Title: "Hunger of the Pine"

Author: Lila

Rating: PG-13/Light R

Character/Pairing: Clarke, Clarke/Bellamy

Spoiler: all aired episodes

Length: multi-part

Summary:/b 85 years after a nuclear war, Jake Griffin discovers that Earth is habitable and sets out to prove it. He takes his daughter with him. Clarke survives the trip and grows up Trigedakru. She becomes Trigedakru. But then, another dropship lands and she has to make a choice.

Or, a reimagined version of seasons one and two where Clarke is raised on the ground and all roads still lead to Bellamy Blake.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

Author's Note: And now we move into season two with references from "Song of Ice and Fire" and this fascinating NatGeo article about the kumari of Nepal. As always, thank you for the support – comments and reviews are *so* appreciated.

Prologue

Many years ago, when the earth was no longer young, there came a night that lasted a generation. It began with fire that turned to ash, thick and clotted like spoiled cream, the color of death, so much fire and ash and the people drowned in it. Countries fell. Cities burned. The survivors went underground while the sun slipped from the sky and the cold seeped into their bones. Children were born and old men died and all they ever saw was night.

The darkness faded and the sun awoke, but new monsters lurked in the trees. They had their own fire that blistered and burned. They laughed as wives wept for the husbands they stole. The mountain took more than its share. No one ever came back.

The old ones say a girl will lead them into the light. A girl with a body like a laurel and eyes like an owl, with thighs like a deer and a voice soft and clear as a hummingbird's. With a heart like a wolf's. Each commander rises and falls and still the mountain takes. Her people wait, but they give her a name.

They call her Wanheda. Savior.

She's not dead.

It's Clarke's first thought when wakes up in a room so starkly white it hurts her eyes. She feels a bit like the girl she was at five, blinking in the bright sunshine, trying to make sense of how much her life had changed.

Her people lost a war. Hundreds of them died. The Mounde came.

Slowly, she pushes to a sitting position and tries to find her bearings.

The floor is cold against the soles of her feet and there's a tube in her arm. Her hair is loose and she's wearing new clothes. Clean clothes. Someone stripped her bare and scrubbed her skin. She shudders and rips the tube from her arm. There's furniture in the room, a couch and toilet and sink. She stares at them for a long minute, the cold steel and cool chrome – they remind her too much of the Ark.

She finds the painting interesting in its insanity, a starry sky painted in thick spirals and swirls. It reminds her of the first time she and Kolya ate jobi nuts. They'd spent hours staring at the night sky, reaching for stars they'd thought were close enough to touch. She turns away from the painting – it reminds her too much of home.

Her feet wear treads into the smooth white tiles as she paces the room and tries to figure out what to do. It takes a while for her head to clear, before she can pad to the door and examine what's outside her prison. The room across the hall is empty, but she can see the sign clearly: Mount Weather Quarantine Ward. Her pacing turns frantic. She can't stay in this room another minute.

What happens next is stupid. She smashes the window open but in her desperation, forgets to clear the broken glass. She knows better, can already hear Indra muttering under her breath as the blood drips down her wrist. Indra. She blinks away a sudden rush of tears and concentrates on turning the door handle. She can't bring back her nomon but she can make it out of this place. She grits her teeth against the throbbing pain in her arm and picks up a piece of glass. She can hear Indra praising her choice. The shard is large and jagged – a suitable weapon. She hopes she won't have to use it.

Two minutes later, it's at a girl's throat, digging through the flimsy fabric of her protective suit. It makes Clarke think of her first day at the dropship, of the hatchet Bellamy held to her throat while his broad chest pressed into her back and she doesn't mean to, but thinking about Bellamy makes her lose control and she digs the glass deeper. The girl whimpers but Clarke ignores her and tightens her grip. Bellamy is dead but her mom is out there. Getting out of this room isn't a choice.

She doesn't expect the events that follow, the soft music and children's laughter, Jasper and Fox bumping elbows as they reach for platters of food. She stands in the doorway, weak from blood loss, when a woman screams. The music stops and every head turns, men and women and children, all well-fed and well-dressed, like they know nothing of war.

Her legs begin to give out and she reaches for a support, collapses in a heap when she finds none. Her eyelids feel so heavy and she can't think much past the pain in her arm, but she sees him clearly, hair white as snow and eyes like a storm. He smiles and she screams.

