Trigger warnings for mentions of multiple murders and mass murder, PTSD and so on.
Warriors of the valley
Chapter 22
Orphan
Having come back from their little expedition from the forest, Clarke was avoiding looking at Monroe. Wells had needless to say, noticed this.
Clarke kept her weapons close, as always. Monroe had been watchful of this, though not surprised that Clarke held onto the weapons so possessively. It wasn't exactly news to her that Clarke was mentally "unwell."
She doubted anyone in the group were surprised by that. Even the most naïve of their number, Harper, Fox and Jasper, they knew how messed up Clarke was.
But Monroe could give Clarke time. Just as she had told Clarke. Whenever Clarke was ready.
As the three of them got over to the…ahem, "kingdom," Clarke was stoic and glaring the whole time-as always. Wells was trying to be reassuring to her, per usual. Monroe stayed close to them both. She nodded to Clarke. "Are you feeling a little better, Clarke?" She asked.
Clarke shrugged. "Yeah." She grumbled, "Fine. Just fucking peachy."
Monroe nodded. "I imagine you wouldn't be," She said, "Is there anything that I can help you with?"
Clarke chuckled dryly, "Not really. It's funny, it would have been great if someone had asked me that in the last timeline? That would have done so much for me. I would have been so glad. So damned glad for someone telling me that they were there for me and that they would help me." Clarke slowly looked at Monroe, when they had reached the front gates of the Luwoda's mainland. "I'm sorry, Monroe," She said sadly, "It's too late. It's too late to offer me help. It's not about me being ready." She shook her head, "It's too late. I can't trust anyone."
Clarke turned away from Monroe and Monroe felt her chest clench at the sadness that had crossed Clarke's face as the older blonde walked away.
Wells gave Monroe a worried look as he and her watched Clarke walk off.
"Shit," Monroe said, looking at Wells.
Wells nodded. "Shit," he agreed.
The three of them reached the area of the former amusement park, where the rest of their group was. Niylah, Pascal and Finn were talking. Harper, Fox, Monty and Jasper were eating some snacks that the Luwoda apparently had brought to them. Trina was looking around at the different gargoyles clasped in stone, seeming to study their claws and wings and so on.
Monroe inched closer as Clarke and Wells approached the group.
Finn turned to look at them.
"Hey," He said, "How are the three of you?"
"We're fine." Clarke said quietly, "Handle being on your own without your hand being held all the time, Collins?"
Finn looked like he had been hit.
But Pascal cut in, smirking, "You know, you continually insulting us like that? It's kind of obvious you're just trying to put on an act, right? It's kind of obvious, yah know?"
Clarke tilted her head, glaring at Pascal. "I'd watch it, if I were you." She said darkly.
Pascal smirked. "Hey," He said, tossing his hands up, "I might need to watch it, but am I wrong? Do you keep insulting us for the specific reason to put on an act, or what?"
Clarke stared hard at Pascal, and everyone in the group remained silent. Wells, Monroe and Finn stiffened, now worried that Pascal might be in danger. Harper, Jasper, Fox and Trina looked between Pascal and Clarke nervously for exactly the same reason. Niylah watched, curious as to what Clarke was about to do next.
Clarke then stepped forward, her eyes narrowed, her hands clutching her gun, and she watched Pascal's expression the whole time.
He wasn't flinching. Not even one time.
Clarke would have laughed, if it wasn't so fucking sad.
All three Niylah, Monroe and Wells promising her their loyalty eternally, no matter what, actually getting help from a Grounder tribe, and now, Pascal being both loyal and fearless?
Why did she get that now? When it was too late?
It was ironic, wasn't it? She was being offered all this loyalty, all this fearless protectiveness, and yet…it was all for naught. It was too late.
She might decide to allow her people to come down, but she would never trust again. It was tragically funny, she supposed.
And Pascal was not going to accomplish anything.
Clarke stood in front of Pascal and said in a threatening voice, "Don't even think about trying to psychoanalyze me, Williams. You won't like what will happen if you do. So don't you ever try to fucking psychoanalyze me. Ever."
Pascal shook his head, "I'm not trying to psychoanalyze you," He promised her, "I'm just stating a fact. You're putting on an act. So that you can come off all tough and unreasonable. That's all. I'm not trying to step on your toes. I promise."
Clarke scowled at Pascal. After almost a solid minute, Clarke scoffed at him, turning and walking away from him, going close to a gargoyle perched on a stone pedestal next to one of the rides.
Clarke glowered up at the gargoyle. She vaguely remembered what this gargoyle's name was. She had heard one gargoyle referred to this gargoyle as "Brutus." She wasn't sure to see that as a bad omen. Wasn't Brutus Caesar's best friend, and hadn't he eventually stabbed his friend?
Clarke supposed that she shouldn't believe in omens, however, the way things had gone for her in the last timeline, and given how magic was actually a thing? She couldn't help but see it as an omen.
She decided if she ever started killing any of these gargoyles, Brutus would be the first to go.
She glanced over at the treetops, noting that the sun was still in the sky, still high up there. Still hours full of daylight, and the gargoyles would not awaken yet.
She glanced over her left shoulder at the others, "We should get ready to head off to South America. Our people will be down soon and we need to meet them in South America."
Monroe nodded. "We know, Clarke," She assured the other girl, "We know. It's alright. You can count on us. Well, most of us."
Clarke snickered and Monroe knew that Clarke had heard what Monroe hadn't said. (You can count on us, just not certain people-like Jasper.)
