Keryon Gonplei

Clarke stared at the strange tableau that unfolded before her. She stood frozen in shock and a fear that that ached right to the centre of her bones. Nothing could change. Everything would find a way to repeat. There was no use in fighting.

                Everyone was moving around her. They were yelling and scrambling. Octavia had jumped in front on Lincoln to stop Wells from overreacting; Bellamy had started tying ropes around the warrior’s wrists. Wells, once contained shuffled to a fallen Finn and yelled something to her.

                She didn't hear it.

                Three hundred people on the Ark would die, they thought the ground was uninhabited. The mountain would catch them, they'd be harvested. She couldn't save anyone.

                "Clarke! He's dying!" Wells was screaming at her desperately.

                I can't do anything, nothing will change. Clarke's heart was hammering in her chest, and her stomach had settled somewhere around her knees.

                "Clarke! We need you!" Octavia was in front of her now, gripping her shoulders and shaking her out of her encumbering thoughts.

                She didn't say anything to Clarke, she stood, and held her gaze for a long series of heartbeats. Clarke's hopelessness lifted a fraction. Finn might die, but he didn't die like this.

                She took one long, grounding breath, and nodded to Octavia. The young Blake nodded back, and stepped out of the way. Clarke leant over and inspected the wound. It was the same one; the one her mother had coached her how to treat over the radio, during the storm.

                She found her center, and started making orders. Finn needed to be moved back to the drop ship. He needed to be moved fast, and he needed to be moved gently. Lincoln needed to be carried back, but the camp also needed to be informed of their coming arrival, so that Clarke could get that knife out of Finn immediately.

                They found a way. Clarke could drag Lincoln along on her own, if with some difficulty. She would stumble along with the Trikru warrior while Wells and Bellamy gently carried Finn together.

                They didn't have time to make a stretcher, but they could bind Finns arms over a sturdy branch, allowing the two boys to have a grip on a rigid object, rather than Finns mostly inanimate arms.

                Octavia sprinted in front of them. She would send more people to help them get the two unconscious bodies into safety and prepare a room that Clarke could operate in. That's how they moved.

                Lincoln's head lolled from side to side as Clarke roughly dragged him over her shoulders and scrambled after Octavia. The boys were close behind, and moved at a smoother pace.

                After several minutes, Clarke was regretting the delegation of her plans. Her tired body protested, each step reminded her of her aching shoulder and bruised ribs. She gasped for air, and hoped that Octavia got them help soon. The boys found a rhythm to their strides and glided across the ground, hardly disturbing Finn as they ran.

                Clarke jolted over a tree branch and nearly hit the dirt. She recovered at the last second, but she felt Lincoln stir. "Don't you wake up now Lincoln," She gasped between breaths "That's not fair." She felt the muscles in his shoulders relax slightly and he became more of a deadweight. If she had the means, she would have sighed in relief, but she didn't have air to spare.

                She looked at the ground directly in front of her, concentrating on the placement of her feet. She didn't know how much time passed when a group of The Hundred thundered through the trees and lifted the weight off her burning shoulders. She kept her pace even though. She spent the rest of the run back steadying her breathing.

                When she made it to the camp, everything was moving. Ellie Sheppard was barking orders to her heavy lifters, getting them to drag a bench back to the drop ship so Clarke could use it as an operating table. Octavia was running down Monty's limited supply of moonshine to use as disinfectant and a bunch of other items.

                Clarke came out of her jog, and took a moment to catch her breath. She would need steady hands for this.

                Lincoln was dragged to the top floor of the drop ship, presumably to be tied there and questioned by Bellamy. Finn was carried in and Clarke followed him to the table.

                She inspected the wound more closely now. Her hands moved without thought, counting which ribs the blade was between, looking at the angle, confirming that the knife was the same. She checking his thready pulse and shallow breathing, and remembered. Upward and to the left, the blade was close to a major artery, Very slightly to the left.

                She disinfected her hands, and the wound. She ordered someone to prepare wire and bandages so she could stitch and bind the wound.