Clarke opens her eyes and its more white. She's wearing a hospital gown, clean and pristine as the white walls, and she's getting really tired of these people taking off her clothes. A doctor watches her closely, scribbles something in a chart as Clarke groggily tries to sit up.

"You were sedated." There's another tube in her arm, but Clarke thinks better of trying to rip it out.

"What happened?"

"You passed out from blood loss – "

"That doesn't require sedation."

The doctor smiles tightly. "We wanted to give you time to rest." She puts down her clipboard. "I'm Dr. Tsing. I'll be supervising your care."

Clarke finally makes it to that sitting position. "I want to see…" She trails off, searches for the right word. Wells and Monty aren't her people, but they're most definitely not her enemy either. "I want to see the others."

Again, that tight, strained smile. "Of course." Tsing removes the tube. "I'll be right outside when you're done changing."

There's a dress at the foot of the bed, with a collar and full skirt, made from a fabric the same color as a clear sky. There's a thick white bandage covering Clarke's forearm, and she must be on painkillers because the wound doesn't hurt. Her head does feel fuzzy so she guesses some kind of opiate – she makes a mental note to avoid medication in the future.

As promised, Tsing is waiting outside the exam room, watching Clarke closely when she appears in her borrowed clothes. It's strange walking around without pants, feet clad in flat shoes with bows over the toes. She's never worn anything so impractical. The dress is soft though and floats around her thighs when she walks. She ignores how nice the fabric feels against her bare skin. There are more important matters that need her attention.

She keeps her eyes open as she follows Tsing to Level 5, takes in every hallway, every nook and cranny, every doorway and emergency exit and stairwell. She's learned her lesson about rash decision-making, but her resolve is just as strong – no matter how long she has to fight, she won't let the Mountain take her too.

Tsing leaves her in the dorms with a welcome packet and a warning to take it easy. It should have come across as a casual, chiding reminder, but from Tsing, it's more like a threat. Clarke stares into her dark, unblinking eyes and forces an embarrassed smile. She thinks even Indra would be proud – she knows something of wearing masks.

Clarke's surprised by the reactions she receives. Relations were cordial but strained that night in the dropship; the only people who'd talked to her were Raven, Harper, and Wells. Raven isn't among the assembled teenagers, but Monty hugs her the second she appears, skinny arms holding tight with surprising strength. "I'm glad you're here. This place is so weird." There's something in his voice that makes Clarke think he doesn't want anyone else to hear, and his shifty gaze in Jasper's direction confirms it.

"I'm glad you're here too," she says and lets him go so she can embrace Wells. His arms are thicker and his hug is even tighter, but it feels good, steady and strong, like Lincoln used to be. Like Bellamy could have been. She lets Wells hold her a moment longer than necessary.

Fox and Harper are next while Miller watches her with an implacable expression. "Way to make an entrance," he says dryly.

Clarke can't say she's happy to see him, but appreciates his stoic steadiness. She politely nods in return. Later, she can tell Monty and Wells what she knows of the Mounde, but not now, not surrounded by battle-scarred teenagers. Many of them still regard her as the enemy even though they're all stuck in the here together.

She takes Wells' elbow and pulls him away from the suspicious crowd. "What happened?"

He scratches his head. "I'm not really sure. We woke up in these white rooms. We'd been treated, bathed, changed." He grimaces. "They said they saved us, that we can start new lives here." His voice drops. "This place is too good to be true."

Clarke exhales, glad she has Wells on her team. She feels eyes on her, turns to find a girl with a lank blonde ponytail watching them. She's too well-fed to have come from the dropship. "Later," Clarke whispers as she pulls away from Wells. "I'll find you later."

Later comes after dinner – some kind of roasted meat and vegetables – and Clarke sits between Wells and Harper while she pokes at her food. A girl plops down beside Jasper, all messy black hair and downcast eyes, and it takes Clarke a moment to recognize her. She feels guilty for the first time since this nightmare began. Only a few hours earlier, she held a shard of broken glass to the same girl's throat.

If she hadn't put it together, Jasper's glare does the work for her. "You were almost out of decontamination," he says. "You didn't have to threaten her."

