Chapter Text
"I think we deserve a drink,” Bellamy reasoned with a proud smirk on his face as they followed begins the battle-weary and newly rescued members of Skaikru filing into camp.
Clarke stopped in her tracks, she'd been hoping to delay this for a few more peaceful moments, but, it seemed the time had come. Shed already made up her mind and refused to take another step towards the place she'd come to call home.
“Have one for me," she requested with a sad smile.
The brunette boy turned to face her fully, confusion on his face but disbelief clear in his eyes. He knew what she was really saying.
"Hey, we can get through this," he tried to reason.
Clarke shook her head as he stepped closer, "I'm not going in."
"Clarke,” he pleaded, “if you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you."
When her blue eyes, now shining with unused tears, met his, he continued, "You're forgiven."
The blonde couldn't help a glance over his shoulder, her eyes searching the faces of the people she'd saved, those she'd killed for. Bellamy’s forgiveness wasn't what she needed.
"Please. Come inside," he said again.
"Take care of them for me." Her second request.
"Clarke-" He began.
"Seeing their faces every day,” She choked out, “is just gonna remind me of what I did to get them here."
"What we did," Bellamy argued, tears beginning to make an appearance in his own eyes. The realization that he had already lost the girl in front of him quickly setting in, “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Clarke once again turned to search the faces of the rescued. She saw her friends, some injured and starving, hugging and celebrating together. She saw her own mother, lying on a makeshift gurney waiting for medical treatment as Kane leaned worriedly over her.
A lump formed in her throat at the sight of them. Turning back to her friend, the truth that yes, she did have to do it alone carving a void into her chest.
"I bear it, so they don't have to."
In a last-ditch effort to force Clarke to see reason, with his heart breaking to pieces in his chest, Bellamy asked, "Where are you gonna go?"
Clarke thought for a moment about lying to ease his mind, but ultimately decided that after everything they’d been through, Bellamy deserved the truth, "I don't know."
She stepped forward after a silent moment spent memorizing his face and softly pressed her lips to his cheek, refusing to let a few tears slip free while he couldn’t see her face.
"May we meet again," She whispered in his ear.
He pulled her into a sudden, bone-crushingly tight hug and they held each other for a few long seconds, her face buried into his shoulder as tears finally managed to escape down her cheeks.
Bellamy eventually stepped back and held her at arm's length, “May we meet again, princess.”
She nodded once and managed a watery smile as she stepped out of his hold and turned back towards the woods they’d come from, beginning her journey without a backward glance. If she took another moment to look at everything she was leaving behind, her resolve would crumble and she wouldn’t go through with this. She couldn’t afford that.
She felt his eyes on her back the entire trek through the open field and the beginning of the trees.
Once she was a few feet into the forest, Clarke took off in a sprint, not knowing, nor caring, what direction she planned to head in. The tears she’d been holding inside finally burst free and fell steadily down her face as her legs carried her further away.
She stopped only once, quickly peeling off her clothes at a small river and scrubbing the dry blood from her skin until she was pink and raw. After, she pulled her clothes back on and continued in the direction of the setting sun, using nothing but it’s faint rays to guide her through.
Cresting a large hill, she broke free of a dense patch of branches that snagged at her clothes and cut at her face and arms. Her momentum proved to be her downfall as her boot caught under a gnarled root and she rolled freely down the other side of the steep slope. The natural landslide created by the mud of recent rains threw her against sticks and rocks, but she couldn’t feel the sharp pain.
The sun disappeared and the stars rose as she continued onward, following the Orion constellation wherever it may lead her. The darkness brought with it a sense of home for the blonde, who had grown up in the blackness of space. The dark was comfortable, familiar. But even that had ultimately been ripped away from her.
The only sounds that accompanied Clarke’s steps were the snapping of branches beneath her heavy boots and the gasps of her breath in between cries. She had to stop and lean against a nearby tree when the sobs grew to overwhelming, attempting to fill her lungs. A primal scream of anguish tore it’s way out of her chest as she braced herself against the rough bark.
Her knees buckled and she sunk to the ground, curling into a ball as she finally allowed herself to be swallowed by her grief, the most broken she had ever been, rocking back and forth slowly on the damp forest floor.
The next thing she registered was the weight of a body tackling her to the ground and the cold metal of a blade at her throat.
“Chon yu bilaik?” sneered a girl no older than twenty or so, menace in her voice and expression.
Clarke’s eyes widened, her mind catching up to the situation, “Klark,” she answered in a choked mumble, clearing her throat and trying again, “Ai laik Klark kom Skaikru.”
Realization flashed across the girl’s features and she quickly got up and helped Clarke off the ground, “My apologies, Wanheda.”
Clarke simply stared back, “What did you just say?”
The girl began leading her towards a light in the distance that Clarke hadn’t noticed prior to their misunderstanding.
“You are Wanheda. You slew the Mountain Men, did you not? The Commander of Death. It is a title holding much honor.”
Clarke only managed to nod in understanding as she held back a flinch. Pain tearing through her heart as screams filled her ears. The girl’s voice brought her back to the present as they reached a small, homely building.
“Ai laik Niylah kom Trikru. My father and mother were both taken by the mountain. Thanks to you, Wanheda, I got one of them back. This is the trading post that he and I own on the edge of Azgeda territory. You are welcome here any time.”
Surprised and touched by such kindness, Clarke put a hand on Niylah’s shoulder, “Mochof, Niylah kom Trikru.”
Niylah nodded and motioned for Clarke to follow her inside the trading post, leading her down a hallway and into a room at the back of the house. She left for a moment, telling Clarke she was free to look around and returned was a thick blanket and some slightly worn leather armor in her arms.
“I thought you may need these.”
Clarke managed to send a smile her way, once again grateful to have stumbled into the girl, “Mochof, again, Niylah. But, I have nothing to give you in return.”
She waved a dismissing hand, “No need for a trade. Consider these gifts in thanks on behalf of my father.”
Clarke and Niylah stayed awake together that night, sitting closely on the grounder’s bed and sharing stories. Clarke told her about the fall of the mountain and soon spilled how and why she left her people behind. Niylah, in turn, told her about growing up on the ground, the joy of her father’s return, and finally, offered Clarke a place to stay with her.
Clarke had to refuse, though Niylah understood her reasons, and insisted on teaching her a few basic survival skills and giving her a backpack with simple supplies she may come to need. Clarke picked up some Trigedasleng quickly and Niylah was impressed at her quick wit.
As the sun began to rise, Niylah wished her luck in her journey, slightly sad to see her go, but managed to strike a deal so Clarke would come back and check in once every few weeks so she could gather more supplies.
They said their goodbye and parted ways, Clarke able to feel Niylah’s warm hand on her arm long after she’d left the trading post.
The sun slowly ascended over the horizon and Clarke paused after a few hours of walking when she passed a few bushes of berries. She knew from Niylah’s teachings that she should not eat the fruit, but knew it would be great for something else she needed to do.
Whether her people sent scouts to bring her back or one of the twelve grounder clans wanted her head, it didn’t matter. Clarke needed to change her identity. She wasn’t going to be found unless she wanted to be, and she certainly didn’t plan on it. That didn’t mean, however, that she would never make a mistake leading to her discovery.
It was time to embrace what she had so clearly become.
Clarke was dead. She died in the mountain alongside everyone else murdered in cold blood.
She was Wanheda, as Niylah had explained. The Commander of Death.
Using handfuls of the dark berries and a small bowl Niylah had placed in her pack, she set to changing her hair from its natural blonde to a dark, bloody red.