Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: Thanks to the people who reviewed chapter one. You guys rock. This chapter picks up pretty much where that one left off. It also includes some original characters. I don't usually like to write OCs, but they worked their way into this story and refused to leave. Plus, they gave this chapter an arc that I really like, so I left them in. Hopefully they're okay and don't seem out of place in this world. This chapter also includes Clarke's point of view on a scene from my story "This Is Life Without You," but it'll make sense even if you haven't read that. Enjoy!
Winter
The beach begins to get colder as time goes on. The sweater Clarke took from Mount Weather is coming out more and more, and she's taken to wearing the hood up on her shirt to protect her ears from the constant breeze off the sea. It becomes clear very quickly that she's going to need some form of shelter besides the tent. She scouts up and down the beach and eventually finds some low cliffs not far down. There's a room-sized cave in them with a tiny entrance that's almost invisible unless someone is actually looking for it. Perfect.
Clarke moves her things to the cave and even hangs a few deer hides across the entrance to keep out the cold air. Shooting the deer is simple. Skinning them correctly definitely takes some learning, but she finally gets it figured out. (The first deer she kills is the worst. She gets her hands covered in blood while skinning it, and seeing the physical representation of the metaphor in her head triggers a full-on panic attack. It takes her a good fifteen minutes to get her breathing back to normal. By that point she's curled up against a tree crying and wanting her mom. She hasn't had an attack like this since the night after her dad died. But Abby's not there, so Clarke has to find a way to calm down on her own. She doesn't have that problem with the next deer or any of the ones after that. But the memory of it still haunts her for days.)
She gets better at a lot of things as the weeks go by. Her traps get more effective and so does her fishing prowess, although she has a feeling that catching meat is going to get a lot harder as winter rolls in. She's started storing up food already. It won't be enough to last the whole season, so she'll have to supplement that with actually hunting her own game. But she should be able to make it through the winter.
Her days fall into a steady pattern. She gets up in the mornings and runs along the beach, regardless of how cold it is. Although she no longer does it barefoot and she makes a point of staying out of the water. After running, she does some other basic exercises like push-ups. Not many, just enough to know she could hold her own if she had to. Then she hunts or chops wood or collects food or gets water from the river that's definitely beginning to show hints of ice near the bank. She tries teaching herself to throw the knife she took from the dead Grounder, but she's not very good at it. Somehow her form is off and she doesn't have anyone else around to mimic. But she gives it her best effort anyway.
Whenever she decides she's done enough working out and survival prep, she turns to drawing. Sometimes she sits on the beach and sketches while listening to the waves come in and out. Other times she retreats into the cave and does it by firelight. She draws death in all of its forms – Charlotte leaping off the cliff, Tondc being crushed by the missile, the dining hall of Mount Weather filled with corpses. And when she's drawn every single one of her victims that she can picture, she turns to drawing others who have died. She sketches out the boy who broke his neck in the drop ship landing, Dax with his rifle pointed at Bellamy, the harvest chamber in Mount Weather. She fills one sketch book after another with death. It feels cathartic, in some twisted way.
But not cathartic enough. She dreams of the dead almost every night. She wakes up sweating or crying or even screaming. Some nights she drifts in and out, only getting about an hour of sleep at a time. Others she gives up entirely and sits out on the beach hugging her knees to her chest as the calming sound of the waves fills her ears. She wonders at one point about marking her skin for each kill the way some of the Grounders do to see if wearing her penance will help. But in the end she decides she doesn't have enough skin to hold them all. So she just keeps on going the same way in the hopes that eventually it will be enough.
She's been at the beach over a month when she looks up from a sketchbook one day to see a girl standing a short distance behind her. Clarke nearly jumps out of her skin. For a second the girl looks like Charlotte, but her clothes are definitely those of a Grounder.
"Who are you?" Clarke blurts out. She knows there's a Grounder village somewhere nearby, but she hasn't seen another human being since arriving at the beach. It occurs to then her that this girl might not even speak English since she can't be more than eleven.
"Talia," the girl says. So she does speak English. That means she's in training to be a warrior, although she looks far too young. But then again, there's a braid on the side of her head and a knife at her belt that she's fingering as if she knows how to use it.
"I'm Clarke," Clarke says. She's still not entirely sure what to make of this. The girl is staring at her intently as if trying to decide what to do. Clarke herself is sitting very still while she debates whether or not she should draw her gun.