"Jasper, it's okay," the girl says. "I can imagine how scary it must have been to wake up in a strange place." Tentatively, she extends a hand. "I'm Maya."

"Clarke," she says and accepts Maya's hand. Her skin is soft and smooth. Clarke prides herself on clean nails and cuticles, but there are callouses on her palms from long hours at the mortar and pestle. She lets go of Maya's hand and hides hers in her lap. She has nothing in common with these people. Even their skin feels different.

Jasper is still glaring and Maya takes his hand. "C'mon. I know where we can find more chocolate cake."

Clarke watches them go, unsure how to feel. Maya was forgiving and kind, but she knows better than to trust these people. Something red flashes out of the corner of her eye. A camera. Nowhere is safe in this place.

"I think that's the first time he's really touched a girl," Monty says, breaks her out of her thoughts.

"Do you trust her?" She keeps an eye on the camera, keeps her voice low.

Monty ponders for a moment. "As much as any of them."

Miller leans in. "How can you trust anyone that dresses like this?" He mutinously undoes the top button of his shirt, revealing the faintest sliver of skin.

She studies the map she found in the welcome packet. It's mostly living quarters and work units, but there's a large dark space next to the hospital ward that isn't labeled. "Do you know what's here?"

Wells sighs. "Maya would know."

Clarke watches her and Jasper. They're sitting in a pair of armchairs, laughing as they feed each other slices of cake. A piece of white plastic sits next to Maya's elbow. A keycard. Clarke made her use it to access the elevator during her first escape attempt. It would be easy to go over there and apologize, steal the keycard from right under Maya's nose, but it's too risky. If she's caught again, the Mounde might not be so forgiving.

A man appears at her shoulder.

"Ms. Griffin," he says. The monster is the same, with that white hair and those stormy blue eyes, but she doesn't scream this time. Indra is in her head, along with a memory of the first time she held a spear. "Nou teik your kwelnes breik au," her nomon had said. Do not let your fear break free. Clarke looks into the man's icy blue eyes and keeps her face blank. He smiles at her. "I'm Dante Wallace, President of the Mount Weather colony." She takes his offered hand. It's cool and dry, almost lifeless compared to her own. "Come," he says and gestures towards the exit. "We should speak."

Clarke silently follows him to a cluttered office. The walls are lined with paintings and she stops to study a sun-soaked landscape, can't help but admire the vibrant dots that come together and create a vivid picture. She can almost imagine that she's there.

"It's the French countryside." Dante says, his words bringing her back to the reality of where she is: in the Mountain, at his mercy, plotting her escape with every breath she takes. He continues speaking as he takes a seat behind his desk. "Pissarro to be exact. A lucky acquisition if you ask me."

She didn't ask but doesn't correct him either, takes the chair opposite the desk and crosses her arms. There's a bright orange flower trapped beneath a glass dome. She feels a kinship with it – they're both things plucked from the outside against their will.

He catches her looking. "My people collect them for me when they go topside." He smiles sadly. "You see, we can't go outside. The air, the water – the very ground is toxic. We'd die of radiation poisoning within minutes."

Clarke is unmoved. She's lived the majority of her life in fear of the Mountain, watched families mourn loved ones that simply disappeared. She raises her eyebrows. "So you gas and kidnap people."

Dante's smile tightens at the corners. "We're only trying to keep everyone safe. Decontamination is required before entering the facility." He looks pointedly at the bandage on her arm. "You scared a lot of people."

She remembers the horrified expressions, the terrified screams. Children looked at her like some kind of monster. She feels guilty even though she didn't do anything wrong. "What reason did I have to trust you?"

"None, from what I understand. You were born in space but raised on the ground."

Clarke sits, frozen in her seat. This is likely it, the moment they take her out before she can share what she knows with the others. "Yes. I know all about the Mountain Men." She manages to keep her voice level, but can't quite keep the accusation from her eyes.

Dante looks slightly pained. "Our relationship with the Topsiders has been strained, but I'm hoping we can start over. You're very precious to us, Clarke." He opens his desk drawer and she freezes again, but she doesn't find herself staring into the barrel of a gun. She's staring at her dad's watch, sitting in Dante's palm. Her hand falls to her wrist and finds it bare. In all the confusion, she hadn't realized the watch was missing. Dante smiles at her. "We had to decontaminate it first, but I thought you'd like it back. Think of it as a symbol of our new beginning."