"Yeah," Finn said, "You can trust us."
Clarke snorted, "Let's go with that. For now. But anyway, we still need to keep her heads low, make sure the Grounders don't end up wanting to kill us and all that bullshit. And when the ships are ready, be ready to take off and meet with our people."
Pascal, Finn, Monroe and Wells all nodded.
Niylah spoke softly, causing Clarke to turn to the Trikru woman. Niylah said, "You know that you have our loyalty."
Clarke nodded, appreciative that Niylah said "our loyalty," instead of saying what she really meant, which was to say, Niylah, Wells and Monroe's loyalty. But no need for anyone, besides the four of them themselves and Pascal to know that, was there?
She went back to one of the tables, sitting down and Wells and Monroe and Niylah all joined her.
Clarke decided to plan, in case this all blew up in their faces.
Far from the Luwoda's land, a troop of people from the tribes, led by a Trikru woman, called Onya, was halfway across to reaching their destination. They had left where they had been seated, eating, almost as soon as they had all gathered their bearings.
Onya was at the head of the group, Sekena and Forna flanking her as the three of them rode on, their companions close behind them on their own horses.
They were getting close now.
They would get to the Luwoda's land, in only a few hours. Three, most likely, to be specific.
As they rode, Forna turned to Onya. "Onya," She said, eyes hard when she spoke next, keeping her hands clenched around the leather reins of her horse as she rode along, "The Luwoda, they won't be pleased to have any of us near their land unannounced, you know."
Onya nodded, never facing Forna as she spoke, "I know. But not being at the Luwoda, is not an option."
None of the others asked questions as they moved.
They camped out an hour later, getting food and eating, and Sekena confronted Onya.
"Onya," She said, looking at her leader and her friend, "You know I give you my utmost trust. But I must ask, are you sure about this? Are you willing to die for this belief that you have met someone you love, love enough to betray Heda for?"
Onya nodded. "That's right," She said, smiling, "I know this is all new to you. I just want to make sure that we get to the Luwoda's land. I have to find Klark."
Sekena nodded. All rationality demanded that Onya must be mad. That she had to be either insane, or making this up for some bizarre reason.
But neither theory worked. When had Onya of all people developed wild stories about the afterlife or reincarnation? Never. No time that Sekena could recall.
So that left madness.
And Onya had never shown any evidence before of having been mad.
Whatever was happening here, it had nothing to do with madness or lies.
Onya was telling the truth. Or believed she was telling the truth.
Sekena wasn't sure how to absorb all of this. There was a girl out there, almost of age, who she had imprinted on, who she had come to love as her own daughter? Even though she had never gotten the chance to tell her?
This Klark had become like Sekena's own child?
It was strange and perhaps implausible even.
But Onya had no reason to lie and there was no evidence to suggest that Onya was mad.
Sekena looked at Onya again, and asked, voice almost weak, "Tell me about Klark."
Onya smiled and nodded.
She then gave Sekena more information on Klark. Told Sekena of the brave, willful, intelligent girl who had come into her and Onya's lives, who had captured both their hearts, who had been so ruthless and brilliant, that she had arranged for a circle of fire to be made to destroy Onya's army.
How strange it was for someone so brilliant, calculating and ruthless to exist, who at the same time, had the compassion to wish to change the way the tribes took revenge upon their enemies and stop them from torturing people-and trying to stop them from raising children to be soldiers.
It didn't sound like this Klark was interested in following anyone's idea of conformity.
Sekena wondered if this was why she had been drawn to this girl.
Then Sekena asked softly, "Did Klark feel any of what I felt back?"
Onya looked almost resigned to answer and Sekena was sure of the unfortunate answer.
No. From what what Onya could tell? Onya informed her ally, Klark neither seemed aware of Sekena's maternal feelings, nor did she display any feelings a child might show their mother.
It hurt Sekena to hear that. Hurt her deeply.
Onya then told Sekena that during one of the patrols that Klark, Onya and Sekena had gone on together, around the bend near the end of Ton DC, and had Onya went on to tell Sekena about how Klark had had a nightmare that night, about her deceased former lover, Fin, and Sekena had run to her and had held Klark while Klark had shaken, crying as she had whimpered about her dead Fin.
Sekena had apparently stroked Klark's hair, had cooed to her and soothed her back to sleep.
It seemed that Klark had been calmed down enough to get back to sleep and Sekena hadn't left the girl's side after that, until morning arrived.
Sekena didn't remember this. But she had no reason to doubt Onya's words.
She had held this girl, comforted her, soothed her back to sleep. Held the girl after the girl had had her nightmares about her dead lover.
Sekena's chest hurt. Apparently this "Fin," had formerly also been the lover of another girl named "Reivon," and he had lied to Klark. Then had snapped after becoming temporarily insane because of war and had killed a few people in a village.
This whole thing sounded like it had ended in a complicated mess.
Sekena was now very, very grateful that Onya had sent that letter with Heda's sigil on it, ordering the guards at Polis to massacre all of the captured "100."
Onya had gotten rid of a great deal of complications by doing so.
However, it seemed that Reivon hadn't come down yet, and Fin had not been amongst the 100 captured and killed in Polis.
It seemed that Fin had been one of the people brought with Klark's group and had left the rest of the 100 to die.
Sekena didn't want to think too hard about what that meant. Onya seemed to believe that the fact that Klark had left with this group meant one thing alone-that she remembered all the events of what had happened and so had left-to save herself.
And if Fin had been taken with her? Then that meant that she was making sure Fin wouldn't be killed by the tribes.