"I know," Talia says.
"You know?" Clarke asks in confusion.
"You defeated the Mountain," Talia says. "The chief told us to stay away. That you are a fierce warrior and we should not anger you."
It seems the stories of what Clarke did at Mount Weather are spreading. She's not sure how she feels about that. The whole reason she came out here was to get away from what she did. But apparently that's not possible.
"So what are you doing here?" she asks curiously.
"The other seconds say I am too young to be a warrior," Talia says as she squares her shoulders. "They say I will be afraid of battle."
So she's trying to prove herself. Interesting.
"You don't look afraid to me," Clarke says. Talia shakes her head, and Clarke can feel her tense muscles relaxing. There's something about this girl that she likes.
"What are you doing?" Talia asks, looking at the sketchbook on Clarke's lap.
"Drawing," Clarke says. "You can come look, if you want."
Talia hesitates briefly as if unsure whether or not she dares get closer.
"I don't bite," Clarke assures her.
Talia's young pride finally wins out and she slowly walks forward until she's standing at Clarke's shoulder. Clarke holds up the sketchpad, which currently shows a half-finished drawing of Fox lying in the bin in the Reaper tunnels.
"Who is that?" Talia asks curiously.
"A friend," Clark says quietly. "She died."
"My mother died," Talia says. Her eyes drop briefly, but not before Clarke sees her pain.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I know how hard it is to lose a parent. My dad died."
"Was he a warrior like you?" Talia asks curiously.
Clarke has to think about that one for a moment. Her father might not have fought in battle, but he was willing to die for what he believed in.
"Yes," she says finally. "He was."
Talia glances back down at the sketchpad and nods as if she has just decided something.
"I must go," she says. She starts to turn away, but then turns back. "Can I come again?"
"I..." Clarke hesitates again. She came out to this beach to avoid people. But there is such a deep pain and loneliness hiding in Talia's eyes that she can't seem to make herself say no. "I tell you what. If you promise not to tell anyone, then you can come back. Okay?"
Talia nods, and for a moment she looks as if she's about to smile. But then she turns and runs back up the beach, quickly disappearing into the trees. Clarke stares after her for a long moment before finally turning back to her sketchpad with a shake of her head.
She dreams of Charlotte that night. Everything from her crying out in her sleep to the way she would smile at Bellamy to her desperate act of throwing herself off the cliff. She wakes up with tears on her cheeks. Sadly, she's getting used to that by now.
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Two days come and go with no sign of Talia, and Clarke begins to wonder if she's seen the last of the young girl. On the third day, she's standing out on the beach throwing her knife at a target she carved into a tree. Her aim is improving some, but it still needs serious work.
"You throw it wrong," a familiar voice says.
Clarke manages to look over her shoulder without jumping this time. Talia is standing a short distance away. How she got there without making any noise is beyond Clarke. Then she sees the boy standing right behind Talia. He looks to be about fourteen. His gaze is far harsher than Talia's, and a sword hangs from his belt. If his right arm wasn't in a sling, Clarke would be seriously worried for her safety.
"This is Manon," Talia says. "My brother. He did not believe I had spoken to you."
"I thought we agreed you wouldn't tell anyone," Clarke says pointedly. Talia shrugs.
"He can keep a secret," she says. She motions at Clarke's knife sticking out of the bottom of the tree. "I can teach you to do it right."
"Okay," Clarke says with a hint of a smile.
"We should not be here," Manon says edgily, his hard eyes still on Clarke.
"She will not bite," Talia tells him with a roll of her eyes. At another time, Clarke might have chuckled. But right now she just doesn't have any laughter left in her.
Talia walks over to the tree to retrieve the knife. Manon hesitates before taking another step toward Clarke. He looks her up and down with his hard stare.
"You do not look like a warrior," he says bluntly.
"Neither do you," Clarke shoots back. Manon's eyes narrow, and for a moment she worries that was exactly the wrong thing to say. But then he nods.
"You show spirit," he says as if that somehow explains everything.
"Thanks," Clarke says slowly, unsure of exactly how to take that.
Talia comes back then holding the knife. She holds it out to Clarke expectantly.
"You must not turn your wrist so much," she says.
"How about you show me?" Clarke tells her.
Talia lines up with the tree, obviously proud to show off her skills. She draws her arm back and releases the knife. It strikes the bottom of Clarke's carved target, but it's better than any of her own throws have been.