It should be an easy decision. She made the same agreement with Bellamy after he betrayed her, and yet, there's an awkward pause before she can muster the strength to take the watch. Bellamy was different – kinder, stronger, truly repentant. When she looks into Dante's eyes, she sees only calculating coldness.

"To new beginnings," she says but keeps her fingers crossed – it's a promise she has no intention of keeping.

Wells is waiting when a guard deposits her in the dorms, gestures for Miller to turn on the radio before leading her to Monty's bunk.

"What did Dante want?" Wells asks. It's hard to hear him over the music, but she doesn't risk asking him to speak louder.

"Something about starting over. I think he's worried I'll start a rebellion."

"Will you?" Monty asks. He worriedly glances at Jasper, dancing with Maya by the radio. Clarke knows it pains him to keep things from his friend, but Jasper feels differently about the Mounde and Clarke hasn't entirely forgiven him for the dropship blasting off. Until she's sure of his loyalty, he's out of the loop.

"I can't stay here." She gestures for the boys to huddle in even closer. "The only thing my people fear is the Mounde – the Mountain Men. They come into our woods with their guns and their gas and people disappear." Her voice trembles. "No one comes back from the Mountain."

Wells and Monty exchange a look. Neither looks happy about her news. "It's going to be a hard sell," Wells finally says. He inclines his head towards the room full of laughing teenagers. "They have it good here."

She doesn't blame them. In the Mountain, they're fed and clothed and entertained. There are no Trikru armies descending on their camp. But she knows better and she's finding a way out, with or without them. She opts for the latter. "It will be easier on my own."

"Clarke – " Wells starts.

"No," she says firmly. "You need to listen to me. I know these woods. More people will only slow me down. We all saw the Ark fall. They'll have guards and weapons. Once I have them, I'll come back for everyone else."

"You don't know anyone on the Ark," Wells says.

"My mom is there," she says softly. "You said she never stopped believing that I was alive." Her voice drops to a whisper. "My family is dead. Bellamy is dead. My mom is all I have left." She bites her lip to keep it from quivering.

The boys exchange another look. "I guess I can stomach apple pie for a few more weeks," Monty says.

Clarke manages a watery laugh. "It can't hurt." She sobers up. "For now, you're invited guests. Let's make sure it stays that way."

Wells sighs. "I really wanted to believe they just wanted to help."

"Maybe they do, but I think there's more to it." She thinks of the strange decontamination process, the empty space by the hospital, the hundreds of her people that vanished into thin air. She knows something isn't right.

"Okay," Monty says. "Tomorrow, we plan."

She's still alive the next morning and keeps her head down during breakfast. Just because they haven't killed her yet doesn't mean they won't. She smiles politely when she buses her tray and picks up a soccer ball for a little boy and does her best to blend in, to seem remorseful for her crime. The less she stands out, the easier it will be to slip away.

After breakfast comes work assignments, an assortment of unskilled jobs that don't require training or security clearances. Keenan of the lank, blonde ponytail claims that her superiors tried to match the Sky People with things they already know, but Clarke still ends up in the laundry despite showing them her caduceus tattoo. She doesn't understand it – repeatedly dunking her arms in cold water won't be good for her healing arm – but she doesn't complain either. She remembers the washers in tonDC. They knew all the village's secrets, all the important details of their neighbor's lives. Clarke can't think of a better way to uncover all the things the Mounde don't want her to know. She smiles brightly and reports for duty.

Laundry is different in the Mountain. She doesn't spend her days scrubbing clothes against ragged river rocks. Mostly, she puts things in one set of machines to clean them and another set of machines for drying. She learns nothing of interest other than the Mounde's preference for khaki uniforms.

Every morning she wakes up and she's still alive is a surprise. She eats breakfast and reports to work and waits for something to go wrong, for Dante to pull her from her bed and put that bullet between her eyes for knowing too much, for seeing the truth behind his pretty words. It doesn't happen and she always feels like she can't quite catch her breath.

