted Clarke approaching behind her father. Everyone in Arka knew the Griffin family, with Abby holding such a prominent seat on the council and Jake being such a nice and friendly man, always happy and eager to talk to anyone who had the time for him. Most of the stall vendors had known Clarke since she was a young girl, and they could all see her father absolutely doted on her. Jacob followed the mans gaze and he noticed Clarke behind him.
"Well..." He said slowly, holding up two pieces of dyed cloth for her to inspect, "What do you think? Scarves! I was thinking the blue for your mother and the pink for you!" He grinned up at her, looking genuinely pleased with his finds. Clarke looked into his sparkling blue eyes and thought of how much her father loved to dote on her, she really didn't need another scarf, but he looked so excited at the idea. She lightly fingered the soft cotton material and felt herself smiling as she observed the horrifically bright and childish colour her father had picked for her. Her eyes skimmed over the other offerings at the stall and she picked up another scarf the colour of the dark forest leaves that adorned the trees surrounding the city walls, turning slightly to show her father.
"They're lovely dad, and I know mother would love that blue one you've chosen. But perhaps...perhaps I'm a little old for the pink? How about this green one instead, would you mind?" She blushed a little as the vendor watched this exchange, his grin only broadening as he realised he had made the sale.
"Of course my darling! That green would look lovely on you. Although..." His eyes glanced back to the pink scarf and then looked towards his daughter, "you'll always be my little princess who loved all things pink!" He dropped her a wink then turned to pay the vendor, who had wrapped the scarves and handed them to Jacob along with his thanks for their custom. Father and daughter laughed lightly as they made their way further into the market. They visited a few more stalls and Jacob got in to more than one conversation with passing acquaintances. Just after mid-day they headed for the centre of the market where a quaint café served drinks and light snacks to those who could afford them. They took a seat and Clarke ordered a tea and some little cakes and an apple while her father opted for coffee and a sandwich. While they were waiting for their food they gazed around them at the throng of people, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Clarke's mind wondered to the plants she had bought earlier and the remedies she would make from them. Maybe if I'm successful I could show Hannah how to make them, and she could show her friends. But Clarke knew that the city needed more than a farmers wife and a young girl and their silly 'potions'. They needed education, opportunities and equality, and Clarke could not give them all that. The food arrived and Clarke was snapped from her thoughts by the sound of the plate hitting the table in front of her. She and her father talked as they ate, a little about his work at the research centre and some about her recent escapades at the hospital. Jacob's gaze drifted over his daughters shoulders slightly then focused back on to her.
"And what about your friends? It sounds like you're working hard but have you had the chance to see Wells or anyone recently?" Clarke shifted a little uncomfortably in her seat at the question. It wasn't like she didn't see her friends, but she didn't see them as much as she should. She was just so busy at the hospital and working with her plants.
"I've just been busy dad, but there is that fundraiser for the medical centre in a few weeks, I'm sure I'll see Wells then!" Her eyes fell down to her lap where her fingers played nervously with each other and she missed her father smiling up at the figure slowly approaching Clarke's back. "I do miss him though..."
"And he misses you too!" Clarke's eyes shot up and her head spun to face the deep voice that had come from behind her. She practically jumped out of her chair as she rushed to embrace her best friend.
"Wells!" She exclaimed joyously, "What are you doing at the market? Your dad never lets you come here!" She took a step back to take in his appearance. He was wearing a dark and fitted outfit that somewhat resembled a casual suit she had seen in books from before the bombs fell. Most of the citizens of Arka wore clothes that were designed based on the clothes that had been scavenged from bunkers and from the mountain by their ancestors. The smart look suited him, he was growing into a tall and handsome man. He had softer features than his father but there was no mistaking it, he was definitely the chancellors son. He had an air of authority that seemed to follow him and his family wherever they went, but Wells also had a kindness in him that Clarke doubted his father could ever understand, never mind posses himself.
"Well...I'm not alone." Wells said, motioning to the two men standing a few paces behind that Clarke had not noticed before then. "Hi Mr. Griffin!" Wells looked over to the man still sat smiling happily at the table and sent him a small wave, "It's nice to see you sir!"
Jacob returned the boys smile and motioned him to sit with them. "Please Wells, I beg of you, call me Jake! Won't you join us?"
Wells' eyes shifted to Clarke and he sent her a knowing look before he spoke, "Actually, Jake, I was wondering if perhaps I could steal Clarke away from you for a little while? Just to take a quick walk around the market. My men will be with us so she'll be perfectly safe and we'll be chaperoned."
