Chapter Text
My name is Clarke Griffin, daughter to Abby and Jake Griffin. I was born and raised on the Arc. Everything we did, I did, was to survive. The Arc was dying. We returned early to reclaim the world. We thought it was empty. It wasn’t. Since then, I’ve killed 685 people and let another 250 die. We finally have peace. I only hope it will last. If I could, I'd go back and do things differently, but I can't. None of us can. If you find this note, I have joined my father. Someone who believed in the best of humanity. He never saw what I did. The person I’ve become. May he rest in peace.
C. Griffin.
***
Before her lay a sea of bodies stretching out as far as she could see. Emerging from the dark void. Burned, blistered, and scarred. Faceless and indistinct. Worse than Mt. Weather. “Murderer,” they cried, a symphony of anguish. It rang out, echoing off the nothingness.
“No. No, you don’t understand,” She cried, fear in her voice. “I had to. She, the commander, she gave me no choice.”
Dante appeared by her side, face the same mask of rage he had when he died. “Everyone has a choice, Clarke.”
“That’s not what you said, not when we spoke,” Clarke responded, panic starting to set in. The bodies, the ones that were supposed to be dead, they were moving, moving towards her. There were thousands. Crawling over each other, desperate to get to her.
“You mean when you shot me?” came Dante’s gravelly voice, laced with malice. “We all remember what you did, Clarke. You too gave us no choice.”
The bodies were getting closer. Desperately she scrambled backwards only to hit a wall. Panicking, she felt around. What appeared to be a ceaseless voice had an edge. There was no escape. They were getting closer. Hands, nails, scratching, blood, empty eyes, writhing, screaming, and then, silence.
The forest was a serene canvas painted with all the colors of autumn. Leaves fluttered in the light breeze. The sun shone through the canopy. A bird called in the distance. She realised she was awake; the bodies weren’t real. It was just a dream. The forest, though. Tranquil. A mirror of what life could be. Accessible only to those who could clean the blood from their hands.
Clarke got up, wincing. Everything was stiff. Her left leg was numb. Hunger gnawed at her insides, begging her to eat. Why did I have to leave my nice warm bed? And leaving without food? Idiot. Idiot, Idiot, Idiot. What was I thinking? She was parched. I need water. There’s a stream nearby. That gives me what, a week, two if I’m pushing it. Let’s hope those earth skills lessons helped.
With the memory of water driving her forward, she trudged through the undergrowth. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, every root seemingly grasping to bring her into the earth’s embrace. There wasn’t a creature in sight. For all she knew, she was the only living being in existence. Every step broke a stick or crumpled a leaf. No wonder the animals were hiding. Lexa could probably hear her all the way from Polis. Wait, why am I thinking about Lexa? It didn’t really matter. Why would she care? Why should I care? No, she betrayed me. She doesn’t deserve my time. It was just one kiss. Meaningless really.
***
“Chit yu don sin in” (What did you see) Lexa asked, apprehensive.
“Wanheda ste raun trigeda soulou. Em gada woda in ba nou dina. Em nou na kik thru laik disha. Em nou daga flufi bakkova in.” (Wanheda is alone in the forest. She has water but not food. She will not survive like this. She does not have warm clothing) the scout responded.
“Yu don ge sin in?” (Were you seen) Lexa asked.
“No Heda. Osir don dula op yu don biyo.” (No Heda. We did as you said) the scout responded.
Lexa dismissed the guard, finally able to relax. Why did she care about the girl? Clarke’s fate was Clarke’s problem? What was it she had said about feelings? “You say having feelings makes me weak. But you're weak for hiding from them”. She was different. A strength she had never seen before. Yet somehow unable to survive on her own. The irony, she thought. All of Skaikru really, but his one more so than the rest. Making up her mind, she steeled herself and called the scout back in.
“Kom daun em. Ron em op fleiva steiks, biskova, swis, en bo en feda. Dula op nou ai op”. (Return to her. Give her jerky, furs, a knife, and a bow and some arrows. Do not get seen.) Lexa commanded.
***
It had been the better part of a week since she had left. She was hungrier than she thought possible. Delirium had long since set in, but what was that? Food? It can’t be. I’m imagining things. I must be. I’ve finally lost it. No one leaves food atop neatly folded furs in the middle of the forest. Blinking, the food didn’t disappear. Maybe it’s a trap. She ran, unaware of what she was doing, instinct guiding her. Not watching where she was going, her foot snagged on a root. The ground rose to meet her, holding her in an earthen embrace. Stunned, she realised she didn’t know what had happened. Why am I on the ground? What? Food. There was food. Where’s the food? Crawling forwards, she ignored the pain. Time collapsed in around her, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but eventually there she was. Her prize. She grabbed a piece of jerky. It was real.
Without questioning any further, she ate ravenously. Maybe the religions of the old world were right. Tucked within the furs was a knife, a bow, and ten arrows. Clearly someone wanted her to survive. But which deity should she thank? As interesting as the stories had been on the Ark, none of them covered thanks for divine intervention, and she most certainly didn’t have a spare goat to sacrifice. Thankful nonetheless, she gathered her new supplies, wrapping the furs around her, warm for the first time in days. There was a rocky overhang nearby. It would have to do for shelter.