Sekena nodded at Onya's assessment of the situation.
This sounded right. If Klark was doing things this differently? Then there was no way around it.
Klark remembered. And she was going to make sure that things didn't repeat themselves. That history didn't repeat itself.
If Klark's abandonment of the 100 was anything to go by, she was only looking out for herself and a few others.
Onya told Sekena that they'd need to figure out how to help Klark-this version of Klark.
The two of them got ready to settle in for the night, when they heard someone approach.
Mardo whirled around, bearing his bow and arrow, aiming the arrow at the approaching presence.
The slim young man, dressed in plain leathers and furs, held his hands up, his face barely made visible by the flickering flames from the fire pit, though it illuminated his face enough for the warriors around the pit to recognize the tribal tattoo just at the right side of his neck.
A dark blue Ingranrona tattoo.
"Please forgive," the man said in Trigedasleng, as soon as he saw Onya, recognizing her as one of the top Trikru leaders, "I've been sent from Polis to send messages around to different bands of warriors from different tribes about what has happened in Polis. The Sky People that have been captured and thrown into Polis's dungeons? They're all dead. Tortured and murdered by the guards."
Onya fought a smirk. She knew this would happen already, because she had arranged the happenings for it to take place.
However, it was still satisfying to hear. So, so satisfying to hear.
To hear that the people that had made Klark's life so hard, so miserable were now dead.
Tortured to death. And she had given special instructions to make Belomi's death especially painful and horrifying.
And now they WERE dead! Ha!
They could trouble Klark no longer. None of them could.
Then the Ingranrona man said something that Onya had NOT been expecting.
He said, "The Mountain Men? They're dead too. All of them. They've been wiped out. Two balls of fire shot down from the sky and hit the mountain. The mountain collapsed and everyone inside was killed all of them. The entire population of the Mountain Men have been wiped out."
Onya froze.
This? This, Onya hadn't seen coming.
What? The Mountain Men had been killed off? Already? This soon?
Why…how had this happened so soon?
The 100 had come down already. But the rest of the Sky People? They were still very much in the sky.
And if these balls of fire-missiles, had been sent down from the sky, then it had been done by the Sky People. By the "Ark."
But how would this have happened? Why had the Ark done this?
Onya then remembered something. Something very important.
Radios.
The Ark people had radios.
If Klark had had access to a radio? Then she must have told the Ark to open fire upon the Mountain Men and ordered them to kill all the Mountain Men.
Onya almost laughed in disbelief. Almost.
Klark, it seemed had taken all precautions that she felt she needed.
And that included the Mountain Men, it appeared.
This time, Onya couldn't help her smirk.
Her beloved Klark certainly was efficient. Ruthlessly efficient.
Lethena, an Ingranrona warrior with Onya's group, pulled out her dagger and flashed it at the intruder, warning him in her and the man's native tongue, Ingranronesleng, that she would cut his throat if he was lying about the captured 100 or about the now very dead Mountain Men.
The Ingranrona man shook his head strongly and insisted that he was telling the truth. That he would never lie to a leader of any village-especially not about something like this!
Onya urged her warriors to let him be and told him to leave-she then tossed three gold coins to him, telling him that he had never seen her and her group here.
The man's eyes widened, then had nodded, thanking Onya for the gold and promising he would never speak a word of seeing her and her group here and he went off into the forests, to find some more groups and more villages to tell the "good news" of the dead enemies that had been wiped out.
Mardo turned to Onya, startled, lowering his bow and arrow and dropping them onto the log where he had been sitting. "This?" He said in Trigedasleng, "This is…how could this have happened, Onya?"
Onya nodded to him. "Klark remembers what happened last time. And she's taken precautions. She's ordered the Mountain Men dead."
Onya nodded again and stood up taller, smirking, despite the troubled thoughts still running around in her brain. "Klark has wiped out the Mountain Men. She is Wanheda-the Commander of Death. She is the reason why all our people are now safe. Praise Wanheda!"
To Onya's satisfaction, the rest of her warriors, save for Sekena, started chanting the phrase right back, "Praise Wanheda!"
Sekena looked troubled as the chants flew into the night air.
"Sekena?" Onya whispered to Sekena, "What's wrong?"
Sekena shook her head, "If Klark has done this, this early, what will she do when she sees you, when we arrive in the Luwoda's land, Onya? You said it yourself, Klark considers you a traitor too."
Onay frowned. That…was a good point.
This might prove to be a problem. Onya hadn't thought of that.
The next day, in the land of the Luwoda, Clarke, Niylah, Wells, Monroe, Pascal and the others sat around the table where they were eating their lunch, mostly making small talk.
Clarke chomped into the turkey leg she had in her right hand, glaring occasionally at the people around her. But there was little comment about her glares.
Clarke, for the past few days, had seemed somewhat more subdued than before.
While no one dared to jinx it by remarking upon it, Monroe had an idea about why, as did Niylah.
Monroe smirked, remembering last night. The same thing had occurred that had been occurring these past few nights. She, Niylah and Clarke would go to their shared room, and just when they were about to head off to bed, Clarke would come over to Monroe's bed and stand by it, looking hopefully at Monroe.
While Clarke never said the words, Monroe always got the idea. Clarke had wanted to sleep next to Monroe, and be held by the other girl like before.
And of course, Monroe always was happy to have Clarke next to her, and to hold Clarke while the older blonde slept.
It seemed as though Clarke enjoyed Monroe holding her. It was good for Monroe to know. It confirmed what she had been suspecting.