Most nights she plays cards with Monty and Wells, Miller and Harper now too, trading information over hands of poker. They don't learn much. A week passes and they're exactly where they started. It makes Clarke want to punch something, but not enough to risk a return trip to the hospital and another dose of opiates.

Then, a boiler breaks and it somehow translates to a shortage of sheets and towels. Marian, the harried manager of the laundry, dumps a pile of freshly pressed linens into Clarke's arms and tells her to take them to the hospital. The hospital! Clarke nods in acknowledgement and forces herself to walk at a normal pace. There's no need to draw attention to herself on when she's on the verge of a breakthrough. She keeps her head low after dropping off a few sets of sheets in the main ward, and maybe it's her neatly braided hair or unremarkable behavior, but no one stops her when she enters the corridor with the individual exam rooms. There's a burst of noise and two guards in protective suits appear, dragging a third man between them. He's covered in blisters and burns, gasping for breath through seared lungs. Clarke holds the sheets to her chest and stares, struck by a sudden vision of Atom in the woods. "Kill me," he'd begged and she had, ended his life to end his suffering. She hopes this man's people will be as merciful.

Tsing rushes in behind them, expression pinched when she spots Clarke. "What are you doing here? Only patients are allowed in the hospital."

Clarke holds out the linens, averts her eyes as the guards disappear into a private room. "Fresh sheets. Marian sent me."

"Thanks," Tsing says tersely and takes the sheets. "I'll see that these are distributed." Her dark, predatory eyes bore into Clarke's. "Is there something else?"

"No." Clarke bows her head and hurries out of the hospital wing. As she walks the halls, she keeps her head down to hide her smile from the cameras. It's only when she's back in the laundry, a sheet billowing around her face, that she lets her excitement show. Just the slightest bit of progress feels like a win.

She tries to tell Wells and Monty about it after dinner, but she can't catch them before roll call, and then she has to act. It's too soon – she doesn't have provisions or supplies or even a plan – but the opportunity presents itself and there's no choice but to take it. She's standing in line when the guard from the hospital walks into the dorm on his own two feet. His skin is smooth and unblemished and he laughs when another guard asks him about his treatments. Clarke does her best not to stare. Whatever happened to that guard, it's the answer she's been looking for.

"Only patients are allowed in the hospital." Tsing's words repeat in her head as she paces in front of her bunk while the others play cards or dance. She scratches absently at the bandage on her arm, trying to create friction between the tape and her skin. The wound on her arm…she slips behind the bunk, out of view of both dorm mates and cameras.

Clarke pulls back the bandage and studies the neat rows of stitches lacing her skin back together. It's easy, the plan she's crafted, but can she really pull out her own stitches? Indra's voice sounds in her head, "Taim yu ste kwelen, yu na wan op." If you are weak, you will die. She knows she's being weak. For seven days, all she's thought about is getting out of the Mountain, discovering its secrets and rescuing the others. She can't back down now.

She closes her eyes and wishes for luck, to Lincoln and Kolya and Octavia and Bellamy and Indra most of all. She raises her arm and lets the blood flow.

For the third time, Clarke wakes in the hospital. A quick story about tripping and ripping open her wound had done the trick, and she'd refused painkillers when they stitched her back together. It had hurt terribly, but had been worth it to keep her wits about her. The nap had been for the nurse's benefit. She can't exactly explore with an onlooker lurking about.

As soon as she's alone, she slips into her strange flat shoes and tiptoes down the length of the ward. There are two other patients sleeping peacefully along the far wall, and Clarke's been itching to examine them since they brought her in. They were in far worse condition then, blistered and burned like the guard from the dorm, but a few hours later, they're practically good as new. Boils pockmark their exposed skin, but even those seem to be healing. She'd call it a miracle, except she knows better – nothing in the Mountain happens by chance.

She studies the two prone bodies hooked up to a variety of tubes. It's the widest one, thick and pulsing a deep, rich red, that catches her attention. It doesn't connect to a monitor or machine, but climbs the white, white wall and disappears into a crack in the ceiling. She needs to get behind that wall. She opens a door and prays it's the right one.

