This chapter was a little tricky and I hope I did it right. I can't say too much in these author notes because...*River's voice* "spoilers." But luckily, I have already written out how this fanfiction will go, so I hopefully will not suffer from much writer's block. Words of encouragement do keep up the motivation so please supply me with them. And as always, thank you!

Seconds passed before Clarke could find her voice, too struck with astonishment to speak. "How..." she started. "I was-"

"Chosen by the Commander to fulfill her position until she is able to do so herself," Indra finished for her, unaware of the impact her words had on Clarke.

She was finding it difficult to stand, unable to catch her breath over the lump that appeared in her throat. "Why would she choose me?" She asked. "How can she? I'm not even one of you."

"A sky person without its wings is just another grounder," Indra said. "It is true that you do not share our customs and you can trust I did my best to dissuade Heda from such a decision, but she was adamant. It is clear she thought your experience and time spent within the Ice Nation overruled your origin. And it is her people that broke the alliance. That responsibility has fallen to her."

Clarke's fingers were trembling and she suddenly wanted out, to be away from this room. From everyone here. "I'm not suited for this," she said insistently. "She needs to choose someone else."

Indra's eyes seemed to turn to stone. But before she spoke, the man, Tyrell, stepped forward. "Once decided, it cannot be undone," he said, stormy eyes meeting hers."You were chosen, Clarke Griffin. It is you who must lead us."

But Clarke was shaking her head, raising her palms to them. "You don't want me as your leader."

"I'm sure some of us agree with you on that," Indra concurred. "But I will admit, your leadership skills speak louder than your words."

Clarke gave her a hard look, trying her best to mask her mounting panic."I didn't...I don't want this."

Indra mirrored the steel in her voice. "No one did. But as you said, We are facing war, and Heda could think of no one more capable than you to guide us, a girl who still saved her people even without our aid. who made it inside the Ice Nation and managed escaped. "

Clarke's vision swam. "And you think that makes me qualified? Do you know how I saved my people?" She asked, desperation leeching into her voice. "By killing everyone in the mountain men. All of their people. Are you really willing to put yours under my command?"

Indra didn't even bat an eye. "Octavia has already informed us of your obstacles. It took strength to make that decision, and it only gives Heda more reason to approve of you."

Clarke turned her eyes on Octavia, the anger and panic inside her brimming over the rim. "You knew about this," she said and Octavia didn't bother denying it.

"I just knew they wanted you as a leader," she said. "I didn't know the circumstances that influenced it."

Clarke felt a stab of hurt, but shook her head again. "No," she announced. "I won't do it."

Indra glowered at her "If you don't lead the Woods Clan, Clarke, no one will."

"Clarke," Octavia looked at her but she didn't meet the younger Blake's eyes. "If you do this, you can fix the alliance with the Sky People. Then we might stand a chance against the Ice Nation."

But Clarke couldn't focus on that, not while her heart slammed against her ribcage and pounded through her head, making it hard to think.

I don't want to be responsible for lives anymore.

"You can pick someone else," she said, "You just don't want to."

Indra clenched her jaw, so hard she nearly spit through her teeth. "It is not our way."

Clarke stared back at her, the echo of her words resounding in her mind. "Then you've condemned yourselves."

With that, Clarke twisted away from them and this time, no one bothered stopping her. She caught Indra say something to Octavia and then she followed after, but Clarke was already running. She maneuvered her way through the grounder compound, trying to keep from looking at any faces.

She would not be responsible for more lives, would not be the one to put more people in the ground. She'd already killed the Mountain Men, and helped burn down the Boat People. In spite of what people saw her as, she wasn't a leader. She wasn't just Clarke. She was a person, with blood on her hands and a list of the dead forever trailing in her wake.


Clarke didn't stop until she reached Mount Weather, ignoring Octavia that wasn't far behind. The patrols opened the door and she slipped through, only then allowing herself to catch her breath. Sweat dripped from her forehead and stung her back and she took in lungfuls of air, still struggling to grasp the events that had just taken place.

But when Octavia came through a few minutes later, Clarke resumed her walk, towards the medical labs.

"Clarke!"

She didn't answer, not trusting her voice to give everything she was feeling away. Octavia had tricked her and she wasn't in the mood to give her any leeway.

"Clarke, listen to me!"

Again, she didn't wait, fast walking through Mount Weather and down the corridors until she'd reached the second level. From the distance, she caught sight of Bellamy's broad figure through a glass pane.