Clarke just wanted someone to love her. But she had assumed that no one would. No one was trustworthy enough to be given that chance.
Monroe and Clarke never had had sex on these nights, no matter how much Clarke suggested it, smirking.
Monroe wasn't going to sully any possible growing relationship by making it completely about physical gratification, and nothing else.
Sure, Monroe wanted to have sex with Clarke and she knew Niylah wanted the same-but wouldn't touch Clarke until Clarke was of age.
However, Monroe wanted their relationship to be more than just strictly about sex.
Monroe wasn't an idiot. She might not be as intelligent as Clarke, or as intelligent as Wells, but she knew why Clarke kept pushing the sex thing. She wanted it to be entirely about sex and only sex. And she wanted to throw away any chance she had to believe that someone might want something more from her than just physical gratification.
Clarke wasn't trusting enough anymore to let herself believe that anyone wanted anything more than that. Or than to use Clarke in some other way.
So that's why Monroe couldn't allow something like that. Not yet.
When-if she and Clarke got into a romantic and sexual relationship, it would be about more than just sex.
But Monroe had to be sure that Clarke would agree to such a matter, first.
But either way, the fact that Clarke seemed eager to sleep in Monroe's arms, eager to be held, had even seemed timid each time she had stood by Monroe's bed and had waited to be invited into the bed by Monroe, and that Clarke seemed calmer these past few days, to Monroe, seemed definitely like an improvement.
Monroe didn't want to get her hopes up. But she couldn't help but assume that it was an improvement. But, she and the others would have to see.
Clarke had been somewhat calmer about her distrust regarding Niylah, despite Niylah suggesting to the queens of the Luwoda that Clarke and their group and the rest of the Ark stay here, rather than go to South America.
While she still looked at Niylah with a glare of distrust, she had yet to do anything else.
What made Monroe somewhat troubled, was the Luwoda's queens taking interest in Clarke.
These past few days, while the three queens, Fox, Elisa and Demona-and during the day, Demona pretending to be Dominque Destine, they had exhibited interest in Clarke. They would try to get to know Clarke, and Demona, it seemed, often tried to psychoanalyze Clarke.
Clarke had certainly noticed.
And took offense to it.
It was probably a good thing that Clarke slept next to Monroe and got calmed by that-otherwise Clarke would probably snap sooner rather than later.
And one such instance was occurring today, right now, as they ate.
Demona-or Dominque, as she called herself, said to Clarke, "The anger you have at other people, revenge won't get you far, I should tell you."
Monroe grimaced, knowing this was going to end badly.
Clarke did exactly as Monroe expected. She pulled her mouth off the turkey leg and dropped it to her plate darkly and looked at Dominique.
"What are you talking about?" Clarke asked, glaring at the redheaded gargoyle, masquerading as a human, "I gave the people that I hate a chance. And well, I got fucked over. What would you know about it?"
Dominique shrugged, smiling sadly. "I'm afraid I know enough. I know something about it," She said, "Revenge, it will lead you down a path that will hurt you…it will leave you…alone-hurt and empty."
Clarke glared at the redheaded gargoyle, then her eyes widened.
"What was that just now?" She asked, as her eyes raked across Demona's face and read something she found incriminating. "What would you know about seeking out revenge, huh? That look on your face," Clarke sat closer, grinning at the gargoyle pretending to be human, "You just looked at me funny when you talked about revenge. What happened to you? What did you do?"
Clarke stared at Demona, waiting for an answer.
Monroe, Niylah, Wells and the others all watched Dominique as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Elisa and Fox both watched their wife-who they were pretending was one of their advisors, and Monroe could tell from the looks on the two other queens' faces, that this was a big, unsettling issue for Demona.
"I've…," Demona said, "I've done things. Things I regret. Things I can't change. People wronged me. And I've taken revenge. But it didn't fulfill anything. It just brought more trouble."
Clarke snorted, leaning back in her seat. "Well, then," She said, "There you go. You know what the need for revenge is like. And you've gotten your revenge. But guess what? You're not me. I get to decide what I do with my life. Not you. It didn't work for you? Too bad. I don't care. That's not my problem. Guess what, no one's problem is my problem. I have enough problems for a lifetime. I don't need anyone else's problems piling up on mine, got it? So, fuck you if you were trying to get me to listen to you. I do what I want. And nothing else."
Clarke smiled darkly at Demona, ready for the redheaded gargoyle to talk back.
Monroe quickly intervened before anything else could happen. She said gently, "I think what our leader is just trying to say, is that she's had a few rough days before now, so she doesn't want to talk about what to do next."
Demona chuckled, smile sad again. "I think I understand what she meant," The third queen pretending to be a human advisor nodded, "It's alright, Clarke. I understand. You're in pain. And you want revenge. And you're right. I know what that's like. But you won't get the gratification you're looking for. Just more disappointment."
Clarke nodded to Demona, smirking. "I guess you'd know, huh?" She asked, "After all, wouldn't the greatest failure know all the ways there are to fail?"
This finally got a reaction-though not from Demona. But from her wife, queen Elisa.
Elisa's at one time soothing gaze hardened and she glared at Clarke. "I'd watch it," She said, "We're extending hospitality to you. The least you could do is be less callous."
"It's alright, your highness," Demona said, smiling to her wife, "I understand."
The redheaded gargoyle, turned her human face to Clarke. And for just a moment, Monroe saw those green eyes of Demona's harden as well as she looked at the vengeful Clarke.
