This chap is mostly flashbacks...so yay?


The battered group met in amongst the destruction, Clarke still in Griffin form as she had no clothing to change back into. All quite weary, they slowly made their way back to headquarters. An on call doctor came to assess and tend to the physical damage to each of them, Clarke in particular, and then she finally got to put some clothes on. Judging by the looks of them, they were Lexa's, and Clarke felt weird about wearing them, as if they were girlfriends mixing and matching out of their shared wardrobe. To make matters worse, she kept thinking about the kiss and found herself continuously having to stop herself from looking at Lexa's lips while she regaled everyone with her solo adventure in the Ash's throne room.

When the telling was done, Lexa thanked her for her services to the colony, though Clarke wasn't sure she had really accomplished anything. In the end, it was the other elemental who had succeeded in stopping the threat. Still, there was little point protesting because Indra would probably yell at her for not accepting the Ash's gratitude. The thought made her snort out loud and the others all stared at her (well, Lexa continued to stare at her in that unnerving way).

Then she dismissed everyone, granting them access to any of the bedrooms in the house. Everyone except for Clarke that is. Clarke shared a look with Raven, who didn't much care for the idea, but ultimately shrugged and left when Clarke insisted she would catch up soon enough.

They just stared at one another for a time, and then Clarke couldn't help bringing it up.

"I'm sorry for kissing you like that, I shouldn't have done that."

Lexa got up from her tree throne, walked down the dais covered in leaves and stood much too close.

"No, Clarke, you shouldn't have," she whispered, before leaning in even closer and gently bringing Clarke's hands behind her back. Lexa's lips brushed against her neck creating delightful tremors and then she...felt a solid weight envelop her hands and wrists.

Lexa pulled back with that strange mask Clarke had only seen once before. Clarke tried to move her arms, even wiggle her fingers but found she couldn't. They were trapped inside some kind of box, and the more she struggled, the more numb her hands and arms became.

"Lexa, what the hell is this?!"

The Ash moved a few steps back. "I'm afraid your past has finally caught up with you, Clarke. It's time to pay for your crimes."

The blood drained from Clarke's bruised face. She swallowed hard. "Lexa-"

"You will be given a fair trial, and then the council of light fae elders will decide your fate."

"Lexa-"

"The trial will begin at noon. I suggest you get some rest before then."

Lexa took her increasingly numbing arm and began leading her through the house she once knew so well and down into the dungeons. Unbelieving that this was happening, she didn't put up a fight until she was being dragged into the isolation cell itself. Then she wedged her feet on either side of the opening, trying to push back.

"Lexa, would you just stop for one second and tell me what the hell this is about?!"

In response, Lexa kicked a foot aside and she tumbled in, hearing the heavy metal door close immediately behind her. With difficulty she forced herself to her feet and up to the viewing portal that was open. She was vaguely surprised to see that Lexa was still there.

"You know what this is about, Clarke," she said with a piercing stare and an eye drop downwards.

Clarke glanced at the cursed gold chain and the blood drained further from her already pale features. "But it wasn't my fault! You said so yourself!"

Impassively, "I lied." Clarke felt the words like daggers. "I only said what you needed to hear so that you would take the chain and be sure to stop the elemental without dying in the process."

Clarke gaped at Lexa, feeling those oh so familiar pin pricks in her eyes. Her lip trembled and she was glad that Lexa couldn't see. Then without another word she left Clarke alone to fall to pieces, not for the first time.


She woke up disoriented and confused. She was in an unfamiliar forest, she was naked...and she was covered in blood. Not just her hands, but her entire body. The sticky substance was dripping into her eyes, so she swiped it away, watching in a detached kind of fascination as it fell from her fingertips and onto the green foliage.

Try as she might, she couldn't remember what had happened after...after the plane. Clearly something very bad...

There was a severed limb a few feet away, with a wound inflicted by something razor sharp. And then it really sunk in. She had killed someone...possibly more than one person. She was a murderer.

If caught, a sentence worthy of death.