"Nice," Clarke says, impressed.
"I have been practicing," Talia says proudly.
She runs toward the tree to retrieve the knife. Clarke glances over at Manon, who is still standing there strangely silent.
"Your problem is not your wrist," he says with an unreadable expression. "You misjudge your distance. You must throw it by the blade if you wish to hit the tree from here."
Talia returns with the knife and hands it to Clarke.
"Now you try it," she says.
Clarke takes the knife and puts her feet in line with the tree. She carefully lines up the knife, holding it by the blade this time as Manon suggested. Then she pulls back her arm in the best mimic she can of Talia's style. She releases the knife –
– and it thuds into the bottom of the target. She missed the center, but only by a couple inches. It's the closest she's ever come. She looks over at Talia and is surprised to see that she's smiling as well. She looks like Charlotte when she smiles.
Manon is watching his sister with a strange expression. Then he looks up at Clarke and she sees something in his eyes that looks strangely like gratitude.
"You need practice," he says flatly. But his words no longer hold an edge.
It's only as Talia runs toward the tree with a smile still on her face that Clarke suddenly realizes she's smiling too. It's the first time she's smiled since reaching the beach. Part of her immediately feels guilty. She killed three hundred and forty-one people. She doesn't deserve to be happy. But another, smaller part of her silently decides that maybe having company around is exactly what she needs.
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Talia and Manon quickly make a habit out of visiting the beach every few days. They never stay long. Mostly they work on Clarke's knife skills. Talia is also learning to use a sword, and she begins teaching Clarke what she knows. Manon's healing arm, which Clarke learns was broken in a building collapse, makes it impossible for him to participate in these spars. But he sits on the sidelines and points out all of their mistakes. He seems like a very serious and critical person. Talia, by contrast, quickly shows herself to be a lover of fun. She smiles often, and it warms Clarke's heart.
On the days when they don't come to the beach, Clarke continues with her same routine. She runs, chops wood, hunts, and draws. One day she actually runs into a large bear. It's utterly terrifying, but she manages to shoot it and then turns its skin into something of a rug for her cave. Talia seems to think it makes her invincible, and even Manon is slightly impressed.
It's about two weeks after the visits start that Clarke runs out of paper. She thinks about just dealing with it, but the ghosts of the dead are still very much haunting her dreams. So finally she decides she'll have to trek back to Mount Weather for more. It's a six-day journey, three there and three back, but there's really no way around it.
Once again, Clarke doesn't see a soul the whole trip. Part of her wonders if Lexa or Indra have purposefully told the Grounders to stay clear of her. She wouldn't be entirely surprised. Either way, she reaches Mount Weather without incident. She's on high alert as she approaches the giant metal door. It wouldn't do to run into a Grounder or an Arker. She notices with interest that there are flowers on Maya's grave. Jasper. Thankfully they look a few days old, so it's unlikely that he's here. Still, she keeps her eyes and ears open as she makes her way inside.
Somebody has definitely been in here since her absence. The guns have been cleaned out, as have many of the other supplies. But she still manages to find several sketchpads down in the school. She grabs some extra pencils too just in case. Then she heads back out.
She makes a quick stop as the graves before leaving. She's drawn an extra picture of both Fox and Maya, and she places the folded images at the foot of the crosses. Any Arker who sees it will know she was here, but Jasper's probably the only one who still visits and Clarke has a feeling he won't care one bit about trying to find her.
She walks as far as she can before the sun sets, at which point she makes camp. Being this close to Tondc and Camp Jaha makes her jumpy. Part of her keeps expecting Indra to come out of the shadows again, but no one appears. In the end, Clarke actually manages to get a few hours of sleep.
The sun comes up all too soon and she sets off again. She's only been walking for a few hours when she suddenly hears the sounds of a fight breaking out. Worried that some of her people might be involved, Clarke moves in the direction of the sound. She doesn't have to go far before she catches sight of Grounders in the trees ahead. There appear to be two distinctly marked groups fighting each other. Which makes it definitely not her problem.
As she starts to slip back into the trees, one of the warriors yells something in Trigedasleng. Talia has been trying to teach Clarke the language, and she's actually gotten quite good at it, although she's certainly no expert yet. But she understands that the warrior is saying to find the commander. And then comes the phrase "kill her." Clarke's eyes widen at the implication. Lexa's here, and she's in trouble. And as much as Clarke wants to wash her hands and walk away, something in her just can't do it.