"You won't get what you want in the end by following this path," Demona said to Clarke, "And you're right, I would know. Hopefully you figure out that revenge won't be so satisfying for you, before it's too late."
Clarke chuckled, snorting slightly and went back to her food, grumbling, "Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Destine. Now can I get back to my food, or do I need a lecture for that, too?"
Demona said nothing else as Clarke tore back into her food.
Monroe glanced at the queens, worried. Something, however, caught her attention. Demona glanced at Clarke in a strangely…caring way. The way a parent would look at an unruly child that needed structure.
Monroe wasn't sure if she was looking too deeply into it, but she could have sworn that that was how the third of the queens of the Luwoda was looking at Clarke. But why?
One might ask how Monroe knew what a parental look at a child would look like-but Monroe knew. During her time hanging around alleyways and dangerous areas in the Ark, after she had run away from home, she had occasionally watched different families in the communities around the Ark, wishing to be a part of a family that wasn't abusive. She would watch as parents looked at their only children-or a child they had adopted-so there being more than one child since the second child would have been adopted after their biological parents were floated for one petty crime or another.
She had seen how those parents had looked at their children. She knew what a parent's look of tenderness and fondness looked like.
She had often hoped to be looked at in that same way by a parent, but had long since thrown that hope away.
It was one of the reasons why Monroe would happily kill Abby Griffin herself, if Clarke wished for it, as Abby was a sham of a parent. She had treated Clarke like trash, the moment Clarke had done something Abby hadn't wanted the girl to do.
So, Monroe would kill Abby as soon as Clarke called for the woman's blood.
Monroe wondered if she was mistaken in Demona's gaze upon Clarke. But if she wasn't? Then Monroe wasn't sure what to do anymore.
Clarke needed a support system. Monroe wasn't so inflated in her ego that she believed that she, Niylah, Wells and Pascal would be enough.
Clarke was a traumatized child. She could deny it all she wanted, but she was.
She needed a parent. Hell, parents. She needed multiple parents, probably.
People who would be there for her and love her unconditionally.
The opposite of Abby Griffin.
Monroe watched Demona with interest.
She hoped this woman and maybe her wives too, were people who possessed those particular desired traits.
If they weren't? Well, Monroe wasn't sure she wouldn't go with Clarke's decision immediately to go to South America and stay there.
If they were?
Then Monroe hoped Clarke didn't think she was disobeying her, let alone betraying her, but Monroe suspected that she might want to encourage Clarke to stay here, in this tribe, with these women.
Clarke peeled the turkey leg clean of its hefty bone and dropped it down onto the plate again, and tilted her head down when she heard a burst of static from the radio.
Clarke sighed, pulling out her radio. "Shit." She said, "Sorry, but I need to check what's up with the people on the Ark," She waved the radio and said, "I need some time alone talking to my people."
She got up from the table and moved to a secluded part of the back of the room, speaking into the radio quietly.
"Sorry about how ornery she is," Monroe said quietly to the three queens, "She's…just really, really distrusting. That's all."
Demona nodded. "We know," She said, "I wish we could be of assistance."
Monroe smiled. "You already are assisting," she pointed out, "You're bringing us ships to get from here to South America, right?"
Demona chuckled, "I mean, more than that. I'm glad to help in that way. But there's more that I'm hoping to help with than just the ships. Your leader is…troubled. Very troubled."
Monroe could understand the message being conveyed. Demona wanted to help Clarke. Wanted to possibly even mother her.
Monroe forced her smile down. She knew that Clarke would see this as a betrayal. She knew that. But she wanted to see if she could get Demona closer to Clarke-though she knew Clarke would be ornery about it the whole time.
Clarke spoke into the radio, glancing occasionally at the table where the others were, relieved that they weren't close enough to hear from the radio she had in her hand.
"Hello?" She asked, "Who's this? Over."
A voice came through the speaker, "Clarke?" Clarke's eyes widened when she heard the quavering voice of Abby Griffin, her deceitful and neglectful mother."
"You," Clarke said darkly, "Abby Griffin. The woman who is supposed to be there for me," Clarke's voice turned into a growl, "But you weren't, were you? And dad knew that the last moment before he died, didn't he?"
Clarke felt a dark germ of pleasure when she heard the crying on the other end of the radio. Clarke smirked. She shouldn't feel so pleased by the crying. But it felt too good to hear to not swell with satisfaction.
"Clarke, please," Abby said, "I'm trying here, I swear I am. Please, please just let me talk."
Clarke snorted, unmoved by her so-called mother's pleas, "Fine," she said dryly, "Talk. I'm listening."
After a few seconds, Abby took a breath and talked, "I know what I did was horrible. What I did was wrong. But I thought I was doing the right thing. I swear if I knew it would end like this, I would never have told Jaha."
"Well," Clarke said darkly, "Your intentions don't matter. All that matters at the end, is your actions. And the results of those actions. You might not have intended for dad to be floated or for me to be locked up, then thrown to the ground like a guinea pig, and for the same to happen to Wells, but regardless, it IS your fault. Entirely your fault, Abby. And let's make something clear, lady, you're name to me is just 'Abby,' not 'mom.' 'Mom' is the title for someone who actually acts like a parent. You want me to call you 'mom?' Then you should have treated me like your daughter. You should have kept me safe. And you should have kept Wells safe. You should have chosen your family, not Thelonius Jaha. This is entirely your fault. I don't hate you, Abby. But I don't love you either. Don't try to get me to care about you again."
Clarke turned off the radio, ignoring Abby's pathetic pleas again, snickering again.