Jacob laughed at the boys impeccable manners. He had been raised by his parents to be the perfect child of the council, probably to take over his fathers position as chancellor one day. Of course there would be a vote but, Jaha had won for the last 12 years and the families name held much power over the citizens. Clarke would like to think that it was the people's love for their chancellor that led to his continued rule, but deep down she knew that the reality was more complicated than that. Power, greed, envy - all of these twisted ideals had managed to seep into the cracks in Arka's government and there was little the people could do now to lead them from the dark path they were on. She hoped fervently that Wells managed to retain his kindness and his good soul, maybe he would be able to help Arka, make it better, minimise some of the damage done under his fathers rule. Right now though she could tell he was desperate to talk to her about something and she smiled at her father, nodding enthusiastically at Wells' proposition. Predictably, Jacob submitted to the request and offered to take their packages home and then return to the market to collect Clarke in about an hour. Clarke thanked her father, handing him the small pile of parcels she had accumulated during their day out. She grabbed the apple from the table and slipped it into the satchel at her waist, which she kept with her. After they had said their goodbyes, Clarke and Wells linked arms and strolled casually down one of the lanes of the market, flanked on either side by the eclectic goods displayed from the stalls and shadowed at a slight distance by the two men Wells had referred to earlier. Clarke glanced back at them and then up at her friend with a wry smile.
"Your men?" She asked, nudging her elbow playfully into his ribs, "Since when are they your men? They've always been your father's men before!"
"Clarke..." He growled quietly at her, glancing back at the men to see if they had heard, a smile failing to keep itself from his lips, "As part of working for my father and the council, I've been asked to take on more responsibility. There are a few projects I'm working on, and the information I'm hearing...Well, it's a little sensitive. So now I have my own men. And yes Clarke, I know, I swore I would never allow myself to have bodyguards the way my father does but he's been very insistent on the point, and considering the circumstances it does make sense. Plus, they're nice guys!" His voice lowered again as he said the next part, "Although they're both terrible at poker." He shot Clarke a smug grin and stopped at the nearest stall, chatting politely with the young girl behind the counter about the food she was selling, charming her and those around them with his humour and grace. He really was perfectly suited for this life. They went on in this way for a while, walking aimlessly through the market with Wells stopping to play his part as the chancellors son at several opportunities. As they walked they updated each other a little on their lives, where their work was taking them, who they had seen from school recently. After strolling along for a while longer in a comfortable silence, Clarke remembered the look he had given her at the café and tugged at his arm. Pulling them a few more paces ahead of their shadows she focused her inquisitive blue eyes on him as she raised an eyebrow and spoke.
"Well? What is it? What did you have to tell me?"
Wells took her arm in his and looked around him, still smiling diplomatically as he nodded at some passers by. Once they were in a quieter area of the market he turned his head to her, still walking at a casual pace several feet in front of his bodyguards. The smile had slipped from his face now, and in its place was a pained expression, as if he had something bad to say but didn't quite know how to say it. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and looked away. Then he stopped, turned to face her and took her hand in his. He nodded to his bodyguards, indicating for them to hold back a moment then took a deep breath and looked Clarke straight in the eyes.
"They want us to get married Clarke." He said simply, his voice was strong and even but his eyes were desperately searching hers to try and gauge her reaction. She reacted by failing to breathe for a moment as the words swam around her head. Her eyes glazed over a little and she was no longer looking at Wells but almost through him.
"Wh-What?" She finally managed to say, her voice quiet and trembling a little.
"They want us to get married. The council does. Or rather...my father does." He sighed and let go of her hand, rubbing his over his face. She had yet to move, but her breaths were slowly returning to her. "I know you don't want to, I know that's not how we are. But it's what he's pushing for and I'm not entirely sure how we can stop it. He sees a union between our families as a great thing, two of the founding families joined in marriage would strengthen their position on the council, his position. He hasn't said anything to me yet, I overheard him taking to his advisor, Kane, about it. He knows he can't physically force us to do it but..." He trailed off here, searching for the words to explain to her just how complicated the situation was.
"But what, Wells?" Her voice was louder now, a cold anger slowly burning its way to the surface as she processed what she was being told. She stared at Wells, making him meet her eyes as she silently begged him to tell her the truth, all of it, no matter how bad it was. And it must be bad. She looked at the way he was wringing his hands together and tensing his jaw.