Something latched at Clarke's back and whipped her around, nearly causing her to sprawl across the floor.

"Clarke, you need to listen!" Octavia said, loud enough for a few of the others to hear.

But Clarke was shaking, adrenaline, rage, and fear mingling together, forming a component that was explosive.

When she spoke, it was an order. "Let go."

Octavia didn't. "I understand that what you did here was hard," she said. "But are you really willing to risk all our lives because you just don't want to do it?"

Clarke pulled away with such force that Octavia stumbled, losing her grip. "I'm not responsible for them," Clarke hissed, barely recognizing her own voice. It was both hot with fury and cold with a deadly malice.

"You're responsible for this," Octavia fired back. "No matter what you decide, the result is on you."

That struck a nerve and Clarke froze, as if the words had rendered her immobile. What was this? Why couldn't she ever seem to escape from a position that would always claim lives? "It's not on me," She said, her voice finally raising. It can't be.

"Yes, it is, Clarke. You can actually give us a fighting chance and you won't. What happened to you?" She asked, tone heavy with respite. "You go off for half a year and suddenly think you have no responsibilities anymore?"

"This is more than just responsibilities, Octavia," She shot back. "You're asking me to be in charge of lives!"

"Which you've done! You kept us alive!"

"At the expense of hundreds of others!" Clarke screamed, her outburst reverberating around the room. The hall went silent, and Clarke became aware of the tears in her eyes but quickly blinked them back. "I'm not in any position to lead people, Octavia," She said, sounding suddenly tired.

But her friend wasn't quick to concede. "You heard what Indra said, Clarke. Everything you've done. What you know about the Ice Nation-"

"I already told Kane all I know."

"You spent four months there, Clarke," Octavia reminded. "You must've gained some intel from that. It's clearly more than anyone else ever managed."

"You want to know what I learned?" Clarke asked, her anger returning, or maybe it was just desperation, she couldn't tell the difference anymore. There was no point in hiding it from everyone now.

"I learned the torture methods of the Ice Nation," She said, ignoring the approach of the others from the medical labs, nearing the hallway they stood in. "I learned that their preference for it was blades, dipped in acid. Sometimes poison. I learned how many lashes a person could take before it killed them." She pulled up The back of her shirt to show Octavia.

Just then, Kane, Abby, and Bellamy entered, and Clarke saw her mother's face go ashen. Clarke dismissed it, keeping her eyes on the younger girl. "Exactly how does that help them, Octavia? By telling them what they'll have to survive? Share with them how to do it?" She looked at her sadly. "What makes you think they'll want to? Sometimes even I wish I didn't."


Clarke left them behind in the labs, walking back down the way she'd come. Her mother had tried to speak but Clarke had just passed by her.

There weren't many private quarters in Mount Weather and she settled for an isolated corridor to think in. She placed her hands over the wall's cold surface and let her forehead rest against it.

Her secret was out but that was her last concern, as Octavia's words still continued to burn in her mind. She was right. The person she'd once been would've faced this. But Clarke didn't know where that woman had gone. Had she perished when Clarke had pulled that lever? Or in the Ice Nation? Maybe it began as early as Rubicon, but it all had chipped away at that person, until there were only pieces remaining.

Maybe her refusal would drive some sense into the Woods Clan, but that in itself was a risk. The grounders weren't one to let go of customs they'd held onto for over 97 years.

Clarke took a deep breath. It was just like Bellamy had said; they were placed in a compromising position that they had to make a choice, and pick the lesser of two evils.

She stayed like that, unaware of how much time had passed when footsteps finally sounded down the corridor, and Clarke only lifted her forehead from the stone, already knowing they were too heavy for it to be a woman.

They stopped a few yards away. "Octavia told me," Bellamy said, but Clarke made no response, just continued to stare at the stone beneath her fingertips. Even Bellamy was better suited for the role than her. Yes, he shared the burden of the action that had cost the Mountain men their lives, but he was still able to lead. It was written in the compliance of his guards, in the way even young boys stood up a bit straighter when he passed them by.

A part of her didn't know what to expect from him. Anger? But he just said in an unfeeling voice, "You could do it, Clarke."

She shook her head. "I can't, Bellamy. I'll just end up costing more lives."

He took a step closer. "Look, I'm not going to pretend to know exactly what you're feeling, because it's not just about Mount Weather. It's everything else after it."

More steps. Now he stood right beside her and Clarke finally looked at him, his brown eyes staring into hers. "But this is something you need to consider, because no matter what you choose, people are going to die."