                There was no storm this time, and no crackling radio to distract her. She'd done this before, she could do it again. When this was done, then she could think about how to change things, what to do. But not before.

                She let out a breath and gripped the knife. At that moment Octavia shuffled into the room. Clarke felt her hands waver, and she withdrew them. Octavia mumbled an apology before meeting her at the other side of the table. "You can do this Clarke, I know you can."

                Clarke let out one half hysterical scoff, "Yeah, that's half the problem, O." Octavia only looked confused. She shook her head, and gripped the knife in her left hand once more.

                As she started to move the blade, Finn started waking up, but Octavia jumped in and held him down, telling him firmly that he should stay still unless he wants to die. His face turned more pale, but he tried not to squirm. She pulled on the blade, painfully slowly. Finn groaned the whole time, but held fast. When the knife slipped free of his chest she stood back for half a second, and thanked whoever was listening. Then she found herself in autopilot, cleaning, stitching and dressing the wound, ordering someone to give him water and making sure he wasn't to get up or move.

                She washed her hands of blood and found a place to sit outside and catch her breath.

                Pascal and Trina walked by and waved to her, they walked hand in hand, and were smiling at her too. The great cloud above Clarke's head seemed to lighten. They were alive. They were living, breathing proof that things could be changed, even if she had to fight tooth and nail to get them to stick. Ellie strode by, at the corner of her vision. She held her usual sceptical frown, but when Clarke looked over, she saw the tightly wound young woman crack a grin, as a waiting Glen made a joke.

                She pulled the sword off her belt and put it across her knees. She found a peace in its worn, carved hilt and familiar patterns. Perhaps she was only delaying the inevitable, but who would she be, if she didn't try.

                She ran her hands down the swords hilt one more time, thinking of the proud woman who owned the blade. She made a choice in that moment. She stood, and reattached the sword to her hip and then climbed to the top of the drop ship.

                "Get out. All of you." She ordered as soon as she entered the room that Lincoln was being held in. The young Trikru warrior had already woken up; he was sporting a few more bruises than when Clarke had been lugging him through the woods, but he was in better shape than the last time she had found him tied up in that room.

                "I don't think so Princess, we're not leaving you alone with that thing." Bellamy had that stoic look on his face, it was the one she saw when he didn't know how to feel, when there were a dozen things running through his head, and he didn't know if it was a good idea to let the rash part of him take control.

                Clarke's eyes turned ice cold. She couldn't wait around for him to make enough mistakes to get his head together. "Get out of my way, Bellamy. I've got a patient down there that's been poisoned, and I will find the antidote. No one carries poison on them without a backup plan. I won't ask again."

                He held her gaze for a long moment, searching her eyes. He clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to argue back. "We need him alive." He spoke it coldly, but headed to the hatch before Clarke could respond. He made one gesture, and the rest of his men followed. Before the hatch closed, she hear him call out "Miller will be just outside, when you’re done."

                Clarke sighed, and walked over to the box of bottles amongst Lincoln's things. Lincoln's eyes followed her coldly the whole way. If the time was going to fight her, she just had to fight back harder.

"Lincoln." His eyes focused sharply, but he hid his astonishment well. Clarke saw his hands grip his constraints a little tighter, but he remained mostly impassive. It would take more than a name to make an impact. "Ai Laik Klark kom Skaikru, and I know you can speak English."

Lincoln eyes widened and his body stiffened. Clarke grabbed the antidote to the knife's poison. "This one right? I thought so..." the grounders eyes flickered in astonishment between Clarke and the vial.

"I know this sounds crazy, and I don't really know what's going on either. But I need you to get me to Anya, so she can show me to Lexa. More of my people are coming to the ground, and we don't want war. We need to negotiate a peace now, before either of our peoples anger escalates and they start wanting revenge. The Commander’s the only one that can do that."

Lincoln remained silent, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Lincoln, can you get me to Anya?"

"How, do you? W-what?" He abandoned all pretences of ignorance towards English.

"I don't know... But this has all happened, I know about the mountain, and the Reapers, TonDC and Nyko, and Indra. I know about the twelve clans and how the Ice Queen is slowly trying to rally against Lexa's coalition.