"Damn it," she hisses.
She doesn't have time to wonder where Lexa is. She just picks a direction and runs as fast as she can without making too much noise. She's learned that moving noiselessly in the woods is all but impossible, but that doesn't mean she has to sound like a rampaging pauna.
The ground seems to be sloping upward. That's good. Lexa would want the high ground. Then the trees are breaking and Clarke is coming out into a small clearing on the side of a very gentle hill. She stumbles to a halt as she catches sight of a large warrior a short distance away. His fist is slamming into someone, who crumples to the ground. The side of their face becomes visible for a brief instant as they fall.
It's Lexa.
She's clearly been disoriented by the blow because she's struggling just to roll over. The warrior has his sword over his head, and then it's crashing down. Clarke doesn't even have time to think. She yanks her gun from its holster and squeezes the trigger. The warrior jerks from the impact. He whirls around, a spot of blood blooming on his chest. His eyes widen as he sees Clarke for the first time. She quickly squeezes the trigger again. The warrior falls without a sound. His body rolls down the incline a bit before coming to a stop. He's dead.
Clarke looks up only long enough to see that Lexa is still alive. Then she turns away. Lexa still seems slightly disoriented and Clarke has her hood up, so there's a chance she can get out of this without being recognized.
She's only made it one step before Lexa's voice crushes that hope.
"Clarke!"
Clarke freezes mid stride. For a moment she considers just walking away. But she knows in her heart that she can't. Even in her deepest betrayal, Lexa still gave an explanation. She's already seen Clarke here. The least Clarke can do is tell her why.
She pushes back her hood and forces herself to turn around. Lexa's face seems to leap as she realizes she was right. Her mouth very nearly smiles. But then the expression disappears. It's replaced by one of pain. Clarke can feel her stomach twist, both at the surge of happiness and then at the sudden drop. They both know they can't go back to where they used to be. Too much has happened.
"Why?" Lexa asks. She doesn't have to elaborate further. She wants to know why Clarke would save her life after her betrayal.
"My people are safer with you in charge of the coalition," Clarke says. Her tone is void of emotion. There may be a part of her that still cares for Lexa, but she doesn't dare let it out now. Because with that will also come the pain of Lexa's betrayal, and if just seeing Lexa's face has thrown her for this much of a loop, then she can't afford to unpack any of that emotion.
"You may be heartless, Lexa, but at least you're smart," she says instead. She tries to say it coldly, but she knows Lexa will remember those words. She'll understand that despite Clarke's pain, this decision was driven by emotion just as much as her decision to save Lexa from the pauna. She's just hurting too much to admit it.
Lexa swallows, and Clarke's intimate knowledge of the commander's subtle mannerisms tells her that Lexa has indeed understood.
"Clarke, I-" Lexa begins. Clarke can't bear to let her finish that sentence. Whatever is about to come out is going to be fraught with emotion, and it just might break Clarke.
"I understand why you did it," she blurts out. And she does. She understands choosing her people over someone else's. But the betrayal of their friendship, of whatever the hell they were… That's the part that keeps her awake at night. She briefly drops her gaze to the grass, unable to meet Lexa's eyes as she bears this piece of her soul. "I ended up making the same choice. But I still can't forgive you for it anymore than I can forgive myself."
She can see the wheels turning in Lexa's mind as she processes that. Then Lexa nods.
"Your heart is still strong," she says.
It sounds dangerously close to an apology. Her voice trembles as she says it, and Clarke nearly snaps right there. This is the one person in the world who might actually understand what she's going through. Who might even be able to help her learn how to live with it. Everything in Clarke is demanding that she yell, cry, fall to her knees, something. Anything. Whatever it takes to make this right. But she can't. She's far too damaged for that. Maybe they both are. And even if they weren't, she knows it's going to take a lot more than a few weeks at the beach before she's able to look Lexa in the eyes without wondering whether she's about to feel a metaphorical knife jammed between her shoulder blades.
"And yours is still weak," Clarke says softly.
She doesn't mean weakness, not really. What she means is love. Because as much as Lexa tries to hide it, Clarke knows she has a heart. Lexa's eyes squeeze shut, but not before Clarke sees the deep pain hiding in them. She understood what Clarke truly meant. And the guilt of it all is threatening to drown her.