Madly, she searched for a lake, a stream, a puddle of dirty water...anything to scrub the stain of her sins away, as if that would make everything better, as if the fae police trackers wouldn't find her, as if her life wasn't over before it had really had a chance to begin.

She broke down then and sobbed for her ruined future, for the dead, and most of all, for her father.


Unable to face her mother with this devastating news, she disappeared that night, telling no one, not even Raven, what had happened or where she was off to. Clarke didn't even know herself. In a daze, she aimlessly wandered the countryside for some time, until she became aware of the suffocating weight around her neck. She ripped the chain off and whipped it into the wind, the touch of its icy cold grip burning, reminding her every second of what she had allowed to happen by accepting it in the first place.

She walked a little ways away and then thought better of her rash actions. If she was truly going to disappear for all time, she needed some kind of resources. She had nothing on her person that was worth anything, except for her stolen clothing, which was quite dirty by now. Clarke had never really had to fend for herself, but she was sure you needed some money to get by.

She snatched the priceless artifact up and thrust it back on, hating the way it felt almost instantly. This would be her penance until she could figure out a more useful way to get rid of it.

Unaccustomed to being on her feet for so many hours straight, and already sore from keeping air born for so long, she eventually needed to rest. She stopped in a small, and by all accounts, human town, sat on the edge of the well, and took her ill fitting shoes off in order to massage their cracked and blistered surface.

While she was thus occupied, she felt someone watching her from afar. A well to do man that seemed completely out of place here approached.

"They are looking for you, you know. Your mother is most aggrieved."

Clarke stiffened at his words but otherwise pretended not to know what he was talking about.

"Do not play coy, princess. I am well aware of who you are."

She shoved her shoe back on, stifling a wince, and stood to face him defiantly, even though she was weary beyond belief. "I do not wish to harm you, sir, but I will if you attempt to escort me home."

"I have no desire to do such a thing, princess," he said, taking off his top hat and placing it over his heart. "I only wish to serve."

"Indeed?" she muttered, rather suspicious of this inexplicable character. "So you will assist me without expectation of recompense?"

The curly haired 'gentleman' smirked, eyes flickering to her necklace. "I do not believe I ever said anything about that."

Was this some kind of treasure hunter Fae then? She didn't know, and she didn't particularly care.

Recklessly and because no other better options presented themselves, she decided to trust him. "Very well, sir, I will give this item to you in payment of services rendered."

His eyes lit up. "What does the princess require?"

As penance for her sins, she wanted to become the thing she now hated almost as much as herself.

She looked him straight in the eye. "I wish to be human."


The procedure was short and simple, albeit more painful than she had anticipated. The individual performing it also left something to be desired. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in eons, and judging by the disreputable looks of him, that wasn't far off the mark.

When he was finished, she traced the sensitive skin with a finger, wincing, and then began lacing her corset back up. They left the seedy establishment and then the gentleman looked to her, waiting for payment.

"I require a demonstration first."

"As you wish," he replied, with a lopsided, gold toothed grin. He cocked his head in the direction of some raggedy fae children playing hop scotch in the cobbled street. It was well known that fae children were highly perceptive to feeling magic, in whatever form it may come in. The kids stopped what they were doing upon their approach, suddenly wary.

"Good evening little ones," said the man, taking off his hat once more. "My Fairy friend and I were wondering where we might find a nice inn for the night. Might you be able to suggest one such establishment?"

"That's no Fairy!" squeaked one of the smallest and dirtiest children, a little blonde haired girl that reminded Clarke of herself at that age, and until very recently, her own locks of hair. But those had been considerably shortened and dyed now, and only just long enough to be pulled back into the usual fashion of the human age. "That's a human!"

As soon as she said it, the others all became convinced of the fact, and took up the chorus, attracting unwanted attention. They slipped away before any questions could be asked. A human in a small fae colony like this was almost unheard of. If she wanted to blend in in future, she would need to go where there were more of them. A purely human colony. The thought terrified her but she didn't let it show.

He held out his hand and she again hesitated giving it to him.

"What assurance do I have that you did not have some sort of arrangement with the children? How do I know I have not been swindled?"