"Lincoln, you don't have to understand, because I know I don't. But things need to change. We need peace, or the losses on both sides will be catastrophic. Please? Bej?. Can you get me to Anya, so we can talk?"

Lincoln's whole body seemed to slump. He stood slack jawed and she could see him trying to process the words she'd just spoken. He looked as though her was trying to translate them from another language, and failing at it.

"Lincoln," She didn't know if repeating his name would enforce the urgency of their situation, or scare him off.

He still stood astonished, he breathed a few heavy breaths and avoided her eyes.

Finally, he lifted his shocked gaze, to her own. "Sha." He frowned at himself for a second, "Yes."

Clarke gave him one firm nod. "Good, I'll make sure they don't harm you again, I may need a couple of days to convince them to release you, but we will find peace."

She turned and left the baffled man to try and measure her against her words.

***

                The next few hours passed painfully slowly. She gave Finn the antidote, ordered Miller to leave the prisoner alone, except for food and water, and had a glaring match with Bellamy as he protested to her treatment of his sister's kidnapper.

                The two leaders eventually came to an agreement, but only after Octavia intervened and told Bellamy that Lincoln hadn't hurt her. Bellamy conceded to leave the Trikru warrior alone, provided that the grounders didn't retaliate to his presence here.

                They went into a whole different argument when Clarke told him she was going to meet with their leader. The agreement was struck, that Bellamy, and only Bellamy could come, provided he was unarmed and kept his anger in check. He was not pleased with that outcome, but Clarke wouldn't be moved.

                At some stage during their second argument, Octavia had left, letting the two leaders work through things on their own. When Clarke exited the tent, her limbs were lead heavy and she felt her eyes aching with weariness. But there were still things to do.

                She strode off towards Ellie, intending to get a report on the Wall's construction. She didn't get ten paces before she found Octavia blocking her path. The young Blake forced a plate of food into Clarke's hands and told her that Finn was sleeping, but looked better now; he wasn't as pale and was breathing more steadily. Clarke nodded and thanked her for the food. "I'll go and-"

                "-Get some sleep now? Yeah, I thought you were about to say that. Good idea Clarke."

                The two woman stared at each other, but Clarke was too tired to fight back. "O, I'll check on him and then go. I want to make sure the antidote to that poison is working."

                Clarke tried to move past her, but Octavia caught her shoulder on the way through. Clarke hissed at the twinge that was sent through her chest and down her arm. "Sorry," She lifted the hand off Clarke's shoulder but didn't move out of the way. "How 'bout, someone else checks on Collins, and if anything changes, we'll send someone to come and get you."

                Clarke's stomach clenched at the thought of the nightmare that would surely follow any sleep. She knew though, that she couldn't keep this up for long if she didn't get some rest. She gritted her teeth, "Fine, but wake me the second anything changes."

                "Promise." Octavia nodded back to the food in Clarke's hands, and then moved out of the way, watching the older girl retreat back to her tent.

***

                Clarke dreamt of the Glade. Her dream allowed her to wander its space, and see it from all different angles. There was a peace that whispered at her thoughts as the ancient clearing hosted her. Her thoughts wandered, but didn't touch on anything dark, they shifted from admiring the scale of the trees, to the reflections in the crescent moon pool.

                When she woke, she felt like a person again. The tired ache behind her eyes was gone, and the pain from her bruises faded to the back of her thoughts. She was well rested, and felt like she was being told not to give up.

                Clarke said goodbye to any body clock she may have possessed. The rest of the camp was gathered around the main cooking fire. Several large, fat birds were dripping on spits, and off to the side was some sort of pig. She did a lap of the camp.

                Finn was awake, and arguing with Monroe. Monroe was stationed there to keep Finn out of trouble, she told her it was wishful thinking. She exited the room, to give Clarke a chance to examine Finn properly.

                "You look like shit." She said smugly.

                He gave her half a laugh, before grimacing and holding his chest. "I suppose I deserve that. You'll be glad to know, that you look less like shit than yesterday though. So good job on that one."

                She cracked a grin, "How're you feeling?'