That just fucking felt good.
Clarke pocketed the radio and went back over to the table, sitting down on her chair and jammed her spoon into the cornmeal, still smirking.
"You look pleased." Niylah said, tilting her head at Clarke.
"I have reason to be," Clarke said, nodding to her plate as she scooped up the food, "Just had some fun telling my bitch of a mother off for getting my dad off and for getting me and Wells sent to the ground. That's her fault and I made sure she knew it."
Clarke's nasty smirk flashed up, making sure that everyone around her saw her snickering.
"That sounds hard to deal with," Fox confessed, "You hate her?"
Clarke snorted, "No. She's not worth my hatred. But I don't love her either. She's not worth anything from me." She shrugged, snickering, "Don't worry, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm an orphan. My dad that actually loved me, is dead and my mom, who's the whole reason why we're in this mess in the first place and murdered my father, is the only one still alive. But too damn bad. I don't care. I don't want her as my mother. I reject her as my mother. So, I'm an orphan. Don't worry, I've gotten over it."
Her snicker somehow looked like a snarl to everyone else at the table.
Demona glanced to Elisa and Fox, her gaze meaningful.
Fox and Elisa both had their own respective reactions. Fox nodded and Elisa sighed, smiling.
Demona had talked with them. Told them what she wished for Clarke. To be there for Clarke and to take her in. It seemed Demona's observation of Clarke was accurate. Clarke had been abandoned. And was angry for it, understandably.
Elisa knew that Demona had a strong maternal instinct, though she was all mostly business and danger.
After Angela, Demona and Demona's former mate, Goliath's daughter had died, it had been hard for Demona. Elisa and Fox had been there for their mate, had held her as she wept and done what they could for her.
Demona's great-grandchildren were here and one of her grandchildren, Artus and his mate, Bavarta, were here.
But still, Elisa and Fox both knew it wasn't the same.
The second daughter that Demona had had-the clone of Demona and Elisa, named Delilah, created by that bastard Thailog to be his loyal servant and a sex slave, had died years ago as well. Demona, Elisa and Fox had been there for Delilah, till Delilah's death. Given the reason she had been created, Delilah had not had children. She did not wished to create children that had her docile DNA in them. So she had been happy to die childless.
Some of the other clones that Thailog had created, Malibu and Burbank, had offspring and grandchildren in some parts of this country. Some of them lived here in this tribe. The other two clones that Thailog had created, Brentwood and Hollywood were killed by a group known as the "Pack," years and years ago.
But both Angela and Delilah were dead, and Demona and Elisa both had suffered those losses severely.
And it seemed that Demona had imprinted upon a human girl. Wanted this girl-almost woman as her daughter.
Elisa glanced at Fox and Fox, caught Elisa's gaze and sighed, chuckling.
At Fox's reaction, Elisa smiled. It seemed Fox had accepted Demona's proposal.
If they could, they would try to persuade Clarke to stay here, with them.
As Clarke ate, not seeming to pay attention to anyone else, Monroe observed all three of the Luwoda's queens.
They seemed to be communicating without words. She noticed that there were more than one smile of acceptance. She tried to ignore the hope growing in her chest, wanting Clarke to have a bigger support system.
Back on the Ark, Abby Griffin wept as the other side of the radio went dead.
The radio, she had put onto the table next to her, and had buried her face in her hands, crying into her palms.
The sounds of mechanical doors opened up, causing Abby to lift her head out of her hands.
Callie came into the room, looking down at where Abby sat.
"Are you upset about something, Dr. Griffin?" Callie asked and Abby swallowed hard, feeling mildly sick at Callie's cold, almost smug question.
"Clarke," Abby said, "She…said I wasn't her mother."
"Ah," Callie said, eyes widening, feeling a smile spread across her face before she could help it, "That's just too bad."
Abby flinched at the look on Callie's face.
"What did you expect, Abby?" Callie asked, "You got her dad killed. Got her sent down to the ground. Got her best friend arrested and sent down to the ground too. What were you expecting from Clarke? A 'thank you?' There's a reason why she's rejected you, Abby. Too bad you're too dense to do anything about it except try to control Clarke even more."
Abby winced and hissed at the other woman, "I'm here mother! I'm trying to be there for her!"
"Then why weren't you?" Callie asked coldly, "Why did you go to Thelonius Jaha instead of keeping silent about what Jake was trying to do? Even if Jake got arrested afterwards and then floated, you still would have been there for Clarke, because no one would have known that Clarke knew about what Jake knew, because you could have kept it a secret that Clarke knew. But you didn't. And Clarke would have been safe with you. But you told Jaha. That was your choice."
Callie smirked again and took a vindictive step closer to Abby, "You really don't get it, do you? You're the reason why Clarke's in pain. You're the reason why she's so angry! You and Jaha? You destroyed her. It's your fault!" Callie glared at Abby hatefully, feeling pleasure at watching Abby backing up against the opposite wall. "But Clarke won't have to worry about you being in her life anymore." Callie's smirk widened.
Abby froze. "Wha-what do you mean?" She asked, voice weak.
Callie nodded to Abby. "I mean exactly what I said," She said, "Clarke's going to be eighteen years old soon. Which means she'll be able to leave you, when she wants. And I'm going to offer to look after her. Her and Wells. They don't have to worry about abusive parents anymore. You will stay out of Clarke and Wells's lives." Callie leaned down and snatched the radio up off the table. "And I don't want you talking to her anymore." Callie snickered at Abby, holding the radio, then turning around and walking out of the door and down the hall.