"My my, you are a shrewd one!" he laughed. "So young! And yet so cynical!"

Clarke just glared at his attitude about what she considered to be a very serious matter.

"I suppose my word isn't adequate endorsement?"

"You will not even divulge your name...sir," she pointed out.

"Ah well," he said with a good natured shrug, "then I suppose you will just have to verify the veracity of my claims for yourself."

She did so in the next fae town over, some fifty miles away. Convinced that he had held up his end of the bargain, she handed over the last remnant of her old life.


It was 1934, and for the past nineteen (miserable) years she had managed to stay unobtrusive in this human city, taking whatever crappy jobs she could find and that were available to a young woman who was clearly on her own. This had led to more than one situation she was unaccustomed to and appalled by and she was ever thankful that she simply had the appearance of humanity; but was not truly one of them and could easily fend off the less civil, usually drunken elements, with brute strength. She had been compelled to help several other men and women who were in distress, even at the risk of self exposure. Clarke didn't consider herself a good person, but in those brief and fleeting moments, a sense of pride ignited in a way that was mostly foreign to her now.

One day in Autumn, a couple entered the current dive she worked in and she immediately knew these weren't her usual customers. These were Fae. While not the first time such a thing had happened, it always sent her nerves on edge. On high alert now, she pretended to busy herself with mopping the ever sticky, cracking floors. Just because she didn't exude a magical aura anymore, didn't mean she couldn't be directly identified, face to face.

The couple was exceedingly attractive, and the artist part of her felt compelled to venture nearer, even despite the potential danger. The woman seemed enthralled by her surroundings, as if they were in the Taj Mahal and not some dingy old bar. The man put up with her childish nature by ordering himself a bourbon on the rocks.

When the woman went to use the disgusting washroom, the man calmly put his drink down and then turned to face her. She hastily glanced away, mopping like her life depended on it; and perhaps it did.

He came over to stand before her and she readied herself for a fight. Surprisingly, it had been awhile.

"Tell me, sweetheart, what's a pretty girl like yourself doing in a place like this?"

Clarke knew why they were there. Few places were open this late.

She tried not to roll her eyes at the overt flattery and flirting. "We all have to make a living somehow," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

He smiled back and took a step closer, she could smell the booze on his breath now, even above all the other lovely scents wafting around.

"True enough. But tell me, sweetheart, why are you scouting me and my sis out?"

"I'm not," she assured him, without flinching.

"There's something funny about you, and I can't quite put my finger on it."

The attractive fae began sniffing all around her, like a dog, and under other circumstances she would have taken offense, but as it was, she froze, terrified that he would learn her secret.

The sister came back, and exasperatedly said, "Bell, not again! Leave the poor girl alone! No one else is trying to kill me!"

He growled and gruffly said, "I'll be the judge of that, O. You never know where the next psycho admirer will pop up. And there's something fishy about this one, but I can't tell what."

Octavia came over to investigate too. She gave Clarke a wink and said, "Oh yes, I see what you mean, Bell," and then yanked him bodily by the ear and away from her.

Back at the bar, Bellamy grumpily ordered another drink.

Eventually Octavia took note of the photographs pinned up behind the counter and began to enthusiastically admire those while she sipped away at her own martini.

She wasn't sure what was wrong with her that night but she found herself walking over and saying, "I'm flattered that you think so highly of my artwork."

Clarke could practically see the hackles raising on wolf boy.

"You took those?" said Octavia, looking like a deer caught in headlights. She nodded. Octavia hopped off the stool, grinning, and linked their arms together like they were old chums. "What do you say to getting out of this place, dear?"

Clarke raised an eyebrow. Was she being propositioned for sex? Because it had been awhile, and she wasn't about to turn down the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on before.

Apparently her mind (and body) was in the gutter.

"It just so happens that I am in desperate need of a new photographer!"

"Octavia," growled Bellamy in warning.