                "I'm fine, It'll take more than a minor stab wound to keep me down."

                Clarke's face turned pale at a horrid memory. No, it wouldn't. "Seriously, Finn, how do you feel? Does it hurt when you breathe? Do you feel cold? Warm? I need an actual answer."

                She felt a shiver when he looked at her with more concern, than she did at him. He was bedridden and wounded, and the worry in his eyes struck her deep to her soul.

                He waited for a moment, before he replied. In those moments, he let his concerns be known, he let her know that he would listen, if she needed him to. Clarke felt her eyes sting at that, she clenched her jaw, and focused. He was a patient, she needed an assessment. "I feel cool, but not cold, shaky, but not shivery." She nodded and placed a hand on his forehead and then chest, there were no signs of fever. "It feels like I've been winded, and pulled a bunch of muscles in my stomach, and have a muscle cramp there, all at once."

                "Does it twinge sharply, if you breath? Or just ache?"

                "It aches, but I feel the actual wound twinge, when I move too much.

                She raised an eyebrow at him, "Well then don't move too much." He walked right into that one, and showed his displeasure. "The whole thing is an actual wound too, do you mean the surface?"

                "Yeah, where the stiches are."

                She nodded, and checked and changed his bandages. He writhed when she added more alcohol to disinfect it. When he caught his breath, he called after her receding form. "The Grounder? Is he okay?"

                Clarke smiled sadly, before turning back to him. "Yeah, he's fine, I was just about to check in on him now too. Did you need anything else?"

                "No-Clarke, Monroe said the knife was poisoned, and you got the antidote out of him. I need to know what you did to get it." He was distressed. He didn't want to be to blame for anything. "Please."

                Her sad smile stayed on her face, for him to see. "He's fine Finn. I made a deal to meet with his leaders, he agreed."

                "And Bellamy?"

                Her smile receded now. "He may have gotten a few shots in before I could intervene, but by the looks of his scars, the man's had worse. Bellamy was just angry about Octavia, and about you."

                "Don't try to justify what he did Clarke. That's no excuse."

                That sentence echoed through her. Her face became a desperate frown. "Maybe not on the Ark, Finn. But we're on the ground now. If we have to change, shouldn't we at least become a little more forgiving? We can have second chances now; remember that."

                She turned and left, leaving a very confused and weary Finn Collins in her wake.

                Climbing the ladder, she found Lincoln alone, but for Atom guarding him. The two men were both staring coldly at each other, but turned to Clarke when she came in. Atom nodded to her, and left the room.

                Clarke walked all the way up to Lincoln "I'm gonna untie you now, I would appreciate if you remembered that we'll let you go tomorrow." His eyes bored into her. "Just, don't lash out, okay Lincoln? I know every instinct inside you is telling you to fight your way out, but you don't need to. We don't need to fight each other at all, not again."

                She reached up to untie his left hand, but paused for a moment as she realised what she'd said. She knew Lincoln well enough to see the confusion crack though his impassive mask. She let out a tired breath and reached for his bonds, once again.

                She managed to untie him without incident. She walked back from him slowly, showing her hands to him. When she got far enough back, she unhooked the rifle from her shoulder and slowly placed it on the floor, and then she did the same with the sword at her waist.

                Lincoln eyed the sword with wide eyes, and looked back up at her, questioning. She looked away from him. Telling him one thing, would mean she had to tell him everything; and there was a line she had to draw. He wouldn't believe her any way. He had no reason to believe her, no reason to trust her.

                "It's Clarke right?" She nodded, he'd remembered of course. Hard to forget the strange new person that knows a part of your language, she supposed. "Where did you get that sword?"

                She swallowed, and resisted the urge to pick the blade back up, to have that comforting weight hanging off her hip once again. "I found it. It was stabbed into the dirt in a clearing to the west of here."

                Lincoln’s eyes widened. In shock but he composed his thoughts in a moment and shook his head. He was jumping to conclusions. "That sword is not yours; you should not have removed it."

