Chapter 2:

"Once upon a time there was a princess and a king that lived in a beautiful kingdom. The King loved the princess very much but he was greedy and foolish, only concerned with what there was to gain rather than what he had to lose. One day, the King put everything on the line to fight their evil enemy—including his relationship with the princess. He won, of course, he was the smartest and strongest warrior in the entire kingdom but he paid the price. He lost friends. He lost the princess." Octavia told the story to a group of children she'd befriended in Clarke's absence. "Any questions?"

"Why was the King such a moron?" A kid named Zachariah asked with his hand raised in the air. "Didn't he know he was hurting himself?"

Octavia sighed, "The King was so caught up sometimes that he forgot about himself."

"And the princess…"

"Oh, trust me…he'll never forget the princess." Octavia eyed her brother from across the camp and frowned after releasing a burdensome breath. "Story time's over kids." She declared as she stood up from her position on the ground and started walking towards her brother. He looked smug—so smug that she wanted to punch him in the face.

Instead, she arched an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I just had one hell of a night." He proclaimed before dipping the circular dish into their drinking water and taking a sip. "Honestly…one to remember." It made her sad to see her brother numbing the pain with endless idiots. Not as sad as Clarke's dead eyes…nothing made her sadder than those dead eyes. She sighed, her hand toying with the edge of the container as she looked down at her feet. "What is it, O?"

Octavia shrugged, "Do you still love her?"

"You know I do." His voice was no longer jovial or smug. He frowned into his little dish and then back at his sister. "It doesn't matter now, does it? She's…gone." Octavia opened her mouth to speak but Bellamy stopped her, "I don't want to talk about her."

"You never want to talk about her." She said. "I'm not giving up on her. Clarke is still in there…this charade she puts on will fail one day."

"And then what?" Bellamy asked, "She's lost too much to be the same…or have you forgotten that Jasper is dead?" He breathed loudly, "I'm sorry, Octavia…okay, I know he was your friend but we all lost something on that mountain. Monroe, Jasper, Murphy and seven other people died and she walked away from it. I walked from it. And nothing, nothing could ever be the same after that."

Octavia had mourned the loss of Jasper and the others. She nodded, "It's not your fault they died, Bellamy…you know that now…breaking up with her because of your guilt was a mistake."

"I told her it was her fault for not saving Monroe." Bellamy shook his head, "That's not something you forgive…or forget for that matter." He put the dish down, looking at her. "I was the one that let her grieve by herself. Sometimes, I think that maybe she had the right idea. Care less, do more. She's a great leader, now. She's brave—strong. She's who she has to be to survive. Wishing on butterflies isn't going to change that, Octavia."

Flashback

Her tear stained cheeks pressed against the goggles on his head as she held his body. He wasn't even cold yet—he was just dead. "No, no, no, no…" She rocked them back and forth, "Jasper…" His name came out like a choked scream. Her body heaved as her hands moved down his face to his neck, feeling for a pulse she knew wouldn't be there. She heard her name being called from a distance but she couldn't respond. She couldn't move anymore. Her attempt to swallow back her tears failed as she looked down at her close friend. "I'm sorry…" She sobbed, "You didn't want to be here…you didn't want to be here…"

"Clarke!" Bellamy called her name in relief—a relief that sent her heart into a frenzy. He took in her tears, took in her injuries. When he saw who she held in her arms, his face fell. "Clarke…" His voice trailed, "We need to go. Monroe needs you."

"I can't leave him." She closed her eyes as tears flooded pass her eyelashes, down her cheeks like knives. Her breathing was ragged, "He didn't want here Bellamy." Her voice broke at every word, "And I said I needed him…I said 'you know the inside of the mountain as good as I do and I need you to help me'—why did I do that? I could have covered it. This should have been me." Her voice rose as she repeated herself, "This…should…have…been…me."

"Monroe needs you." He repeated, "Clarke…she's going to die if you don't help her."