"He's going to use your dad. Threaten to fire him or do something to him, I don't know exactly, not everything I heard made perfect sense but...Clarke he will use him to make this marriage happen. He knows how much you care for him, he plans on using your emotions against you, manipulate him into agreeing to his plan, whatever it is! And he knows I'd marry you, if you asked me to..." Clarke shook her head and took an involuntary step away from her friend as his words hit her with force. The reality of the situation sunk in and her world felt like it was crumbling around her.
"He knows I'd do anything to help my father. His work means everything to him, if Jaha threatens takes that away from him...he knows I'd do anything." She was mumbling, her thoughts tumbling out as words as she felt her lungs trying desperately to find air. Her eyes were wide but still unseeing as she backed further away from Wells. Her hands came up in front of her to block his attempts to reach out for her and she stumbled a little. "I have to go." She said as she turned and began to move away from him.
She sped up as she heard his footsteps following behind her. Somewhere in the distance she could hear his voice calling to her, but it was only a faint echo. She started to run. She felt a jolt run through her legs as her feet hit the hard dirt beneath her quicker and quicker. She didn't know where she was going, she was just running, moving, pushing through the mass of bodies that was trying to crush her. She couldn't breathe. She had to keep moving. She kept running. At some point she must have left the market because when she finally collapsed on her knees, trying in vain to suck in air but finding herself choking on it instead, she was no longer surrounded by stalls and people. She was in an area of the city she hadn't been to before, one of the poorer areas though not the worst, she knew. The uneven dirt street beneath her knees and the smell emanating from it was a stark reminder that the council did not put as many resources into maintaining this area of the city. There as a butchers shop on the street but it was mainly houses, terraced together with small wooden windows with shutters and the occasional window box sporting flowers. It was strangely empty, but then again everyone was probably at the market, it was an important day for the lower classes as they made most of their weeks money from the event. Clarke leaned forward on her knees, touching her forehead to the cold ground and finding comfort in the numbing sensation it brought to her. This can't be happening. She thought to herself. This really, really can't be happening. Dad will never let this happen. She willed herself to slow her breathing, counting silently to herself as she pulled in the fetid air through her nose and pushed it out her mouth. But I can't let anything happen to him. After a minute or two, although it could have been longer she wasn't entirely sure, she slowly lifted her head from the ground and rocked back on her knees. As she lifted her head she felt the tears she hadn't realised had been falling against her cheeks. She hastily scrubbed at her face, realising too late that they were covered in dirt from the where she had been unconsciously digging them into the ground at her side. She huffed, this wouldn't do. I am Clarke Griffin. I do not sink to my knees and cry over anything. Fuck this. She took in a few more deep breaths and reached in to her satchel. She pulled out a piece of what was once white cloth and wiped her face with it, being sure to swipe over her brow where she was sure there was a line of dirt from where her face had been pressed to the ground. She rolled back on to her heels and stood up, brushing her hands down her legs to free the dirt clinging there. She straightened her shoulders, put the cloth back in her satchel and spun to face to the way she had just come. Her breath hitched in her throat and she let out a sound akin to a squeal as she saw the man standing only a few paces away from her on the street. He was tall and his head, covered in an unruly mob of chocolate curls, almost blocked out the sun as he stood completely still, looking directly at Clarke. He had broad shoulders that stretched at his cotton top, which might once have been described as a navy in colour, revealing its years of wear. It's short sleeves exposed his tanned and muscled arms, in which he held some packages, obviously on his way back from the market. His dark, brown eyes were wide and he looked caught.