Part of Clarke wants to stay and hash this out, but another part of her doesn't dare. If she stays, she'll only get sucked back in. And she's not ready for that. Not by a mile. So instead she takes advantage of Lexa's temporary obscured vision by disappearing back into the tree line. Once she's safely out of sight, she points herself east and starts walking.
She doesn't dare look back.
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Life at the beach continues in its pattern despite the frigid temperatures. Talia and Manon still visit every few days. Clarke soon gets to be a pretty fair shot with the knife. Her skill with a sword is also improving, although she's not a master by any stretch. According to Manon, all she could really do is buy herself enough time to run away. But for all his bluntness, Clarke has a feeling she's growing on him. Talia seems to think Clarke fell from heaven. She tells Clarke all about life in the village and how she's training to be a warrior. The other seconds have stopped teasing her the way they once did, and the grateful looks Manon gives Clarke make it clear that it's these practice sessions that are helping his sister's skills improve so rapidly.
Somehow the subject of chess comes up during an early visit, at which point Clarke discovers that neither of the siblings has ever heard of the game. She immediately decides to fix that. She picks up thirty-two stones from the woods and paints black and white symbols on them for each type of piece. Then she draws a chess board on a piece of paper. The next time the siblings visit, Clarke teaches them how to play. Talia sees it purely as a game, giving little thought to her moves but still enjoying herself thoroughly. Manon, on the other hand, proves to be something of a strategic genius. It only takes a handful of games before he starts giving Clarke a run for her money.
Now whenever they finish sparring, they retreat into Clarke's cave. She and Talia play a game or two while Manon sits in the corner and carves pieces of wood with his knife. Then he takes a turn playing against Clarke. Their games are far longer and far more serious. Sometimes Talia sits and watches in rare silence, and sometimes she instead amuses herself by reverently looking through Clarke's sketchpads. The constant death that fills them seems not to bother her at all. Sometimes she asks about their subjects and Clarke will explain. It's hard to talk about them at first, but as time goes by, Clarke begins to open up a little more about her drawings. When she talks about them, Talia sits in respectful silence and listens with wide eyes. Even Manon appears to halt his strategic planning to listen. In fact, talking about exactly what she has lost seems to further thaw Manon's serious nature.
"You speak for the dead," he says one day when Clarke has finished answering Talia.
"What?" Clarke asks, unsure if she heard correctly.
"There is an old man in our village," Manon explains. "He remembers the faces of all those we have lost in his life. He can tell their stories if asked. We say he speaks for the dead."
Clarke doesn't really know what to say to that. It sounds almost like a compliment, but if it is, she doesn't want it. Thankfully, she's saved by Talia jumping to her feet.
"Listen!" Talia cries excitedly.
Clarke and Manon both strain to hear. Clarke can just make out the sound of something light repeatedly hitting a surface. Talia is out of the cave in a flash. Manon gets up to follow her, and so does Clarke.
"Snow!" Talia yells.
When Clarke steps out of the cave, she's shocked to see that it is indeed snowing. There are large white flakes falling from the sky. They land on her face like cold kisses. It's the first time Clarke has ever seen snow. She looks up at the sky in wonder as the flakes continue to fall around her. Talia is laughing and spinning in circles with her arms outstretched. Manon is watching his sister with something close to a smile.
"It's beautiful," Clarke whispers.
"You have never seen it?" Manon asks in surprise. Clarke shakes her head.
"Come on!" Talia cries. She catches Clarke's hand and drags her further out onto the beach where she proceeds to spin around, pulling Clarke in a circle with her.
Together they revel in the falling flakes. The stuff piles up quickly on the beach, and before long there's a solid layer of white that shows all of their footprints. Talia is beside herself with joy as she dances and laughs. Clarke can't contain her own smile at the beauty the beach has become.
And then a lump of snow splats against her neck. Clarke yelps in shock as the wet stuff begins to leak down her neck into her sweater. She tries to wipe it off as the sound of Talia's glee fills her ears. Clarke turns around to see that Talia is doubled over laughing.
"Oh, you are dead," Clarke tells her.
She bends down and scoops up her own handful of the frigid slush. Talia shrieks and takes off running down the beach. Clarke immediately gives chase. She's faster than Talia, and it takes very little time to close the gap. She launches the ball of snow through the air. Talia tries to look behind her and ends up stumbling, crashing down into the snow. The ball of snow sails right over her head and crashes into Manon's face.