                Clarke could see him analysing her. Did he know about the Glade too? Could he know why she was here? Did he remember? No, she thought, He was too astonished and terrified when I told him I know about The Mountain and Indra and everything. If he remembered too, he would have been relieved. A little bit of hope she didn't realise she'd been holding, floated away. Just like I'd be relieved. "Maybe not, but I didn't see anyone else using it. I have plans to return it to its owner, anyway."

                The space between them became charged. He stared accusingly at her. "How exactly do you plan to do that?"

                She realised that it may have sounded threatening. If Lincoln knew it was Lexa's sword, he would be doubly cautious of her careless remark. "It doesn't exactly look like an everyday sword, I assume someone will recognise it, and be able to pass it on for me." She made sure to sound nonchalant about it.

                From there, they talked. The ice seemed to break a little bit, and they had questions for each other. Lincoln had seen the ship land, not an hour later there were orders passed though all ranks that the people from the sky would not be harmed unless they attacked first. Formal scouting parties were sent out to observe, and report back to the lieutenants and generals, passing word off to the Commander as more information came in.

                Clarke told Lincoln what the Ark was, how it came to be with the destruction of the earth below, how her people up there would die soon, if they didn't find a way to the ground. She made sure to ask and answer questions as though she was new to the ground too. She could tell he wanted to ask about everything she'd said before, but she honestly had few answers herself. He didn't ask those questions though. He was smart enough to avoid then until he got more out of her.

                She gave him food and water. She checked over his wounds, and they negotiated with each other, that he would be tied back up, provided Clarke sent Octavia to talk to him.

                By the time Clarke finished her discussion with Lincoln, the rest of the Hundred are gathered around lazily munching on the food that was prepared. She wanders over to Octavia, who was deep in discussion with Ellie about something. “You can go talk to the Grounder now if you want O, he seems to glare at you less than the rest of us.”

                Octavia’s sentence to Ellie stopped dead and she looked up at Clarke. There was something in that look that Clarke couldn’t read. 

                “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you around Sheppard.” Ellie nodded and watched her go before looking suspiciously back at Clarke.

                “What?” Clarke said after fidgeting under the girl’s gaze for a moment longer.

                “I don’t know yet Griffin, but I’ll figure it out.” Clarke shifted from foot to foot as she tried to control the emotions flickering through her thoughts.

                “When you do, let me know. I’d seriously love to figure it out.”

                “I’m not joking Griffin.”

                “And neither am I.” Clarke’s fidgeting stopped at the accusation and she returned Ellie’s Glare. The two women looked at each other with daggers. Clarke dearly hoped that Sheppard wouldn’t become another obstacle she had to blindly hurdle. At that moment, Wells saved her. He shoved a plate of food in her hands and stood between the glaring women.

                “Clarke, how’d you sleep?”

                Ellie looked away, content to let the matter sit, for now.

                “Wells, fine, thanks.” She took the plate from his hands and moved off, gesturing for him to follow.

                They sat in a content silence as they ate their respective meals. After they finished, Clarke felt her friend’s eye’s boring into the side of her head. Waiting. Expectant.

                She pointedly avoided any eye contact. Wells didn’t say anything, he just sat there staring. Clarke stayed under his silent scrutiny for another couple of minutes until it became too much. She wouldn’t ask him why he was staring. She knew.

                She gave a tired sigh and turned to Wells. “I don’t know where to start. What do you want to know?”

                He looked baffled for a moment, and stared at her disbelievingly. He hadn’t expected to get anything out of her. Their friendship on the ground had been distant to say the least. Wells still thought it was because Clarke blamed her for her Father’s death. He asked her this, to start with. “How’d you know? How’d you know it was you mother and not me?”

                “I didn’t at first. There was a long time where I was mad at you, because I couldn’t even comprehend the thought that it could have been my Mother. I didn’t understand. But a friend pointed out to me that you were too loyal, you never acted like you would ever betray me. I thought about it for a while and figured it out. My mom thought she was protecting the people on the Ark. It couldn’t have been you, I’m sorry I even considered that it was.” She was staring at the ground now, not willing to meet his eyes.