The next day she awoke feeling weaker than she ever had. She was warm. Too warm. Putting a hand to her forehead, she felt a fever. Shit. She needed to drink. When she tried to get up, her legs wouldn’t budge. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours. The sun came and went, and there she was, back in the void, surrounded by the dead. But this time there was a console before her. Empty with the exception of a single lever. Her stomach dropped. Her hand was on the lever. Bellamy was next to her. “Together,” he said. Before she could do anything, Bellamy transformed into Lexa. “Together,” their voices said in unison. Then it was Jaha’s turn, then Abby’s. All saying the same thing, adding to the chorus of voices. The lever was moving. She couldn’t stop it. Stop, damn it. Why won’t you stop? Click. Silence filled the void. Clarke felt hot. Searing hot. Her skin itched. Raising her hands to her face, she felt rough flakes beneath her fingers. She was dying from the radiation. The same radiation she unleashed upon Mt. Weather. Her skin blistered. Screaming. Convulsing.
Clarke woke drenched in a sea of sweat. Everything was sticky. She threw the furs aside. She needed cool. Aside from her parched throat, she was feeling better than the morning before. The worst of the fever clearly having passed. Scrambling up, she headed to the stream. She was dizzy. Everything was moving so fast. Sweet sweet water. So cool and refreshing. Giver of life. There was none of the food left. She would need to hunt for herself.
Time to learn how to use a bow, she mused to herself. What’s the worst that can happen? But first she had to string it. She remembered something about not leaving a bow strung for long periods of time. Earth skills. What was it that Pike had said? “Step 1: turn the bow so it looks backwards. Step 2: loop the string over the top. Step 3: pull the string d-”. Fuck. The string fell from the bow. Why couldn’t this be easy? “Step 2: loop the string over the top. Step 3: pull the string down until the bow bends. Step 4: loop the string over the bottom.” Easy. What was I talking about? I really owe Pike a drink.
Making a practice target was easy. Hitting it was another matter. Arrow after arrow kept missing. Above. Below. Left. Right. It didn’t seem to matter, and then a hit. Not the bull’s eye. Nowhere near, but a hit nonetheless. This was progress. Another hit. Three more misses. Then a hit. She smirked. Maybe if her prey stood nice and still, she’d survive.
***
“Ai lid in os en foto getnes.” (I bring good and bad news)
“Os fostaim.” (good first)
“Em ste os ba bilaik goufa kom bo we.” (She is well, though she uses a bow like a child)
“En foto?” (and the bad)
“Em don ai osir op.” (She saw us)
“Kom daun ba kigon auda lokness.” (Return but keep out of eyesight)
Lexa smiled. One day she would see Clarke again. Clarke clearly needed her time, but eventually they could be reunited.
***
It had been weeks. Weeks alone. Weeks in the forest. The dreams didn't stop, but life was calm. There was a routine, and importantly, no lives were at stake. Maybe one day she'd return, that is, if she even could. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t. People died when she was in charge. She owed Monty, Jasper, Raven, and Bellamy an apology for disappearing like she did, but the rest, they didn’t care. To them, she was just another of the Arc’s leadership. She could see it in their eyes. Gods, why did Wells have to die? It wasn’t fair. She needed him. He always knew what to do with people. “Fuck,” she said, punching the ground, a tear rolling from her eye.
Taking a few calming breaths, she focused on the present. Returning home was an issue for another time; today was hunting. She was getting better. Better at watching and better at hiding. A few days ago she had seen someone in the trees. Whether they were watching her or Arkadia, she was unsure. Maybe the same people who gifted her the supplies early on. Walking quietly had become second nature. It was nice not having to chase her prey. Before she could do anything, her ears pricked up. There was a rustle in the leaves. Too big to be a rabbit. Too small to be a bear. Panther? Maybe. Human? Hopefully not.
“Fuck”. An arrow had embedded itself into her arm. Ducking down, she drew her gun. With a click, she disengaged the safety. Scanning the forest, she saw movement and shot. The shot rang out in the empty forest, only interrupted by a scream from behind a bush. One down. If there was anyone else, her labored breathing would give her position away. To her relief, the forest was quiet. Chancing a glance, she looked down. The arrow was embedded deeply in her forearm. She was lucky. By the looks of things, the arrow just missed the basilic vein. Regardless if she didn’t do something, she’d bleed out. The last thing she remembered was tying a piece of ripped clothing around her arm before falling into unconsciousness.
***
“Heda, em don ste thri sintaim. Osir nou lok em op. Em laik os stelta nou,” (Heda, it has been three days. We could not find her. She has become very good at hiding) the scout said.
“Doup. Hod op hez em op. Yu don dula os,” (Good. Stop watching her. You did well) she replied, content to know Clarke was finally safe.