Clarke staggers to a halt as she waits to see what he'll do. Talia too looks up from the snowy ground with baited breath. So far, Manon has been content to simply stand by and watch the other two play in the snow. Now he wipes the snow from his face, shaking some out of his hair in the process. He looks at Clarke through snow-crusted eyelashes, and for a moment there is dead silence on the beach.
Then a grin creeps across Manon's face. That's a bit surprising. But the biggest shock comes when he opens his mouth and laughs. It's a strange barking noise as if his throat has forgotten how to make the sound. But there's no doubt that it is indeed a laugh. Clarke is shocked. She's never heard him laugh before.
Talia collapses into the snow as she dissolves into laughter too. Clarke finds herself following suit. Laughter bubbles up within her, and then the sound is escaping to blend with Manon and Talia's laughter. It's the first time Clarke has laughed since... Actually, she can't even remember the last time she laughed. From the look on Manon's face, it seems he can't remember the last time he did either.
"I think it is you who are dead," he says dangerously.
Clarke doesn't even wait for him to pick up a handful of snow. She just turns and takes off down the beach. Talia is close behind her. As she hightails it through the snow, it occurs to Clarke that in this moment, she actually feels happy. And for the first time since Mount Weather, her being happy doesn't feel like a complete betrayal of the dead.
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Snow comes and goes from the beach as winter runs its course. Some mornings there's even ice on the beach when Clarke goes running. She's taken to wearing multiple layers to keep herself warm, and her black gloves have become a constant fixture on her hands. She also lines her boots with rabbit skins to keep her feet warm. Manon seems mildly impressed that she figured that out on her own. As the temperature drops, his disposition seems to warm. He's still a serious boy, but now he smiles occasionally and he no longer finds fault with everything Clarke does. He reminds her of Wells with his quiet nature. It's comforting, really.
Clarke keeps drawing as well. She does it mostly at night now, steadily filling up another sketchpad and then another. The habit has become so natural that it actually takes her all of a week to realize that she's stopped drawing only death and destruction. Instead, a handful of her drawings have begun to capture other moments. Finn floating in the drop ship, Jasper across the river with his hands proudly in the air, Miles and his hopeful smile as he acted on his painfully obvious crush. The pain in Clarke's chest is still there, but she can look at some of these lighter drawings now with a little more nostalgia than sadness.
The nightmares still come often, but it's not every night anymore and Clarke no longer wakes up screaming or crying every time. About half the time she actually manages to sleep soundly until sunrise. It's progress. Slow progress, but progress. Maybe she really can shake the ghosts after all.
That brief hope is quickly dashed to pieces. Talia and Manon are visiting on the warmest day in weeks, so they and Clarke have decided to move their chess games outside for the first time. Clarke has her hood up against the cold air, and she still has to occasionally blow on her fingers sticking out of her fingerless gloves to warm them up. But at least they aren't threatening to lose feeling as she waits for Manon to make his move. The paper chessboard sits between them on a piece of wood. Talia is sitting nearby looking through yet another sketchpad.
"What is this?" she asks, holding up the book.
Clarke looks up and her heart catches in her throat. The picture Talia has chosen is a drawing of the crater at Tondc. There are flames licking the rubble and people trying to pull others from the mess. It's not a particularly graphic image, but aside from Mount Weather, Tondc is what troubles Clarke's sleep the most.
"It is Tondc," Manon says as he quietly moves his bishop. Clarke looks at him in surprise.
"You know it?" she asks.
"I went there with the other warriors and seconds from our village," he says without looking up. His arm has been out of its sling for a couple weeks, but he unconsciously touches the healed bones as he talks. "We were there when the missile hit. That is where I was injured."
"He almost died," Talia says. "Our father saved him."
"But he could not save our mother," Manon adds quietly.
Just like that, Clarke's blood turns to ice. Their mother was in Tondc. And she died there because of what Clarke did. The pain in Talia's eyes the first day she came to the beach... That pain was Clarke's fault. She killed their mother. And she nearly killed Manon too.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"It was hard," Talia says, assuming Clarke is simply being polite. "I miss her."
Manon's face, however, is suddenly unreadable
"The Mountain Men have paid for their deeds," he says simply. Clarke can't tell if he's saying that for her benefit or Talia's. "Their fight is ended just as hers is."