Callie reached the main room, finding Raven Reyes by the many screens with the faces of the 100 across them.
All of the faces on the TV screens had big red X marks across all the faces.
Except for the faces of Clarke Griffin, Wells Jaha, Finn Collins, Pascal Williams, Zoe Monroe, Monty Green, Jasper Jordan and three other girls.
Raven was staring up at the picture of Finn Collins.
She turned to Callie when Callie entered the room.
"You got the other radio?" She asked.
Callie nodded, holding the radio up. She said, "I'd rather Abby not have any contact with Clarke. I don't even care if it's just verbal contact. I don't want Abby to have any influence over Clarke. Clarke deserves better than Abby."
Raven nodded. She said quietly, "Sounds like a shitty parent. I mean I know my mom was really shitty too, but wow Abby might not be as shitty, but she's still damn shitty."
Callie nodded. "That's putting it lightly." She agreed.
Callie then took a breath. She said, "We need to wait till they tell us that they're getting ready to leave Florida and go to South America. As soon as they do, we head for South America, okay?"
Raven nodded.
"It sounds like Clarke's really pissy now," Raven said and added, "From what I've heard."
"Yeah," Callie said, chuckling, though she couldn't grasp what was going on with Clarke, it wasn't hard to figure out that Clarke had problems right now, "I'm going to need your help, Raven. All of it. I want Clarke Griffin and Wells Jaha safe. And I promise I'll keep you and Finn safe too if you help me."
Raven nodded, and Callie almost smirked again at the distrust in the dark brown eyes of the mechanic. Raven likely had lived a life, knowing that there were few people who were trustworthy in this world.
"You help me," Raven said simply, "And I'll help you, Cartwig."
Callie smiled. "Thank you, Raven," she said, "Now get the rest of the tech ready."
Without another word, Raven went down the hall to one of her work rooms.
Callie then sighed and went to look at some of the newer reports to see if there were any reports of new crimes-which there most likely were, as there was always crime on the Ark.
A few hours later, after she had had several full-grown criminals arrested and thrown into the skyboxes-two of them were petty thieves and would not be floated, and three of them were rapists, and those three? They would be floated. She then turned on the radio and tried to contact Clarke.
Eventually, Clarke's voice came through.
"Hello? Abby, that you?" Clarke asked, her voice harsh.
Callie's eyebrows were raised. She smiled when she heard Clarke refer to Abby by her name and not by the title, "mom."
"No, Clarke," Callie said, "It's me, Callie."
There was silence, then Clarke's voice came through, "Sorry, Callie. I didn't realize. I presume fucking Abby gave you her little sob story."
"Something like that," Callie said, "Clarke, I need to ask, what's going on? How did you know that there were people in Mount Weather? And that they were dangerous? If you're right that there were people-a whole civilization in Mount Weather, then I just committed genocide," Callie felt a near harsh laugh caught in her throat as she thought about that. Dear god, in only the past few days, she had gone from committing multiple murders, to mass murder-if there really had been a whole civilization in Mount Weather.
Callie said, voice firmer, "Clarke, just please tell me, how did you know that there were people in Mount Weather? And why were you so determined to kill them all? And how did you know that they were dangerous? Clarke, please, I committed genocide for you. Please, just tell me."
Callie knew it was dirty to use guilt against Clarke, but she needed to know everything if she wanted to protect Clarke and Wells.
There was more silence. Then Clarke asked, "Is there anyone in the room with you right now, Callie?"
Callie lifted her head, frowning. She looked around the room. No. No one else was here.
She turned back to the radio. "No," she said, "No one else is here. Just me."
Clarke then asked, "Are there any cameras in the room with you?"
Callie looked around the room again. No, there were no cameras, as far as she could see.
"No," Callie said into the radio, "There are no cameras."
"Alright," Clarke answered, "I know you're going to think I'm insane. I know you will. But I need you to promise me that no matter what I tell you, you'll bring our people down to the ground, in South America, when I radio that we're on our way."
"Alright," Callie said, troubled, "I promise. Please, Clarke, just tell me."
There was more silence, then Clarke's words came out of the radio.
"Okay," Clarke's sigh came through, "Look, Callie, this is where this is all gonna sound crazy, alright? It's insane, at best. There's a reason why I knew about the Mountain Men. And a reason why I got far away from the rest of the 100 and came here, and chose not to deal with the Grounders in the land where our dropship landed. There's a reason. It's because I…," Callie heard Clarke sigh again, "It's because I've done this before. I've been here before. And I remember everything. The 100, the tribe in the land where the dropship landed, they're called the Trikru, and the Mountain Men? They're all dangerous. They're all unworthy of trust. I've lived through this before. The Trikru betrayed us. The 100 betrayed me. Especially that rat-fucker, Bellamy Blake, and the Mountain Men would have killed us all. So that's the short version."
Callie's mouth dropped.
She tried to comprehend what Clarke had just told her, but she wasn't sure she could.
Because what?
"I'm sorry, Clarke," Callie said, "But what are you-?"
"That's all I can tell you, Callie," Clarke said, "I'm sorry if that's not enough, but that's all I can tell you. I am doing all of this to make sure all of our people come down and are safe. Like it or not. I'm sorry if you think I'm insane-that I've lost it because of my dad's death, but I swear, if I'm mentally ill, it's only the trauma from the last time I was here. When everyone betrayed me. And I swear to you, Callie, everything I just told you is true."
Callie didn't speak for what felt like a solid three seconds.
Then Clarke spoke again.
