Sorry for the wait guys, but it's been...stressful. BUT. I wasn't going to give you a crappy chapter, so the wait was necessary. Also, please remember that this was written BEFORE the finale, so don't go assuming everything was the same.
She was walking through a dim, endless hall. Cold concrete surrounded her. Her breathing echoed in the unsettling stillness. There was another sound, low and muted, as if she was listening through layers of cloth. It grew louder with every passing second, changing each time. Anxiety slowly took root, until finally she realized what it was.
War. It was the sound of war, replacing the sounds of her footsteps.
Silence.
A battle cry.
Silence.
A gun fired.
Silence.
A sword plunged into flesh.
Silence.
She sped up, trying to outrun the noise.
A gasp.
A clash of steel.
A gurgle.
Crying.
Sobbing.
Faster and faster they came. Blood poured from the roof, mimicking rain.
The roar of a bomb dropping.
Screams.
The clicking of the lever that flooded Mount Weather with radiation.
Screams.
She was soaked with blood, and she ran until the walls changed.
Clean. Metallic. The hum of generators and power running beneath its panels.
Now she was chasing, chasing her father.
He was smiling at her, gently, like he used to when he would tuck her in at night. She wondered how he could smile at her like that when she was tainted now.
"Dream well, my princess."
He never turned away from her, but he was walking back. One slow, measured step at a time.
She ran faster, straining her legs, but he was getting further away. Her hand came up, trying to reach him, or stop him. Something, anything.
And then she wasn't running anymore, and she was standing in a disturbingly familiar room. She stared at her father through the glass wall that was before her. Her outstretched hand was pushing against the red button next to the door.
Her father's body was sucked into space. Time froze, and she could see the smile still on his face, and see the sad eyes that tried to be strong for her.
She blinked, and somehow she was the one in space. Frozen. Staring into the Ark. Oxygen gone from her lungs.
Octavia glared at her from beyond the glass.
"Blood must have blood."
She flailed, body and mind abruptly waking from her dream. There was a rush of green and brown and the sensation of falling before she hit the ground, and her breath was knocked out of her in a rush of air and a pained yelp.
Clarke blinked up at the branches of the trees above her, lights dancing across her eyes as she tried to process her new position. Rocks and branches were digging into her back, her vision swam, and, to complete her embarrassment, the sketchbook she'd been using tipped off the branch and smacked her in the face.
Note to self; never, ever, ever tell a soul that I fell out of a tree. Lexa would be upset with me if her warriors died from asphyxiation due to laughing.
Oak, the horse, whinnied near her, hoofs shuffling in the dirt. She glared at him as she shakily stood up, trying not to wince at the fire racing across her back. Yeah, she was definitely going to have a few marks from this one.
The horse rustled impatiently, now pulling at its tether. It had clearly grown tired of being tied to the tree, and wanted to get moving already. The thought of leaving him tied to the tree, whose color he matched, was tempting, but then she'd have to walk back home, and that was slightly less tempting.
With a sigh, she gathered her scattered pencils and sketchbook. There was a long smudge on the open page of her book, that she had probably made when she fell asleep on the branch. She hadn't meant to, of course. Though she was almost completely comfortable maneuvering around in the treetops, sleeping in them was another thing altogether. Her sleep was always restless, filled with nightmares and memories, and not at all conducive to safe tree-sleeping.
The stomping of hooves shook her from her thoughts, and, rolling her eyes, she climbed onto the monster so they could head home. She had been stuck with Oak for several weeks before she had a chance to ask Lexa what his name was. It had been an interesting period of time. Horses, like most animals, were only something she'd ever seen in pictures before coming to the ground. Clarke vaguely remembered being awed by Anya showing up to their peace talks on horseback, and she had been undeniably excited when Lexa had given her this one.
She was pretty much over it after three days.
In fact, she was starting to think that Lexa had given her Oak because he was a stubborn, troublesome little bastard who didn't like to listen to commands and was far more opinionated than any creature had a right to be. It galloped when she wanted to go slow, and stopped to graze at every patch of grass (turns out it did eat grass) when she wanted to just get home in a hurry, then all but dragged her home when she wanted to stay out late and draw. It had taken her near a month (or so she estimated, as she didn't track the days) of fierce battling and contests of will to learn that it was best to just allow the animal to do what it wanted. It's not like she had anything better to do, right?