"How did you survive the missile?" Talia asks curiously. It's an innocent question, but it nearly breaks Clarke.
"She was one of the lucky ones," Manon says before she can answer.
Then he looks up and Clarke's heart stops. Because there is a quiet knowledge in his gaze as he stares back at her. Clarke realizes with horror that he knows. He knows she knew about the missile. Suddenly it all makes sense. His seeming hostility that first day, the fact that it's taken so long for him to warm up, the weighing looks he gives her when he thinks she doesn't see. This whole time he's known what she did. He's known she killed his mother.
It's clear that Talia has no idea, but that doesn't make it any easier to bear.
"We should go," Manon says to Talia. "Father will worry."
Talia sighs and gives Clarke the sketchpad while Manon puts the chess stones into a leather bag he made for them. Then they're both gone, leaving Clarke alone on the beach. She sits there for a long time. She had no idea their mother had been in Tondc. That's bad enough. But for Manon to know what she's done...
She gets up and walks down the beach until her feet are just barely outside the reach of the choppy waves. There are dark clouds gathering in the sky. It's going to rain soon. A flash of lightning cuts across the horizon, followed by the crash of thunder. The loud noise finally snaps something inside of Clarke. She opens her mouth and yells at the sea until she's hoarse, releasing all of her anger and pain to whatever higher power might be listening. But the only answer she receives is more thunder drowning out the sound of her shouting.
When she finally stops screaming, there are two tear stains running down her cheeks.
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A full week and a half passes with no sign of Manon and Talia. Clarke starts to wonder if they'll come back at all. She sticks to her same routine. Run, hunt, chop wood, draw, sleep, repeat. The beach is no longer completely freezing, so she spends more and more time out of her cave. But it feels painfully lonely without the Grounder siblings to keep her company.
She's sitting on the cold sand one morning staring at the frigid waves when she hears footsteps behind her. Clarke looks over her shoulder to see a fully grown Grounder man coming towards her. She's on her feet in a second, gun out and pointed at him.
"Who are you?" she demands.
The man stops walking and holds up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture.
"My name is Ronan," he says. "Manon and Talia are my children."
Clarke lowers her gun, but she keeps her pointer finger right above the trigger.
"What do you want?" she asks suspiciously.
"I mean you no harm, Clarke of the Sky People," Ronan says. "I wish only to speak with you." He points at the sand. "May I sit?"
Clarke hesitates briefly. He has a sword and he's clearly been trained as a warrior. But he chose to alert her to his presence instead of sneaking up on her like he probably could have. Finally she nods and holsters her gun. Ronan walks over to her and lowers himself onto the sand. Clarke carefully does the same.
"This is a beautiful place," Ronan says as he looks out at the waves. "I will miss it."
"Are you leaving?" Clarke asks in confusion.
"When the world is warm again, I will take my children across the sea to the Boat People," Ronan says. He looks over at Clarke. "The coalition is breaking. The clans will soon be at war. Luna, the leader of the Boat People, has made it clear that she will have no part in the fighting. My family will be safer there. She is kind to strangers and will accept us into her clan."
Clarke looks out over the sea as that sinks in. If Manon and Talia leave, she'll be alone on the beach again. The idea had sounded pleasant when she first arrived, but now she's not so sure. Then again, maybe being alone is exactly what she deserves.
"My children will miss you when we leave," Ronan says to her. "You mean a great deal to them."
"I shouldn't," Clarke says softly.
"Because you knew about the missile," Ronan says. Clarke's head jerks up. Ronan just shrugs at her expression. "Many of our warriors have guessed the truth. It is not difficult."
Clarks looks down at her knees, which are pulled up almost to her chest.
"If Talia knew, she would never forgive me," Clarke says quietly. "I wouldn't blame her. And Manon..."
"He understands," Ronan says. Clarke looks up in surprise. "It is true that he hated you at first. He only came to see that you did not hurt Talia. But you made her smile again. You helped make her a better second. And for that, my son respects you greatly."
"I killed his mother," Clarke says with an angry shake of her head.
"You allowed her to die," Ronan says. "There is a difference."
"It's still my fault," Clarke says, unable to meet his eyes.