And it was the lowest point he'd ever seen Clarke reach as she leaned over her friend's body, her mouth opened as if she were going to scream as loud as she could. Only a heartbreaking sob escaped her mouth as more tears fell down her face onto Jasper's shirt. Her body shook with her grief—her regret. She was paralyzed by her emotions. She couldn't form a rational thought.

Monroe died because she cared too much.

She would never make the mistake again…

XXX

Clarke stayed in the shadows until her presence was necessary within the camp. Normally, she would step in during a fight—elbowing the instigator in the mouth before tackling the other to the ground. Too often, she ended up with a terrible bruise but she never worried about it. Sometimes, she would interrupt a discussion to steer it in a sensible direction rather than unsystematic, half-baked plan.

Nathan Miller, though, sought her out today. As a thief, Miller had an eye for the unattainable…maybe that's why it was always easy for him to find Clarke when he needed her. He recognized early on that Clarke wasn't the type to lock herself in her room. No, she liked to be part of the decision making process—and if that wasn't possible, she would be in the vicinity of where the decisions were being made. "Miller." She greeted him with a nod. He smirked slightly, "What do you need?"

"They want to go on a hunting trip."

"They?" Clarke needed him to expand his vocabulary beyond simple pronouns.

Miller said, "Bellamy and his pack." He crinkled his nose at his own words. Clarke rolled her eyes, which he noticed—of course he noticed.

"You used to be part of his pack."

"That was before he traded up to people his own age." Nathan shrugged, "I'm over it. I just thought you would want to know before they took the ammo and guns without discussing it with you." He continued to speak after pointing towards the artillery table. "The council usually includes you in these type of things."

"I know." Clarke said, angrily stomping down the stairs that led her to the top of the Ark, where she could hide behind the huge panels on the roof. She was tired of people going behind her back to make illogical decisions. They had plenty of food it just wasn't raw and bloody the way the Neanderthal's liked it. They didn't have the materials to waste on luxury—Bellamy knew that! She'd specifically outlined it in the last meeting. The only time Clarke didn't have a major problem with Bellamy is when she could lash into him like a whip, leaving him reeling from her valid points and acid tone. For instance, "Are you a fucking moron?" Being screamed across the camp seemed to gain his attention but her next sentence was a punch in the face. "You should let someone competent lead the group—someone that won't waste bullets because they think it's cute."

"I'm plenty competent, thank you." Bellamy said, "Go back to your cave and butt out Clarke."

"You can't tell me what to do." She cut her eyes at him, "You're making a mistake because you're impulsive. You never change, you never learn—you never will." Her words were low and harsh. "Do I have to remind you we are at war? I shouldn't. You did start the war, didn't you?"

"That's enough." Bellamy said, "Say what you will, Clarke but I didn't start this war. Your ration plan was taken under advisement and denied by the council—not me. If you have a problem, you know where to direct it. Who's your source, by the way? Ready to give her up?" He had a sneaking suspicion that Raven was her spy.

"I won't give him up." Clarke corrected him, her eyes flickering with liveliness that he wanted to cherish. He liked fighting with Clarke. He loved it. It was the only time she showed anything other than numbness or "rationality" as she liked to call it. Sometimes, he swears he can see the beginnings of a smirk on her lips when she says something witty. "I can be loyal, unlike you. Come on, Bellamy—you know this is a mistake."

"I know there are hungry people in this camp." He tried to brush off the fact that Clarke had a male spy. He wondered if they were hooking up… is that how she kept it together so well? She had a fuck-buddy? He gritted his teeth, prepared for her next assault.

She shook her head, "You're a bastard…condemning these people to the same fate as the others who blindly followed you before. You. Don't. Learn."

"Everyone's learning curve can't be as steep as yours, Princess." He looked at her vehemently, "You're always fucking right, right? No. You make mistakes, too. So high up, Clarke—I'd be afraid to fall from that pedestal you've put yourself on." He knew it was low because Clarke probably hated herself way more than she would ever hate him. "I'm leaving."

Be careful. "Fine."