Luckily, today was one of those rare days where they both wanted the same thing; to get home quickly. The sun was starting to set, the sky taking on an orange tint, and the clouds turning pink. Though the days were starting to become longer, she knew it would be dark before she made it back.
Checking her traps on the way, she found one that had been sprung. The rope, however, was empty, and she scowled when she saw that the knot had come undone. Either she had almost caught something nearly as heavy as a human, or her knot tying needed more work. With a sigh she went about resetting it, grumbling about her inability to grasp what most Trigedakru children did with ease. Even with her months of practice, her knots never held as well as they supposedly could. If they did, it was completely on accident and she could never figure out what made them different. For the most part, fishing was a safer bet than relying on traps when she wasn't in the mood to go hunting that day.
Luck was with her today, as one of her other traps caught a creature that had probably been a squirrel at one time in its genetic history. It would provide enough meat for a small dinner, and was actually one of the tastier animals around. She had a small store of berries if she was hungry enough, and even some half decent attempts at dried meat she could eat.
Honestly, her survival skills were mediocre at best, and though she could keep herself fed, she still had trouble grasping anything beyond the basics where food and trapping knots were concerned. It was nice to imagine that one day she might be able to make something as delicious as what Lexa managed with ease. Her general menu consisted of local fruits and slightly charred meat (fish or otherwise) with a hint of flavor. She probably had to consider herself lucky that Ryder and Nyko still dropped by with basic supplies every few weeks.
As far as human contact went, that was the most she had. Lexa would stay for a couple days when she could, slowly expanding Clarke's knowledge on the nuances of Trigedakru culture, and of the tribes beyond. There was a brightness in her eyes when she described the city of Polis, or the sea, or the endless plains of the Grass People, the Grokru. There was bitterness in her voice when she talked of the Ice Nation and it's harsh queens, or the outcasts that preyed on travelers in the dead zone. Clarke loved every minute of it, and curled, up with a sleeping Lexa, she imagined that someday she would see all those sights with her.
Ryder and Nyko's visits were shorter, but no less important to her peace of mind. She had an easy camaraderie with them both, and they made it clear that her mental state did not make her less of a person. Ryder, though mostly respectful, would often tease her about her skills and give her challenges that took her several weeks to complete. He enjoyed testing her sword skills, ensuring that she didn't lose her edge when her average prey was a simple boar.
Nyko would bring her information or stories, like the sort of trouble the children would get into, the types of illnesses that she would need to look out for herself, or what sort of weather to expect as seasons changed. He, like Lexa, did not give her news on the political state of things, or mention the sky people. Instead, he focused on the myths and stories of the Trigedakru, something she found incredibly interesting. There were many stories that told of the immediate aftermath of the bombing, stories of the struggles to survive and the lawlessness that nearly finished off humanity. She would listen to them all, trying to picture a world so savage, remembering when she once considered this earth to be so.
She was duly informed by all that she had accidentally chosen a good place to hide away. Her house was miles away from any village, and far off from the dirt paths that acted as roads. According to Nyko, there was nothing to the east except the ocean, and few wandered this way for anything but hunting. In all her own explorations, she hadn't come across any signs of human activity within her area.
And that's really all she did. She explored the forest, learning how to keep her sense of direction, honing her hunting skills, and, after Lexa sent the materials for it, drawing.
It amazed her to think that although her days were mostly variations of the same mindless things, she'd been living alone for months. Spring was melting into summer now, with the weather turning unbearably hot. Her once light skin slowly darkened into what Ryder considered a more acceptable color, though that was only after several bouts of red, itchy skin.
Lexa had been unable to hide her laughter at the sight of an irritated, sun-burned Clarke, and two days after she left Nyko arrived to teach her how to make the lotion meant to ease the burn. He had a good snicker at her discomfort, and warned her of the dangers of too much exposure to the sun.
After all the horrors she had endured, the idea of a sunburn being the most dangerous thing to face was pretty novel.