The room is a dark, dingy gray, with a metal floor and grime-streaked walls, so different from the rest of the Mountain. Cages, in neat rows, are stacked almost to the ceiling, and inside, are people. Her people. Beyond the cages, a gona hangs from her ankles, her tattoos starkly blue against steadily bleaching skin. The girl's blood neatly leaves her body through one of the Mountain's tubes. She stares with wide, lifeless eyes. Clarke clamps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Of all the things the Trikru thought happened in the Mountain, they never imagined this. It's more than being trapped. These people – her people – are being drained of their blood, slaughtered like their lives mean nothing. Sacrificed so the Mountain can live. Clarke's hands curl into fists. Her chest feels tight, hot with rage. She will do more than escape. She'll make the Mounde pay.

Slowly, she steps into the dim light, and is met with a chorus of low wails. Prisoners gape at her from their cages, lips curling into ugly snarls when they see her pretty blue dress and neat braid.

"Ripa," they taunt. Murderer.

Clarke holds out her hands in Trigedakru style to show she means no harm. "Ai laik Klark kom Trikru. Ai na sis yu au." I am Clarke of the Woods Clan. I will help you.

A pretty girl with long dark hair stares at her from a second-story cage. "No kru na sis osir au." No one can help us.

"Ai na – " Clarke starts, but another voice breaks in, razor sharp in its hatred.

"Natrona," Anya hisses. "Yu laik Klark kom Skaikru." She says it as an insult, but Clarke doesn't react in her hurry to reach her heda's cage. It's on the ground level and Clarke kneels down before her.

"Anya! You're alive!"

"Natrona," Anya repeats, but Clarke ignores her.

"There's no time for that." She fumbles with the lock. "I'll need your help to get us out of here."

Anya glares mutinously while Clarke bangs at the lock with a length of pipe. The others reach for her, thin, frail fingers clinging to the fabric of her dress. It eats at her, the need to help everyone, but she can only do so much. First Anya, then the Ark, then they bring the down the Mountain. Finally, the lock springs open and despite her anger towards Clarke, Anya doesn't turn down the opportunity to be free.

They don't make it more than three steps before voices ring down the corridor and then they're scrambling into the cage, both of them, trying to fit their bodies in the already too-small space. There's a series of clicking sounds and Anya grabs for the lock. Clarke peers into the gloom.

Tsing walks down the space between the cages, her high heels making the clicking noises. A man walks at her side, his steps nearly silent on the worn metal floor.

"How many cages to do you need cleared this week? I'll send a surface team if we're running low."

They pause a few cages away. All Clarke can see is their shoes, but they still feel vaguely threatening. "None," Tsing says. "I'm trying something new."

"Oh yeah?"

"We conducted blood work on all the space kids. Radiation levels up there are higher than on the ground. That means those kids can metabolize it even faster than the Topsiders. I think…" She pauses, and Clarke imagines Tsing's face lighting up with excitement. She can already hear it in her voice. "I think it's time to move to Phase 2. We'll start with the Grounder girl. The others won't care if it goes wrong." Another pause. Clarke imagines Tsing smiling. "Or if it goes right."

"And what if it does?"

Tsing laughs, low and menacing. "The ground is our birthright," she says softly. "Nothing can stand in our way." They start walking again, laughing together in a room filled with caged people.

Once they're gone, Clarke opens the cage with trembling fingers. Tsing and her partner don't know that all gonas speak Gonasleng – English – that they've understood perfectly every conversation carried out in their prison, that they've gone to their deaths knowing exactly what was in store for them. She can't imagine sitting in those cages day after day, waiting for the click of those heels and the turn of the lock. She'd been hoping to sneak back to the dorm and let Monty and Wells in on her plan, but there's no time. She needs to get out of here tonight. Whatever it is, she can't let Phase 2 happen.

Anya leans heavily against her side, but Clarke isn't ready to leave yet. So many pairs of eyes are watching her in the silent chamber, boring into her as she stands free. She has to leave them behind but she can wants to leave them with hope.

"Yu gonplei ste nou odon," she cries, not loud, but forceful, so they'll believe her. If she can make it out, they can too, but not if they give up.

A moment passes in the achingly quiet room but then there's a bang against a cage door, and then another, and then another, and then the entire room is filled with banging doors. It's like a song, so many voices coming together to show their strength. Clarke smiles, her first real smile since she came to this place. She shifts Anya's weight and takes her first step towards freedom.

