The lights flickered on, bathing the stone entry in a ghostly sheen. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, hesitant and slow, as everyone took in the remnant of Mount Weather. Those that had never set foot here were the most collected, driven by curiosity instead of trauma. But everyone kept quiet, as if scared to disturb the silence.

Clarke felt her heart slam against her chest at the familiar place, the corridor she'd walked before. Now it was desolate, the only living people being the ones they brought inside.

Clarke hadn't known what to expect. Some level of morbidity that mirrored that day? A roomful of the dead they'd be forced to walk over?

But there wasn't.

The only trace that something horrible had happened here was in the stillness that surrounded her.

"How'd you dispose of the bodies?" Clarke asked Bellamy, her voice barely a whisper.

Bellamy looked at her. "They were burned."

Clarke assumed as much but felt her throat catch and turned away. She followed after the line of others, allowing the current to pull them into a room. No, not just any room.

The room.

The last time Clarke had stood here, The place had been littered with the fallen Mountain Men. The image surged in her mind until it glitched back and forth, and she was seeing both an empty Hall, and one strewn with bodies.

Clarke shut her eyes, trying to wash away the images. She wouldn't break. Not here. Not in this room. And it was just a room, she told herself. One that had once housed people, and now did so again.

Kane giving orders was what shattered the quiet, handing out directives regarding sanitary measures and precautions. Dusk had fallen, and people were beginning to lag, losing organization in search of some place to rest. It was then that Clarke released Bellamy's hand and made her way to Kane. "There are barracks on the fifth level," she said, knowing full well it wasn't the ideal place any would want to stay in. But it was clean.

Kane nodded and ordered them to the level, assigning a guard to guide them there. When that was done, Clarke had another matter to attend to, one she knew neither her mother nor Kane would be too keen on agreeing with. But she'd thought it over during the trek to the mountain, and it was necessary.

"I need to speak with you in private," she told him.

Kane leveled his eyes with hers. "What is it?"

"The room across the hall. I'll meet you there. Bring my mom." With that, she skirted her way between the stream of people and back out the corridor. Like she'd said, directly across opened another room, drastically smaller but enough to fit three people in.

Clarke waited there, the place dark other than the single bulb she'd turned on. A moment later, the door cracked open and in came Kane, with both Abby and Bellamy trailing him.

"What is it, Clarke?" Kane asked, shutting the door behind them.

Clarke ground her teeth, but met his gaze with indignation. "I'm not staying here," she said.

The reaction was one she'd anticipated, but before she could be bombarded with questions, she quickly added, "I'm returning to the Boat People to tell them what I found. Whether you accept it or not, you need an alliance. You can't take on the Ice Nation alone."

"I thought you were worried about being traced back to them," Bellamy reminded her. But she shook her head. "Enough time has passed for that not to be a concern. I know none of you like this, but it has to be done."

Bellamy's gaze turned cold. "You can't go back out there after...You just got back," he recovered at Clarke's warning glare.

She'd already prepared her argument and wouldn't back down from it. "I made an agreement with them, Bellamy. I'm going."

"Clarke," her mother started. "It's danger-"

"Dangerous?" Clarke looked at her incredulously. "You think I don't know that? You have no idea what it's like out there, Mom. But I do, and I have to go. They need to know nothing's coming, because otherwise they could be wasting resources they can't afford just to protect themselves. And I won't be their blind spot."

"I understand that. But you are not going alone," Abby stated, in a tone that very clearly defined no compromise.

Clarke was about to object, but before she could, Bellamy interrupted. "She won't," he said. "I'll go."

"Wait," Clarke turned on him. "Bellamy, you can't. You're the head of the guard-"

"And the only available person qualified to protect our most vital interests," he said, matter of fact, sharing a glance with each of them.

It was something Kane couldn't deny, and that truth undoubtedly comforted Abby, leaving only Clarke to protest. She looked at Kane. "You need him here," she said slowly.

"No, I need him where it counts most. You said so yourself, Mount Weather is secure. The only other security we need to ensure is our alliance with the Boat People." Kane appraised Bellamy with a look if satisfaction on his face. "Then it's settled. Blake will go with you, Clarke. And just maybe, for once, we can stop a war before it starts."