The man was too startled to say anything. He had obviously just witnessed something very personal and didn't quite know how to react when he had been caught watching. Caught by the princess no less. Caught watching the princess, by the princess. Great, he thought to himself, this won't end well. He had of course, seen everything. He had turned on to the street just in time to see Clarke sink to her knees and weep as she pushed herself against the ground. He had approached slowly, needing to walk past her anyway but not wanting to startle her. He hadn't recognised her at that point, only seeing the blonde hair cascading down her back and around her shoulders as they rose and fell with her sobs. His first thought had been to walk straight past her, he had to get back home, he couldn't waste time over whatever this was. His second thought, as he watched the figure rummage in her bag, pull out a cloth and, he assumed, wipe her face, was to check to see if everything was okay. She could be hurt, she might need someone fetching for her. His third thought was taken from him before it even formed as she turned to face him and he realised who she was. Everyone knew Clarke Griffin, the family was practically famous in Arka and he had seen her around the market a few times with her precious daddy buying her whatever she wanted. Spoiled princess. Both his urge to move away and his urge to offer help left him as his eyes locked on hers, and apprehension swept over him as he realised he was in a precarious position. She had been crying, and he had seen her crying. She was privileged, it would be so easy for her to accuse him of spying on her, stalking her or attacking her, all so he wouldn't tell anyone what he saw. He wasn't even sure what he saw but he doubted the daughter of one of the most powerful families in Arka would be happy being seen in such a weak and vulnerable state. She could have him locked up on some bogus charge just because she felt like it, he guard would definitely take her word over his. He matched her gaze and tried to keep his face readable as he searched her eyes, trying to figure out what his next move should be. He watched the surprise drain from her face, replaced by quick series of emotions including resentment and fear before she managed to pull herself together and a cold mask devoid of feeling took over her features. In that instance, the man decided what he should do. He needed to get away quickly before she had time to consider him a threat to her, before she could stop him or call for the guards.
"I won't say anything." He said simply, his deep voice was rough and a little unsure. His eyes had never left hers.
Suddenly, he broke from her gaze and moved quickly away, walking past her and towards the end of the street. She was stunned, she didn't understand what he had meant and she hadn't much liked the look of obvious disdain that had formed on his face when he looked at her. Who was he? Who wouldn't he tell? What wouldn't he tell? She turned to call after him but when she looked around the street he was already gone. Clarke exhaled shakily. Okay, She thought to herself, that was strange. But then again, what he had seen had probably appeared pretty strange to him. She wondered how much he had seen and hoped fervently that it hadn't been the whole thing. She hated people seeing her cry, perceiving her as weak. It went against her basic instinct to present a tough, impermeable but kind exterior to the people of Arka, to inspire their confidence in the higher classes. It was obvious to her that she had not evoked that response from this particular gentleman, he had looked almost angry as he'd stared her down. She shook her head. There was enough going on today without the added mystery of why a random stranger held a grudge against a crying girl. She realised that she was still standing in the same spot on the street, staring in the direction the man had gone. Clarke turned and walked in the direction of the market, her mind spinning as she tried to come up a way out of this predicament, one where she didn't have to enter into a marriage with Wells. It wasn't as though she didn't love Wells, she did! Just not in the way she imagined one should love their husband. He was like a brother to her! Not that she knew what having a sibling would be like, most families in Arka only had one child. Some privileged members of the higher classes were allowed to petition the council for more but the lower classes were strictly prohibited from having large families as they were considered 'a drain on resources'.
She had been walking for ten minutes or so, completely lost in thought, her mind reeling with unanswerable questions as she attempted to come up with anything resembling a plan. She had known Jaha her whole life, been best friends with Wells since they were young children at elementary school and Clarke had told him he had spelled 'Wednesday' wrong. She had eaten dinner at his house, her parents had spent afternoons in the garden with Jaha and his wife while the kids were reading or playing with a leather ball her father had made them. How could he do this to her, to her dad? They were friends, surely there had to be some way to talk Jaha out of this crazy proposal? The market was visible a little further ahead and Clarke started to compose herself, preparing to smile and nod at the citizens and shopkeepers as she passed through them to meet her father. She sheepishly hoped that no one had seen her run away in a hysterical panic not too much longer before. A glance at the sky revealed a few grey clouds dotting the vibrant afternoon sky, one momentarily stealing the heat from her skin as it passed in front of the sun. Where did those come from? But Clarke's thought was swept from her mind by a thousand others as she entered the hive of noise and movement that had promised to be the favourite part of her week. In a way, the constant commotion surrounding her helped to numb the pain Clarke was feeling. It helped slow the rush of questions filtering through her brain and eventually the internal ringing that hard started when she first heard Wells words faded to nothing.