"When the missile fell on Tondc," Ronan says quietly, "my son was trapped in the ground with the warrior who was teaching him. I dug to them both, but they were unconscious. The rock above them was unstable and about to fall. I knew I had only time to pull one of them out. The man with my son was the father of three children. Children who would go hungry without him. But I chose to leave him there and save my son instead. I allowed that man to die. Does that make me a bad man?"
"No," Clarke says, shaking her head. "You're a father. You had to choose your son."
"And you are a leader," Ronan responds. "You must always choose your people, no matter the cost."
He has a point. She made the only choice she could have. Clarke's known that for awhile, but somehow it seems to sink in more in light of what Ronan has just told her.
"My son tells me you draw the dead," Ronan says. "Why?"
"I don't know," Clarke says quietly. "I guess I keep hoping it'll bring me peace. But no matter what I do, the ghosts keep coming back."
"They will continue to do so until you let them go," Ronan says.
"How?" Clarke asks. "An entire civilization is gone because of what I did. What right do I have to decide that my people are more deserving of life than someone else's?"
"Would your people have done as the Mountain Men?" Ronan asks. "Would they have drained others of blood to remain alive?"
"No," Clarke says without hesitation. Even when there was no other way, her people had still objected to the idea of murdering all of Mount Weather's residents. They never would've consented to harvesting other people for blood or bone marrow.
"Then they are the better people," Ronan says as if that settles it. "They are the ones who deserve life."
"Maybe they do," Clarke says quietly. "But I killed three hundred and forty-one people to save them. How does that make me any different from the Mountain Men?"
"If the leader of the Mountain Men were in your place," Ronan says. "If he had killed your people, would they haunt him as his people haunt you?"
"No," Clarke says. They would've haunted Dante. They did haunt him, actually. But not Cage. Cage pretended to care about his people, but at the end of the day, it was only his own life that really mattered to him.
"Then you are the better person," Ronan tells her seriously. Clarke shakes her head and looks away, but Ronan keeps speaking. "If the dead haunt you, it means you understand the value of the life you have taken. And only those who understand what they have done can truly seek forgiveness. But the dead cannot give you forgiveness. Only the living. If you would have peace with the dead, then you must first make it with yourself."
"I don't know how," Clarke whispers.
In answer, Ronan turns and looks out at the sea.
"My wife liked to walk this beach," he says. "She would collect items she found here. Her favorite was the glass. It is tossed and marked by the sea. But when it emerges, it is even more beautiful." He turns to look at Clarke, who's watching him in silence as she tries to understand where he's going with this. "You are that glass. You cannot change the scratches you are given. You can only accept them and move on. If you can do this, you may even find that you are better than what you were."
Clarke looks back out at the sea as she thinks that over.
"Do you really believe that?" she asks.
"I believe what I see," Ronan tells her with a shrug. "And I do not see a killer in you, Clarke of the Sky People. I see a great leader who loves her people as a father loves his child. I see a healer who mended the broken hearts of my children. Whatever debt you think you owe my family has been paid. There is nothing for me to forgive."
Clarke's vision has started blurring past the point of visibility. She reaches up and wipes her damp eyes as she lets out a shaky breath.
"Thank you," she whispers. She can barely get the words out amid the sudden tightness of her throat.
"I must return to my village," Ronan says. He pushes himself up off the sand and to his feet. Then he looks back down at Clarke. "You must find a way to forgive yourself. Only then will you be free."
The sound of his footsteps on the sand tells Clarke that he's leaving. She continues to stare out at the waves flowing gently back and forth. Only once she's sure that Ronan is gone does she allow herself to bury her face in her hands. For the first time in a while, Clarke cries hard. But this time it's different. This time the tears are not of pain but relief. In spite of all her efforts, there has been a lingering part of her that wasn't sure she deserved forgiveness. But now she's beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she can still be saved.
The gift Ronan gave her today was not his wisdom or even his forgiveness. No, he gave her something far more precious. He gave her hope.
Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. Either way, please take a second to leave a review. I would be extremely grateful for the feedback. If you want to see Lexa's point of view on her run-in with Clarke, feel free to check out my one-shot "This Is Life Without You," which examines the various stages of Lexa trying to cope with her betrayal of Clarke as the coalition slowly comes apart. As for this story, the next chapter will be posted sometime in the next few days. It will have far less of the OCs, for those of you who don't really care for them. Instead, the other characters from the show will begin making appearances, including both of the Blake siblings. So keep an eye out for that. Thanks for reading!