It gets worse. The only exits are the hospital ward or following Tsing, and Clarke knows it won't take long before someone notices that she's missing. The alarm bells will sound and the next time they drag her into a white, white room, they'll finally put that bullet between her eyes. She's not looking forward to tumbling down a trash chute, but it's better than dying.

She lands on a pile of bodies. Bodies. The fall seems to have jarred Anya's muscles to life because she jumps to her feet and darts down a tunnel. Clarke stares blankly, someone's broken thighbone digging painfully into her hip. Hurriedly, she climbs out of the cart and tries to figure out where she is. Underground, she thinks, from the roughly carved tunnels and caked-dirt floors. Everything is made of stone and streaked with blood. It's a horrifying combination of man and nature that makes her want to be anywhere else.

Anya appears, her gait growing steadier with each step. "I think I found a way out." Clarke blinks at her. Anya's dressed Trikru, even though she came down the chute in underwear. She shoves a pile of clothes in Clarke's direction. "We don't have much time." She gives Clarke a disgusted look when she doesn't immediately take the clothes. "You look like one of them," she sneers.

Clarke snatches the clothes and quickly puts them on. The boots fit well, but the pants and shirt are a bit tight. With no way of fixing it, she gives up tugging on the shirt hem and follows Anya into the darkness.

Then, they hear the voices. They're loud – inhuman – and Clarke's heard them before. She remembers, the night her brother died, the grunts and cries that filled the clearing when she left Kolya behind and ran. She looks at Anya, but hears only Indra. "Yu laik yuj bilaik yu na teik yu laik." You're only as strong as you let yourself be. She reaches for a large rock, the best she can do for a weapon. She's lost so much. She won't lose herself too.

"Run," she yells and they do, dodging Ripas and Mounde alike.

They're everywhere, filling the tunnels with their screams and commands, but still Clarke runs. She runs until their backs are against the wall, a wall of water, and she can feel the spray on the back of her neck as they inch closer to the edge. The Reapers are nearly on them, laughing through mouths filled with jagged teeth as their eyes hone in on their next meal. Clarke swallows hard and takes a nervous step back. A loud buzzing noise pierces the air, and it's annoying to her but has a stronger effect on the Reapers, because they collapse in heaps while holding their ears. It's only then, when they're so close, that she sees they're wearing Trikru clothes. Her own people are the enemy. She balls her hands into fists and stops retreating. She wants to do so much more than just bring down the Mountain. She wants it gone from the earth.

The Mounde move in next, guns trained neatly on their targets' heads. "Surrender and no one gets hurt."

Anya and Clarke exchange a look. They both know better than to let down their guard. Several of the Reapers stir, pushing to their knees. Clarke watches the Mounde pull electronic devices with blue lights from their pockets. Their thumbs hover over the button.

"Last chance."

Without a second glance, Anya jumps, disappears into the heavy rush of water pounding into the reservoir below. Clarke watches, impressed and terrified, because she knows she's next. Not just to follow Anya's example, but because there's no other alternative. It's jump or die and she chooses the waterfall.

She takes a few steps forward and holds up her hands like she's surrendering. The guards lower their rifles. She takes a deep breath for courage and it's then when she sees them, the brown eyes of a Reaper on his knees at her feet. It makes her lose her balance, the familiarity in those eyes, and she trips over the edge and loses most of the distance she should have put between herself and the dam's wall. What little hope she had of surviving this journey is pretty much gone but she isn't scared. She doesn't panic as she spins head over feet and tumbles towards the dark water below. She thinks about the warmth in those eyes, the laugher hiding in their dark depths. She's glad she could see her brother one more time.

Clarke opens her eyes and she still isn't dead.

She blinks a few times, expecting a stark white ceiling, but she's staring up at a bright blue sky. She made it over the falls. A laugh bubbles up through her chest and she doesn't try to stop it. She feels too good breathing fresh air and feeling the sun on her face. She's free.

"Shof op." Anya's sitting a few feet away with her knees drawn to her chest and a furious glare on her face.