As she approached the café at the centre of the market where she had arranged to meet her dad she heard the voices buzzing around her grow louder. There was yelling coming from the direction she was heading in, several men's voices, and Clarke pushed herself forward, curious and worried as to what events were unfolding ahead. Due to the disparaging poverty in Arka, it was not uncommon for those without means to occasionally resort to stealing in order to feed themselves or their families in desperate times. The founding members of the city, all those many many years ago, had apparently been fair when dealing with crime such as this, using compassion ad reason to guide their judgement. Then again, the original citizens were treated as equals, with no one life being considered more important than another, no hierarchy enslaving people into a life of luxury or a life of poverty depending on where you were born. This system had eroded after decades of poor decision making and greedy, power hungry chancellors had taken what they wanted for themselves and thought little about the sustainability of the city and the needs of its people. Chancellors like Jaha. Clarke mused to herself. The punishment for such a crime now was usually a quick and shoddy 'trial', attended only by the members of the which resulted in a guilty verdict almost every time, and was attended only by members of the security committee. This committee went on to handle the next step of the 'justice' system, a swift and quiet execution. Families were not allowed to attend, in fact the whole process often happened so quickly that the families might not even know their loved ones had been arrested until after they were dead. It was a cruel practice and Clarke prayed that she was not about to witness some poor, wretched soul get carted away for a crime he had no choice but to commit. As she reached the front of the swollen crowd she briefly caught a glimpse of Wells a little way over to her left. He didn't see her, his eyes fixed on whatever was unfolding before him, a look of terror streaming through them. Clarke turned her head, following his gaze and felt her breath leave her body for the second time that day.
When Wells had told her of his fathers plan, Clarke had felt like she would never know the feeling of pain and anger more than she did then. But when she saw what had drawn the crowds attention and her shocked blue eyes connected with the familiar warmth of those belonging to the man kneeling in the dirt ground with guards around him, their weapons pointed at the back of his head, she knew she had been wrong. Fear coursed through every blood vessel in her body. It started at her feet, which locked in place, preventing her from moving forward. It travelled up her cold legs, churned her stomach and filled it with unbearable pain, seared through her chest like a flame. As it reached her head, and as her brain processed the scene before her, the fear was overtaken by desperation and she found her voice.
"Dad!" She screamed, her feet now moving at an alarming pace, her arms shoving people out of her way as she strode into the space that had formed around her father and the guards. "Dad what's happening?! What are you doing?" She turned to address the men standing behind him with her last question, stopping quickly as she realised two of the men in their black, armoured outfits shifted their guns to point at her. The fire in her eyes didn't die down as she stared defiantly at the men, her head raised and her fists clenched at her side. She spoke again, her voice loud and bubbling with undisguised rage but clear amongst the now silent crowd, "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"Clarke, honey, it's okay." Her father said, drawing her attention back to him as she tried to calm down and resist the urge to run to him. Their eyes met and she saw that his were wet, though he was not crying. He looked at her with a determined, grim expression but his eyes conveyed the love and sadness that accompanied his statement. "There's nothing you can do princess."
"What do you mean? Dad what is going on?" Her voice broke as she spoke and Clarke felt like a little girl, weak at the sight of her father on his knees.
"This man is accused of assaulting a member of the guard." One of the men behind her father spoke, he had his gun trained on the back of Jacob's head and a coldness in his voice that scared Clarke. When she looked to him she noticed blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and the early signs of a bruise appearing around his left eye.
"Assaulting a guard? Are you kidding me?!" Clarke was shouting now, "Do you know who this is? This is Jacob Griffin, he's never hit a man in his life!"
"Clarke - " Her father uttered softly.
"This is obviously a mistake! Lower your weapons"
"Clarke!" Her fathers voice was louder now but Clarke couldn't hear him, fury burning through her.
"Lower your god damn weapons or there will be consequences!"
"Clarke!" Silence fell as her fathers shout permeated the tense crowd. Clarke looked back to him, she saw the torn look on his face and knew the truth. She glanced down at his hand and saw the blood on his knuckles. Once she raised her eyes to his again she saw the tear running down his cheek. Before she could speak again a different guard stepped forward and addressed the crowd.
"This man has committed a crime! He has assaulted a member of the guard and obstructed the apprehension of another criminal, a thief!"
"He was just a boy!" Jacob spat, his jaw tensing.
"He was a criminal, as are you. He was caught stealing food and you obstructed his arrest, attacking a guard in the process! You assisted his escape!" He turned then to the crowd, his voice booming over their heads, "This man will be punished according to the laws of our city, his punishment is execution! Chancellor Jaha has made it clear that there is to be no leniency when it comes to justice! The law applies to us all! Mr. Griffin will be afforded no special privilege, and to show you he strives for true equality amongst Akians, Jaha has ordered that this punishment be carried out immediately for all to witness!" Murmurs of agreement and appreciation clashed with shocked gasps as the crowd took in the guards words. Everyone knew of the hushed trials and lost lives, but that was all done behind closed doors, they rarely ever saw it. Parents began to usher their children away from the crowds, knowing whet they would witness if they stayed. Clarke was still.