                She didn’t know how much time passed in that state, but a gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, pulling her gaze upwards. She met warm, clam eyes as he stared at her with such weight. “I wanna say it’s okay Clarke, but I know that’s not everything. What’s haunting you?” he said it with such tenderness, and Clarke was suddenly reminded of why Wells had always been her best friend.

                “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you...” Her voice was a horse whisper, and hitched halfway through. It was a desperate plea and Wells only scooted closer to her, nodding.

                “You won’t know until you try.” Her chest had coiled in on itself, making every breath shudder in her lungs. She wanted someone to know, she needed someone to understand. Maybe then they could just tell her she was crazy, and she could forget the whole lot. “Please Clarke.”

                Somehow it wasn’t a question; it was an invitation, a nudge. She looked at him; his eyes were kind, offering understanding. Her whole chest heaved as she drew in a great, shuddering breath; when she released it, all the coils there loosened their hold over her.

She told him everything.

He sat and listened, keeping his face a mask, as she told him about the first lever she’d pulled, burning hundreds of Grounders alive. It had been in the heat of battle then, each of them on a rampage, prepared to kill them without a thought. She thought that maybe she could live with that one. It had been a desperate fight for their survival then.

 After that though was the other lever. The cold decision of War. Nearly four hundred dead. Women. Children. People that had helped them... Friends.

She told him everything she’d done wrong. She couldn’t tell him that he’d died on her too, but she let him know how many people she’d lost.

And finally, when everything was out on the table, when she’d said everything she had to say, a silence stretched between them. Clarke felt hollow, like she’d just emptied out her soul and was left with no walls to hold back the pain. She felt rubbed raw and didn’t know what she should feel; but behind all that, she felt a little better. A weight had lifted off her chest, and though it wasn’t the largest of the weights that rested there, not by half, the difference was notable enough that she felt a little bit closer to okay.

“Okay.” It was the first word he’d spoken to her, since she started telling him everything. She looked at him again, trying to judge how crazy he must think she was, but that word resonated in her head for another moment.

“W-what?” It almost sounded like he believed her.

“Okay.” He said it with more conviction this time. It didn’t drag on, like he was dismissing her. “I believe you Clarke. Now, what do you plan to do about it? How do we make it better this time?”

We. He said we. Something must have shown on her face, because he leaned over and pulled her into a hug. Truth be told, she had no idea what had shown on her face, because she had too many things surging through her head. She relaxed into his embrace, revelling in the human contact, that she’d been avoiding all this time. She hadn’t wanted to get close to anyone, but she couldn’t push him away, not again. Not how things had ended last time. She finally revelled in the thought that she might actually have her best friend back. Maybe there was hope after all.
                Clarke didn’t tell him anything else, she’d spoken too much and she had no idea where to start. She had dozens of plans in her head that were changing on an hourly basis, as she remembered and forgot the little detail. He didn’t seem to mind. They merely got up, nd walked back to the drop ship. Wells said goodnight and left her, only when she looked like she needed time alone. She had more to think about now. He wouldn’t judge her so harshly now, he wouldn’t worry so much. That would be a good thing for the both of them.

Clarke sighed and stood in the centre of the camp. What now? she thought. What’s next in the grand plan? She didn’t know. A lot of it now, would be waiting. In the morning, Clarke would talk to Bellamy and Lincoln and organise the meeting with Anya... There was a stroke of panic, thinking about the severe woman, and how Clarke would even begin peace talks with her. Her stomach had dropped at the thought, and she didn’t want to ruin her momentary peace with thought like that. Not yet.

The Ark would come down eventually, then she’d be able to make good on the deal she planned to make with the Grounders. They needed to find a way to get rid of the mountain, without a replay of last time.

She needed to keep her people alive.

A small scream caught Clarke off guard, the twitch found her with the rifle firmly planted hin her hands and her eyes scanning the trees around her.

“No!” the scream came again. A desperate cry. She was struck with a crippling moment of dejavu, and cringed at the irony of it. Charlotte. It couldn’t be anything else. She’d been avoiding this encounter, completely unsure what to do, but she had to change things. This was a good a place to start as any.