It's then that Clarke realizes her hands are bound and it's not just the sun warming her skin. She has a head wound that's clumsily bound with a strip of cloth from her shirt, blood still oozing from the cut. She winces and pushes to a sitting position without use of her hands. "Why am I tied up?" Anya stands and takes Clarke with her. Her tied hands are connected to a rope attached to Anya's belt. Clarke gapes at her. After what they saw in the Mountain, the near death they almost experienced going over the falls, she can't believe they're back to where they started. "You can't be serious."

Anya ignores her and starts walking, Clarke stumbling along after her. "Do not think I forgot what you did for the bagas."

Even though Anya can't see, Clarke rolls her eyes. "You saw what goes on in the Mounde. The Skaikru are not our enemy."

Anya turns quickly and Clarke fights to stay on her feet. "Nau osir don mo baga." Now we have more enemies. She tugs hard on the rope and trudges deeper into the forest.

Clarke struggles to keep up and doesn't mention it again. Anya is a hardliner, set in her ways, and she'll need more than words to change her mind. She tries not to hold it against her heda; Indra would have done the same.

The Mounde follow them. Every hill they climb or path they choose, they're a few yards behind. Many times, their bullets fall almost too close. Anya rages at Clarke but she won't take the blame for this one. She points to a raised bump on Anya's forearm. "It's you." Anya stares at the pulsing dot. "They're tracking you."

Anya doesn't hesitate, sucks in a breath then sinks her teeth into the tender flesh of her arm. She smiles through bloody lips and spits out the small metal button, grinds it into the dirt with her Trikru boots. She turns back to Clarke. "Let's go."

It's Clarke's turn to smile, her wrist ties frayed and torn from rubbing them against a boulder's jagged edge. She kicks Anya's legs out from under her and rests her foot on Anya's throat. "My turn."

She drags Anya behind her all the way to the dropship, ignoring her heda's continued stream of Trigedakru insults. There are supplies at the camp and maybe even weapons, things they'll need to make it through the night. She tries to explain her plan to Anya but she still hisses at the mention of anything Skaikru. Eventually, Clarke gives up. She'll have to work out a deal with the Ark on her own.

Sure enough, she finds her pack where she left it in dropship and immediately treats Anya's arm. Her heda seethes but doesn't turn down the medical attention. They find canteens too and a couple blankets, but no guns or knives. No sign of Raven either. Clarke can't decide if it's a good sign or bad. She hopes it's good, especially when she sees the white powder staining the wall of the ship. It looks like the remnants of a message; maybe the Ark was here, took Raven someplace safe.

Anya takes advantage of the situation and tugs her arms in a way that yanks Clarke off her feet. She lands hard on her back, jarring her already pounding head. By the time she clears the black spots from her vision, Anya is pounding away at her face. It goes on for some time as they fight for control, neither quite succeeding thanks to the length of rope binding them together. They battle with their hands and more. Anya smacks Clarke with a charred arm bone and Clarke cracks a gaping skull over Anya's head. They stare at each other in horror. Fighting like this, they're no better than the Mounde.

"Enough," Anya says raggedly. "It is enough."

Clarke falls to her knees and pulls Anya down with her. "We have to do this together." She tugs on the rope to show the other woman how connected they already are. Clarke can appeal to the Ark, but Anya is a heda. They'll need her authority to bring the Trikru to their cause.

Anya nods tiredly. "What do you propose?"

"We go to the Ark and tell them what we saw. Many of the Sky People have children in the Mountain. They'll help us get everyone out." Anya frowns and Clarke sighs. "They're not our enemy," she says again.

"Okay," Anya finally agrees. "I will go with you to the Ark and form an alliance to bring down the Mounde." Her eyes are hard as she holds out her hand like the Skaikru. "After that, I make no promises."

Clarke takes her hand and shakes. It's not what she wanted but more than she thought she'd get. They can renegotiate terms of their treaty when their people – all their people – are home.

They travel through the night, the ropes cut from their wrists, but following the same course as they trek towards the Ark. Clarke's breath catches in her throat when it comes into view. Her mom is there, all she has left in this world. It gives her the hope she needs to believe her plan will work.

Shouts erupt around them. "Grounders! Grounders approaching!"

Clarke opens her mouth to explain – they're not enemies but friends! – but the bullets find them first. Anya dies in her arms right as a star shoots through the night sky. Clarke holds up her blood soaked hands as the bright lights shine down and her hope dries up. She knows better than to make a wish.

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