"So," Clarke said, a laugh coming through, "Do I sound nuts? Or what?"
Callie said, after a few moments, "I'm not sure I know how to respond to what you just told me."
Callie heard Clarke chuckle again, "Can't say I blame you. I've been wondering for a while if I'm insane. If I just lost my mind and that's why I think time has repeated itself. But you know what? You wanna test me? Go ahead. Ask me something. About one of the 100 or about Jaha or Kane or hell, how about ask me something about Raven Reyes, someone I've never met in my entire life, at least this time, and see what I know. I'll show you that I've done this before."
Callie hesitated again. Then again, how had Clarke known to suggest Raven Reyes at all? She then said, "Um, okay. What is Raven Reyes's mother's name?"
She heard a snort from Clarke again. "Shit," Clarke said dryly, "That easy? The junkie bitch's name was Lisa Reyes. She died six years ago of an overdose. Raven told me the last time. Two months after we first met."
Callie's eyes widened.
True, Clarke could have learned this information from Abby, who would have discovered the deceased body of the junkie brought to the medic bay area.
Still…what reason did Clarke have to lie about all of this?
"I don't know what else I can ask for proof." Callie confessed.
Clarke sighed, "Alright. How about this, then? Me and the others? We've left Virginia and have gone to Florida. But there's a city in Maryland that there's no way we could have seen. It's further in the depths of Maryland and there's no way I could have seen it in this short time. It's called Polis now, but it was at one time Annapolis. It's the capital of these stupid Grounder tribes' culture. Send a mechanical drone down with a camera. Go on. You'll find multiple people there. They will be dressed in leather and furs. All of them have different symbols. Some of those symbols will be the biohazard symbol, another symbol will be a hand with a spiral in it, another symbol will be a yellow triangle with a blue spiral in the middle of it, another symbol will be brown and look like a ladder. Another symbol will be a round, blue symbol with a black, sharp cross symbol in it. Another one will be a black sun symbol with a face in the middle. Another symbol will be a big, green leaf. And there will be multiple armies there. With swords, spears, arrows, bows. No guns. See for yourself."
Callie shivered.
There was absolutely no way for someone to know something this intricate, without having spent a great deal of time around the area that Clarke was describing.
"Alright," She said at last, "I'll send a drone down. But…I don't think you're insane. But-but I need proof. I'll send the drone down."
Clarke answered, "Fine. Don't be surprised when you get a heart attack. You're going to see exactly what I described. And think about what that will mean, Callie. It will mean that I'm telling the truth. About everything. That I've been through all of this before, and I was here before and somehow reincarnated in this body. You know what that means, don't you? That the afterlife, or some version of it exists. And there are huge portions of people that aren't trustworthy. And the Mountain Men? They are real and you killed them all and basically saved our asses."
Callie's lower jaw dropped. Shit.
This was a lot. A lot. She felt mildly numb.
"Alright," She said, "You'll let me know if anything is wrong, alright? I'll send the drone down now-to where Annapolis used to be or is. I'll see for myself. But you'll tell me if anything goes wrong, alright, Clarke?"
Clarke answered, "Alright. Don't blame me when you're shocked. So far, everything's fine down here in Florida. Which, I think is a sentence that's never been uttered. Things being fine in Florida, I mean."
Callie chuckled, despite the brain breaking revelation that Clarke had just thrown her way.
Florida, needless to say, hadn't been the most habitable place in the past. It was considered incredibly conservative back before the radiation and the bombs.
Callie would have argued that it wasn't any place anyone with decency would want to live, but she suspected that was merely speculation by that point. If there were in fact people down on the ground now, which Clarke claimed to be fact, they most likely were very different than the ones that had lived back before the bombs and radiation.
"Okay," Callie said, "I'll send the drone down. But you need to tell me if anything goes wrong down there. I guess I'll get back to you when the drone comes back. I'm telling you, Clarke, if any of this is true? It's insane!"
Clarke snorted in laughter again, "Yah think I didn't know that? I've been thinking that for almost weeks now. Let me know when the drone gets back and what you know."
Callie sighed, "Alright. I'll do that, Clarke. You and Wells stay safe."
An hour later, Callie got a drone with cameras attached ready and sent it down to the ground.
She made sure no one was in the room with her, save for Sinclair, when she sent the drone down to the ground.
She sent the drone down to Maryland, down to what used to be called Annapolis.
When the drone hovered above the city, showing off the figures below, Callie gasped when she saw the figures going by on the ground.
Every last one of them looked exactly the way Clarke had described them.
People dressed in furs and leather. With spears, shields, knives, swords, bows and arrows and other sharp implements.
There were horses on the ground, walking alongside with the people.
And there were multiple flags with different symbols painted on them.
And several of them were exactly the symbols that Clarke had described.
Callie stepped back, her mouth dropping.
"My god…" Sinclair whispered.
Callie couldn't blame him. Granted, he was saying those words for a completely different reason for why Callie would have. Sinclair was reacting because he couldn't believe that there were people down on the ground and they had their own civilization.
But Callie? She was shocked because it looked like Clarke had told the truth. The entire truth.
Which meant ultimately?
Clarke had done this before.
Everything she had said she had gone through, she had gone through.
Callie shuddered.
That…explained everything.
Her poor baby. Her poor little girl had gone through all of that-somehow she had done this before and had reincarnated, and had to do it all over again. No wonder she was so…
Callie's stomach turned.
Clarke was in more need of help than she had ever imagined.
Author's note
So, now Callie knows too.