I do not own The 100. It is not mine to own and if it was, Lexa would've survived.
In the dense forests that now served as her refuge, Clarke Griffin wandered, a solitary figure against the vastness of the wild. The weight of her decisions at Mount Weather bore heavily on her, the memory of the lever she pulled haunting her every step. The faces of those she saved—and those she did not—flickered behind her eyelids each night, a relentless reminder of the cost of survival. Yet, it was the ghost of a kiss, one shared with Lexa, that lingered longest, stirring a tumult of emotions within her heart.
Three months had passed since Clarke had bid farewell to Skaikru, seeking solace in the embrace of the forest. But peace eluded her; nightmares plagued her sleep, and phantoms of guilt battled in her waking hours. She had become a student of survival, learning the language of Trigdasleng from Niylah, whose trade post was a beacon of knowledge amidst the wilderness. Clarke's days were filled with the essentials of grounder life—fighting, hunting, skinning, concocting medicines from the flora around her. Each skill honed was a step further from the person she once was, a step deeper into the identity she was forging for herself.
Silence had become her companion, her voice unused for years, a deliberate barrier between her and any who might seek her out. She wasn't ready to face her people, to confront the reality she had left behind. Instead, she embraced the ways of the grounders, her transformation evident in the earthy tones that now colored her hair, a stark contrast to the vibrant hues of her past.
Clarke's journey took her through the settlements of Kongeda, a silent observer in the tapestry of lives that continued in her absence. Each night, she sought shelter, her appearance altered enough to avoid recognition, yet her eyes ever watchful, ever searching. It was from the murmurs in the pubs, the hushed conversations that flowed like the ale they sipped, that Clarke gleaned snippets of news about her people, about Lexa.
A trade with the Ingranrona clan had brought her a horse, a majestic creature whose strength and independence mirrored her own. Together, they traversed the terrain, a pair of nomads bound by a shared resilience. The horse was not just a means of travel but a symbol of the freedom Clarke so fiercely clung to, a freedom that allowed her to keep her distance yet remain connected to the world she had once vowed to protect.
As the days turned to months, and months to years, Clarke Griffin, the girl who fell from the sky, became a legend whispered among the trees—a specter of a leader who once made the impossible choices for her people, now a shadow blending into the fabric of grounder society, forever changed, forever haunted, forever free.