"Well, I-"

"Oh, it will be simply marvelous!" Octavia raised an outstretched hand. "Picture this," she said with a chuckle at her own wit, "enchanting dinners in Italy, glorious sunsets in Barcelona, shopping adventures throughout the colonies, far flung romances the world over! The most famous fae you've-"

"OCTAVIA!" snapped Bellamy, whirling on them.

The Fairy-Nymph frowned at his tone and then looked at Clarke sadly. "Oh, yes, I forgot. You're not one of us."

"We're leaving!" announced Bellamy, grabbing his sister by the arm and escorting her out.

Clarke was oddly disappointed. On the one hand she couldn't have accepted the offer because it would have put her in contact with her people again. On the other hand, she didn't think she could handle being stuck much longer in this dreary, hellish routine. The only saving graces had been long walks in the open, unpolluted air, and her artwork.

No matter what she had done – and she still wasn't sure the extent of her crimes – didn't she deserve more out of life than just surviving?

She sighed a sigh to end all sighs and went back to pushing the grime around the floor.

A short while later Octavia came barging back in, Bellamy hot on her heels.

"No, O! Don't!"

"I, Octavia Blake, hereby claim you!" she exclaimed to the utter bewilderment of the barkeep, her boss, and the owner of this 'establishment'.

Frustrated with his willful sister, Bellamy punched a hole in the wall.

"'Scuse me, miss," he haughtily said, "but this dolls mine. And don't think you ain't paying for that bub!"

As her boss reached for a shotgun, Bellamy snarled, eyes going completely black, and the man dropped it and ran for his life, screaming bloody murder.

"Well, if she didn't know about us before, Bell," said Octavia with a merry laugh, "she certainly does now!"

Bellamy growled and punched another hole.


Profusely sweating, she jolted upright, like she had frequently done since that terrible night. Raven, who she had just spent the night with for the first time, was observing her in obvious worry, running a soothing hand up and down her back.

"It's fine," she said absentmindedly as the nightmare receded from her minds eye. She ran a hand through her drenched, sex mussed hair. "I'm fine."

"Does this happen often?"

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly, "but I'm used to it by now."

Raven bit her lip, clearly trying to stop herself from once again bringing up the past, knowing Clarke didn't want to talk about it.

"We should really talk about that night."

Clarke turned away, lying on her side, facing away.

"You can't avoid it forever, Clarke."

"Yes, I can," she replied stubbornly, cursing herself for staying the night after their love making...but she hadn't been able to come up with a reasonable excuse for why she couldn't.

Raven sighed and Clarke hoped that was the end of it. She was proven wrong.

"When you disappeared I...well, I've said my peace about that."

Yes, you have, she thought, more than once and really loudly.

"It wasn't your fault, Clarke. What happened to your dad...to the village...that was a terrible accident. You can't blame yourself for it any longer."

Somewhat confused, her interest was nonetheless peaked. She rolled over to face her naked girlfriend. "Accident?" she reiterated, stunned. "It wasn't my fault?"

Raven smiled gently, cupping her face. "No, of course not." Raven kissed the corner of her mouth. "You didn't make that plane crash into the stables." She kissed her nose. "You didn't set the village on fire." She kissed her forehead. "And you didn't kill those three hundred humans in the ensuing blaze."

Her eyes widened in shock. Three hundred dead? So many?

Instinctively she knew something was wrong with this story. If this were true, why had she blocked out the memory? Why did she have recurring nightmares about ripping people apart?

"Clarke?" Raven said with a frown, looking at her intently.

She forced herself to smile. "You're right, Raven. I need to stop blaming myself. I need to put it behind me."

Raven didn't look entirely convinced by what Clarke was sure was an odd tone of voice, so Clarke pulled her close and made her forget how to think coherently, all the while plotting her next move. There was only one person who had had the means and inclination to cover up the truth back then.

The Acting Ash...her mother.


It had been ninety-seven years since she had last seen Abby, and the woman had only physically aged about five human years. In all honesty, besides a shorter hairstyle and sleeker threads, Clarke couldn't tell the difference. And that really wasn't the point of this long overdue reunion. She was here for the cold hard truth, whatever that may be, however damaging to her already fractured psyche.