She but her lip until she tasted the copper tang of blood. "And I'm helping both sides to that fate, aren't I?" Clarke scoffed. "Either way, I have blood on my hands, Bellamy. We all do. But I don't want to add more. I don't want the price of survival to outweigh the cost of death." The tears collected in her eyes again, blurring his features. "Because then what's the point? What's the point in being alive if others have to keep dying for it?"

Bellamy put his hands on her shoulders and twisted her around, gripping them gently but firmly. "You are not taking lives inocent Clarke," he said. "You are giving these people, us, a chance. Those who die, will die because they chose to fight in this war, to fight for their families and everything they believe in. You can't prevent death, Clarke, but you can define the purpose they meet it for."

Clarke faltered, taking in a trembling breath. "I don't want this," she repeated her earlier words.

Bellamy loosened his grip but didn't look away from her. "I wish there was another way. For any of this. But there's not and you still have a decision to make."

Clarke's breathing quickened. "But I don't know what I'll do!" She said. "I...I don't know."

"I have my own theory," he told her and looked at him pleadingly.

He rubbed his thumbs over her shoulders and stared into her eyes."First you'll go through every other scenario. You will not leave one possibility unturned. And when you see there is no other way, you'll start strategizing, entertaining the thought, just for a second. Then more. And slowly, you'll start to feel it, right here." He prodded the area just over her heart. "You'll get mad, you'll get pissed off like the rest of us and you'll want to do everything that's in your power to stop those that hurt you and the people you care about. And you'll feel like you can. You know what that's called?"

Clarke stared back, gauging his words carefully.

"Its called hope," he said. "And that, that is what you are to us, Clarke."

His words sparked something in her, like two wires placed too close. She gazed up at him, scrutinizing the truth in his eyes, the confidence in his voice. "But what if I did this and failed?"

The confidence didn't waver. "To fail means you at least tried. And to not try at all is the real loss."

Clarke wasn't one to admit when she was afraid. But she was now. She wanted to deny the situation, to forget Indra's words and allow someone else to lay claim to what she so desperately wanted not to be hers. But she couldn't. People would die. One way or another, blood would be shed. She still tried to find some way out, a small tear in her reality where another one hopefully existed beyond it.

There wasn't one. Bellamy pulled back, clearly opting to give her space. "It's your choice, Clarke," he said. And she watched him go, not looking away even after he receded out from view.


"It's your fault," she heard someone speak. Clarke recognized the voice and placed it instantly. Dante.

"You could have saved them," he said.

Clarke wanted to say something back, but then a new voice appeared from the darkness. "We're the same, you and I, Clarke," Cage suddenly whispered and she could see him clearly in her mind. "Don't you see that?"

Then more voices burst forth.

She heard Phlox scream her name; caught Tolia's cry in the distance. Even those she didn't know like Maia spoke up. "I didn't want to die there," she said in an empty voice. "I helped you."

"You're responsible for this," Octavia's words echoed, mingling with the others. "No matter what you decide, the result is on you."

I don't want it, Clarke thought back, but it did nothing to stop the voices, the shouts, the pleas that sounded around her, encasing her in a relentless stream of blame. It only became louder until Clarke could barely hear herself think.

"You killed them all," Dante continued.

"You're a murderer, Clarke," Cage spat.

More piled onto it until she could no longer distinguish one voice from the other and they became one huge shout of guilt, screaming from every recess of her mind. She begged for it to end, for them to cease their torment and struggled to hold on to something, to anything that would help keep her afloat.

"If you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you," Bellamy's voice chimed, a fragmented whisper reaching through the cacophony of screaming guilt. "You're forgiven, Clarke."

She latched onto it desperately, closing her eyes and focused on those words instead, until they became louder and louder, drowning the others out. A quietness enveloped her and she thought it was over.

But when she opened her eyes, she blinked in the sudden light, the room swimming into view around her. Her breath caught in surprise.

She stood in her old home, the apartment she'd lived in on the Ark. Everything was how she'd remembered it. Same cold flooring and furnishings. Same picture on the walls. She even caught sight of one of her drawing pads, strewn over the coffee table.

"Home early?" Someone asked from behind her and Clarke whirled around, her heartbeat stuttering within her chest.

Her father stood in the kitchen, holding a cup to his lips. Hand in a pocket as he watched her, one foot sticking out more than the other, just how she remembered he used to stand. It felt normal that he was here, but also different, like there was something out of place she was missing.