The change in the air was another thing that took getting used to, as it suddenly became so saturated with water that she often wondered if it were possible to drown by breathing. Her clothes (now a thin tank top and pants that she could tie at her knees) were always soaked by mid morning, and her hair stuck to her neck so much that she nearly chopped it off. She'd ended up cannibalizing one of her shirts, ripping it into long pieces so she could tie up her unruly hair. Travel was starting to become a chore, and she seriously considered learning how to build a hut so she could settle near the lake during the summer months.
The lake had become her favorite place to spend the day, as it was sometimes the only reprieve from the heat that she had. She would leave in the early morning before the heat struck, and find a shady spot to settle for a time. The area was picturesque, the type of scene she imagined when she floated among the stars, stuck in a windowless cell. The water sparkled in vivid blue, trees surrounded the edges in more shades of green than she thought existed, and the forest rose in the background, melting away into the silhouette of the mountains.
Staring into the distance, once again haunting the lake (on top of a rock this time, instead of climbing into the trees) she had a rush of daring. There was something energizing about the summer sun, the tranquility of the lake, and the soft whistle of the wind. It made her restless, made her forget the blood that stained her soul, and lifted the guilt from her heart.
She spent the entire day traveling to the northern edge of the lake. Camped out under the stars, listening to the hum of the insects and the splash of fish and other sea creatures, she looked up at the stars and remembered better times. It was strange, she thought, that the sky looked so different from the ground, yet exactly the same.
The next day, waking up covered with morning dew and with her horse trying to eat her hair, she decided to continue on. She was somehow disappointed that the forest beyond the lake was the same as her own portion of it, then scolded herself for thinking that it would magically be different.
She was half a day out when she spotted it. Jammed into a tree was a lone, innocuous arrowhead, the wood rotted and moss covering half of it.
Her breath caught in her throat, and refused to escape. The world swayed, or maybe she did, and red dripped from the trees. Tattooed, pale, and irradiated hands rose through the ground. The shadows grew darker and coalesced into featureless Mount Weather soldiers, their guns trained at her herd. First there was one, then three, then ten. She was surrounded, and completely paralyzed. Her brain screamed at her to fight, to run, but its voice was lost in the rushing memories of blood and battle cries and the bodies of innocents that she had left in her wake.
Behind the soldiers moved another shadow, one that shifted into a familiar figure.
Octavia met her eyes, and then turned her back. Leaving her at the mercy of the soldiers. Leaving her to die.
Blood must have blood.
Everything after that was a blur, and when she next regained consciousness, it was to the sight of Lexa hovering over her, the comforting concrete roof of her house above them both. Not a single word was exchanged while the Commander handed her food and water. She ate and drank in silent shame.
She'd thought she was okay. She thought she was better. She never panicked with Lexa, Nyko, and Ryder anymore, hadn't faltered when she was training with her weapons, wasn't phased by the blood of animals.
And yet a single, rotted arrowhead had sent her over the edge.
It was bound to happen at some point. She had fully insulated herself from the rest of the world in an attempt to heal her mental wounds. Here, there were no traces of war, battle, horror or pain. Here, she could pretend that none of it had ever happened. It had worked too, but the sudden reminder of all that she had done, all she had survived, caught her off guard. It was an intrusion into her routine that she hadn't mentally prepared for.
Clarke wasn't surprised when she woke up alone, or when Ryder showed up several days later. He handed her a new set of throwing knives, and so began throwing lessons. He didn't need to tell her that Lexa had ordered him to resume teaching her, and Clarke didn't need to tell him that his Commander was simply providing a distraction for the blonde.
Her days became filled with the clatter of steel and wood meeting, mostly in the form of her knives hitting the tree handle first and bouncing away into grass. At night, she would run her hands over a particular knife. The pommel was smooth from years of use, and the blade had small scars from countless battles. She would toss the knife while sitting in the dim light of the fire, and remember that same knife flying into Quint's hand a lifetime ago, and remember his final screams after Lexa sacrificed him.
The kill is yours.
While Ryder was there, he forced her to work on her Trigedasleng as well. She had learned enough to understand basic conversations, back during the winter he and Nyko had watched over her, but now he spoke exclusively in his language. It was frustrating, and annoying, and more than once she wanted to use him for target practice.