Abby had been surprised into tears when she had unceremoniously showed up at her doorstep, back in her home colony. Her mother now lived in a nice condo overlooking the much larger, diverse city, both fae and human alike. Being the primary fae health provider had its benefits.

Her mother couldn't stop touching her face, as if verifying she was indeed real. Clarke felt bad about leaving her alone for so long. But she had thought it for the best. And any time she thought of reaching out, she had stopped herself, feeling all the anxiety of making a call you could've made ages ago. And the more you put it off, the more stressful and impossible it seemed, but of course, it was simply built up in your head. A mountain out of a molehill, as it were.

She sat them down beside each other on the couch, holding her hand. "Mom, I need you to tell me what really happened that night."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" It wasn't evasive, more confused. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately.

"The night that dad..." her voice caught and she fought the strong urge to breakdown and cry in her mothers arms, something she hadn't done since she was a teenager and some of the fae children were being cruel to her because they were jealous of her position in life.

Her mother likewise looked on the verge of tears again. She squeezed their clasped hands. "That wasn't your fault, Clarke. I never blamed you for his death. It was a freak accident. Wrong place, wrong time."

"I know, but after...after he...died...what happened?"

"You don't remember anything?" Abby said frowning.

"Well, I have bad dreams," she admitted. "But that's it. It's completely blank." It was Clarke's turn to frown. "I thought maybe you had done something to me."

"Me?" said Abby, with another eyebrow raise. "Why would I erase my own daughters memory?"

"To protect me from the truth. Of what I did."

Abby's brow furrowed further. "No, if you can't consciously access the memory, it's because you blocked it out yourself. You wouldn't have nightmares otherwise." She placed her hand to Clarke's face again. "But you already knew how to check for mind tampering. Did you find a Recuerdo Coil?"

Clarke shook her head.

"Do you want me to double check?"

More like quadruple check, she thought.

She nodded, and one by one her mother pulled down the skin beneath her eyes, staring intently for a few seconds. "You're clean."

She felt like she knew the answer already but asked anyway.

"So," she said nervously, "did I really do every terrible thing I see in my dreams? Did I really kill three hundred humans?"

She was holding out hope that this was all some sort of misunderstanding, some epic farce, and she wasn't truly a monster.

Her mother sighed deeply. "Yes, Clarke, you killed them all."


Her ruminations were interrupted when there were loud footsteps rapidly descending the spiraling stone staircase that led to the dungeons. The plate blocking her view was wrenched aside. Furious, pained eyes stared back at her.

"Clarke, what the hell is going on?! Why has that succubitch locked you up?! She told me I should ask you, so here I am!"

"You were wrong about me, Raven," she said quietly, "it was my fault. The plane didn't wipe out that village. It was me. I killed all those humans. My mother covered it up with a fire."

Raven took a step back as she processed this revelation. "You're exhausted. You don't know what you're talking about," she said, seemingly more to comfort herself than Clarke. "You couldn't have. You're not a monster."

Clarke laughed humourlessly and took a page from Lexa's book, turning off her emotions. "I'm a griffin, Raven. A legendary beast. And that night, in my grief, I let the beast consume me, and I slaughtered every last one of them. Just because I could. I am a monster."

Raven flinched at her cold tone. "Don't say that! You're not! You can't be!"

"Why not, Raven? Because you don't want me to be? I'm afraid it doesn't work like that. I did it. I'm guilty. And I'm going to say as much during the trial. It's high time I paid for my sins."

"Fuck you, Clarke!" yelled Raven, visibly shaking. "You lied to me this whole time! Started a romantic relationship! Let me fall...fuck you, Clarke!" she repeated before hightailing it out of there.

Once she was sure she was gone, Clarke collapsed to the freezing floor and cried herself into an uneasy sleep, hoping to feel as numb all around as her arms now did.


Angst, angst, angst. If you've ever read one of my stories, you must've known this was coming.

Octavia might be a ditz in this fic but I'm pretty fond of this incarnation.

Seems like Team Earth and Fire are in peril...