"Dad?" She couldn't believe it, and almost didn't speak, afraid it would chase this picture away. But her feet seemed to move on their own accord until she was just inches from him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He responded, grasping her firmly and she smiled into his shoulder. "I missed you," she whispered.

"You still have a decision to make," he replied, his words shattering the moment like glass.

She stepped out of the embrace, and stared back up at him, into the very eyes that had given Clarke her blue ones. Maybe this was some kind of trick, but her father still looked like her father, without any traces of contempt or judgement in his features.

"What?" she asked hesitantly.

"The decision," he repeated. "It's a whopper isn't it? So have you decided yet?"

It took her a moment to recover from her initial shock, but it started to feel...normal, like a regular conversation, yet she somehow knew he understood exactly what they were talking about. Perhaps this wasn't a trick. Maybe it was a gift.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted. "I'm scared, Dad. I'm terrified that I'll be responsible for it all. For everyone that dies and I can't...I can't keep doing it. I can't keep surviving it." This was easier to tell him for some reason and it eased a little of the weight from her shoulders to speak with brutal honesty.

Her father studied her and took her hand, leading her over to the couch. They both sat down. "The things you've done, Clarke...," he sighed. "They'll stay with you forever. It's a price we all pay. But it can also be used for the good of other people. Because the bad things you do first, help you do things differently the next time around."

She pursed her lips. "What if I can't make a different decision? What if I have to choose between two bad things again? I can't...That's too-"

Her father's hand tightened around her own, cutting her off. "Then you accept it. And when it's done, you learn to forgive yourself for it."

Clarke's breath turned shaky. "I don't know how," she confessed. "After all those people..."

"Clarke," her father said, voice stern. "A true tragedy is not when people die, but when they die in vain. Do you believe they did?"

"My people survived," she said. "They wouldn't if I hadn't done what I did."

He nodded. "But you know what is in vain? To refuse to do all you can to keep them that way." He cupped her cheek in his palm. "You aren't just fighting for your people, Clarke. You're fighting for those you killed to keep your people alive. But if you stop doing everything you can to help them stay that way, those lives will have been taken in vain."

The reality of his words had a crushing effect and she stared back in silence, at a loss of what to say.

"And Clarke," he said. "You have to forgive yourself along the way."

His voice was already fading, the image of him dissipating into the air around her, but Clarke clutched onto his hand for just a little longer, desperate to ask just one last question. "But how do I forgive the person I don't like I've become?"

Her father smiled one last time. "By deciding to become better." Then he disappeared, into a thousand different fragments, glittering like embers before fading from existence.

Clarke awoke with a start, her father's voice still lingering in her mind. She sat there for what could've been hours, letting the words play like a broken recorder over and over. The dream instilled something in her, something she would've missed had she not understood. And then she felt it.

It was faint at first, and she barely recognized it for what it was. But then it grew stronger until there was no denying its presence.

Clarke didn't even know the time, but she sat up and got out of her lower barracks. She hadn't wanted to sleep in one of the apartment rooms, which made it easier, as she didn't have to worry about waking her mother. She didn't bother staying as silent around these slumbering people and made it to the exit and into the long corridor.

You aren't fighting for just your people, Clarke.

How had she never seen it? To give up without even starting was to let the mountain men die twice. For the missile to hit Rubicon again. She'd thought that in some way, surviving it all had been the crime. But the real crime was just the opposite.

You're fighting for those you killed to keep your people alive.

The truth of that was scouring. It lit up in every part of her and refused to be ignored.

No one was awake yet, but Clarke barely noticed, as she made her way to the apartment rooms. The closer she got, the more that feeling grew, until it felt as if she were burning from the inside out. For the first time in months, Clarke no longer felt cold.

If you stop doing everything you can to help them stay that way, those lives will have been taken in vain."

She stopped in front of one of the doors and started pounding it, unconcerned with waking the others next door. She'd wake the entire mountain if that's what it took.

Her fist was still rapping when it swung open, Bellamy's face appearing before her. His hair was disshelved and he wore regular clothes rather than his usual black gear, but Clarke didn't care. She just stared at him for a moment, watching his expression turn from concern into one of approval.

She didn't wait for him to speak first. "I'm going back to Tondc," she told him, saying it aloud for the first time.

He gave her a knowing look, but still asked anyway. "What for?"

How do I forgive the person I don't like I've become?

By deciding to become better.

This time, there was no hesitation in her voice. "To tell the Grounders that they have their Commander."