No. She thought weakly, No this can't be happening. Why is this happening? Why would Jaha do this? "This can't be happening!" She hadn't realised she said these last words out loud until the cracked and broken voice that had spoken then spoke again, "Dad...please, this can't...I can't..."
At this she fell to the ground and began scrambling over to where her father was still kneeling on the dirt floor, his head bows but his eyes looking straight at her. The sunlight disappeared again behind another cloud and Clarke took in the pale colour of her fathers skin and the way he shoulders had dropped, as if in defeat. She reached him and her hands grabbed his roughly, shaking him as she repeated, "Dad, please, what can I do? Tell me what to do!". Tears spilled down her cheeks as he took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. He said nothing as she garbled the words out, and instead started humming. He pulled her closer to him and wrapped one arm around her as he ran the other hand through her hair. He hummed quietly, rocking her as she sobbed, begging him for an answer. Finally he stopped and pushed her away a little, lifting her chin with his hand and making her meet his eyes.
"We help who we can help today Clarke, never forget that." She felt rough hands grab her by her arms and heave her back. She struggled against them, reaching for her father as he sat, unmoving, accepting of his fate. "I love you Clarke. You and your mother both."
"No!" Clarke screamed as the guards behind him moved in closer, one coming to her fathers side and pressing the gun against his temple. "I love you dad!"
And then the guard pulled the trigger. And Clarke went numb.
She didn't know how much time had passed. She hadn't seen anything else but her father. She watched as his body slumped to the side and lay still in the dirt, blood pooling around his head as it lay at an unnatural angle, his blue eyes usually so full of warmth, open and unseeing. The gunshot rang in her head, blocking out whatever words were said by the guard as he addressed the crowd once more. She didn't react when the people dispersed, and the guards holding her dropped her limp body and she fell hard on the ground, her satchel spilling open and its contents tumbling haphazardly around her. Her eyes stayed fixed on his body and she didn't hear Wells voice behind her, gently trying to coax her out of her stupor. She watched as her fathers body, the man she had thought would always be there, was taken away by the guards, never to be seen again. She was half sat, half sprawled on the floor but she didn't care. Her eyes had moved to the puddle of blood that had once kept her fathers heart beating. It's so red. Her eyes strayed to the space between her and the blood where the apple from the satchel had rolled to a stop. It was as red as her father's blood and Clarke found herself retching as nausea swept over her. She had bought it barely an hour before when she had been eating lunch and laughing with her dad. An hour ago, he had been alive. An hour.
Clarke was finally dragged from the vacuum that had engulfed her by the feeling of warm hands on her arms, trying to lift her from the ground. She let them take her weight as she struggled to balance on her legs, finding no strength left in her with which to stand. As she turned to look at the figure she was leaning against, her numb body tingled with a dull sense of anger.
"Get the fuck off me Wells." She hissed, shrugging her arms free from his grasp and planting her feet a little wider so she could stand on her own. She glared at him, the ice in her eyes cutting in to his soul.
"Clarke..." He started, trailing off when he saw the look on her face.
"Why didn't you stop them? You're the son of the freaking chancellor and you just stood there. Why didn't you stop them Wells?" The anger in her eyes was not reflected in her voice and Clarke's words sounded hollow and empty, just like she did.
"I couldn't!" He pleaded with her, "I tried before you got there but I saw the whole thing, half the market did! He attacked that guard to save the kid. I told them I would speak to my father and that they had to let him go but she wouldn't. It all happened so fast. Clarke I'm so sorry you have to believe me, I tried. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He was rambling now, trying desperately to get his best friend to understand that he really had tried, that he had been powerless to stop the terrible tragedy they had both just witnessed. Clarke's eyes stayed icy, she looked at Wells with disgust as his words died out and silence fell between them.
"Stay away from me." Was all Clarke said before she turned and walked away from him. This time he had the sense not to call after her. He just watched as she stumbled between the market stalls, the darkening sky casting ominous shadows against her form where earlier the sunlight had caressed it. She ambled along until she reached the park she and her father had walked through earlier. Wetness on her cheek brought her to her back to reality and she raised her hand to her face to wipe her eyes, but her eyes were dry. She had clearly run out of tears a while back. Another drop of wetness hit her forehead and Clarke raised her eyes to the sky and watched as the deluge began to fall from the heavens. It had started out as such a nice day.