The days passed slowly, and though the heat began to lessen, rain also started to become a threat. Visits from Lexa became less frequent, as she had relocated to Polis for the season. With the idea of bringing Oak into her tiny house during foul weather seeming less than ideal, she decided it was better to build a shelter of some sort for the animal.
Her skills in the carpentry department left plenty to be desired, so it was to the luck of the horse that Ryder happened to stop by for another supply dump. He had been completely unimpressed with her shoddy stable, kicking it down and telling her that it was more of a danger than a help. After a quick trip to town for supplies, he stuck around to teach her how to properly build a simple structure.
In no time at all, they managed to create a sturdy porch like extension that ran from one side of her little house, and wrapped around to the front. The hill her house was partially buried into provided most of the support, making the entire process twice as easy. The roofing and side protection he left to her, once he gave her a quick tutorial on how to properly weave.
As the summer season began to end, so too did her worries. Her break down forced her to confront all the emotions she had been shoving aside as she lost herself in learning how to survive. It wasn't easy, and she couldn't say that she was fully healed, but as time went by her nightmares became less frequent, and her mind less haunted. The weight of the guilt she carried lifted, though not entirely.
Clarke wasn't interested in leading, wasn't interested in making the hard choices again. She didn't think she had the strength to, right now. She didn't want anyone to rely on her. She wasn't sure if they could forgive her for what she'd done in the battle, or for the choices she had made to get them there, but she felt that maybe she could face them now.
But before she could try and face her people, there was one place she would need to go before she left the area.
Small bag packed and ready, she climbed onto Oak and headed for the lake. Now that she had a purpose, the trip took half as long as usual, and by nightfall she was already camped at the northern end. The remains of the small fire she'd made last time were gone now, wiped away by wind and rain. Her rest that night was peaceful, something she'd lately only experienced with Lexa nearby.
Morning came with cool winds, a bright sun, and a symphony of animal chatter. She'd woken early, watching the stars fade and sun rise, but refused to crawl out from underneath her blanket until Oak began wandering off.
It was surprisingly easy to retrace her path from her last venture. "Straight north" had been her only direction then. Her body tensed as the hours passed and she came closer to the area where she had her breakdown. In spite of her lazy start, the sun was at its peak when she made it to her goal.
Her breath caught and her head started to spin, but not because of the memories the arrowhead invoked.
No, she panicked because it wasn't there anymore.
A snap of a branch breaking startled her, and she urged Oak into a gallop, not caring that she was heading further down the trail away from home. She needed to get out of there, needed to get somewhere safe. Ducking under a branch, pain exploded in her shoulder and she was launched off her horse. Oak struggled to slow his full gallop and go back for her.
Clarke lay on the forest floor, vision slowly returning. She'd hit her head hard, but she'd had worse. Trying to roll over, she gasped in pain. An arrow was stuck in her shoulder. She could feel the blood seeping out, soaking her shirt. Had she had her armor on, the wound would have been a mere scratch, and she could just hear Lexa and Ryder scolding her for thinking she was safe.
A figure burst out from the trees and onto the trail, and all her training and past experiences jumpstarted her body. She was up and pulling out her knife before he was halfway to her. The pain, the arrow, the shaky vision, they were all ignored as adrenaline heightened her senses.
It was laughably easy to dodge his sword, and she took the opportunity to jam her hilt into his nose. "Dead" she remembered Ryder saying, all throughout the days of her training. The man stumbled back, and she saw her opportunity. Her knife flashed, aiming for his throat.
Yu gonplei ste odon.
She froze.
The metallic tang of blood invaded her senses. She blinked, and she was back in Mount Weather. Then she was surveying the damage from the missile, then the remains of the charred warriors.
Heavy lies the head.
She didn't see her attacker regain his senses, didn't notice that her knife was no longer in her hands. When her head was struck, this time with the attacker's hilt, the last thing she saw was the pale, furry boots of the enemy.
"Just like the Ice Nation's" was her final thought.
So? Interested? The first two chapters are really just a setup for what happens next. Though I am, if anyone is interested, considering writing side chapters about the lost year (or so) of the other players in this story. (Lexa's would reveal a lot of the smaller details of Clarke's retreat, just saying.)