                                                                                  **********

The world was made of ice.

It stung her throat to breathe, bit at her ankles as she trudged through it. Then the soft blanket of snow disappeared, replaced by stone just as cold.

Clarke looked up, meeting a man she couldn't see, his face hidden behind dark cloth. He held a blade in his hand, long and thin, the wicked edge grinning back at her. He took a step closer and Clarke tried to move away, but her hands were tied above her head with a chain, hung to a hook embedded in the ceiling.

Panic shuddered through her and her breathing turned shallow. Even in the chill, sweat collected on the nape of her neck. Clarke shut her eyes as he came forward, the blade kissing her flesh.

It must have been dipped in some kind of acid, because it burned, until it felt as if her skin were being liquefied. She opened her eyes to tell him to stop, but it was no longer a stranger before her. The dark cloth had been removed, leaving a familiar face in the frame.

"Dante," she whispered.

"Hello, Clarke," he said, tone devoid of anger or sympathy. He stared at her behind empty, sightless eyes.

Her heart sped up, jumping in her throat and Clarke found it difficult to speak around it. "Why...what are you doing here?" She asked, her voice breaking on the words.

He didn't seem to have heard her. "You know it's your fault," he said, empathetic. "All those lives that could've been saved. But you took the easy route. If only you'd tried."

Despite her efforts, Clarke felt tears well in her eyes and her vision blurred with unshed tears. "I did try, I tried to convince Cage but he wouldn't listen."

"That's what you tell yourself," he said, lifting the blade. The edge skimmed her cheek, just light enough to draw beads of blood. "But you understand the truth. Who you were...what you've become...you're no better than me, Clarke, who's actions are no more justified than my son's."

Clarke clenched her teeth so hard, her jaw ached. "He wouldn't have stopped. You knew he wouldn't have agreed to any sort of treaty or take volunteers. I tried to be the good guy, Dante. I tried!"

"You did what you had to in order to survive," he breathed, his expression fathomless. "But at what price? Are you really going to build a society out of the bones of those you slaughtered?"

Guilt bloomed across her chest as the memories flooded back in a relentless stream that threatened to drown her. "I didn't have a choice!" She finally screamed, letting her outburst reverberate around the room. "I didn't-I didn't want that! But I had to save them. I didn't want it, I didn't want any of it!"

"Neither did those, people." Dante smiled, but it looked ugly in the dim light. "Neither did I. Or have you forgotten that you killed me as well, Clarke?"

Her entire body was shaking, and she gazed at him, hoping he could see her plea. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "But I told you how it would end. You didn't listen!"

"And now you get to be the one to live with it," he countered. "Everyday, Clarke Griffin, for the rest of your life. But for me, that doesn't seem good enough. No, perhaps the scars you harbor on the inside, should have matching ones on the out." He raised the blade once more, And Clarke could do nothing as he brought it down again and again and again, until the scorch of acid burned away the cold and replaced a world made of ice with one of fire.

                                                                              ************

They left Mount Weather at dawn, the sky hues of orange, bleeding down trails of purple like watercolor on a canvas.

Kane had given them two horses which would cut down the travel time, something Clarke didn't need to ask to know Bellamy was grateful for. And she was, too. After a night of very little sleep, her ability to function was not at its optimum. Bellamy must have noticed, but he hadn't pointed out the bags beneath her eyes, or the glaze over them.

For a while they just rode in a comfortable silence, one they'd shared numerous times before. It was reassuring to Clarke to at least know that some things didn't change.

But when mid afternoon arrived and they stopped by the river for the horses, Clarke was the one to break it. "So how's it like being the head of the Guard?" She asked, casting him a sideways glance. "You never did tell me when that happened."

He crouched down and cupped some river water, both drinking it and using the rest to wash his face. He stood back up and shook water drops from his hand. "It was a few months after you left. Kane needed more men and none of the One Hundred were willing to follow him. I wasn't so much as chosen as I was their only alternative."

"But you're important to them," she noted. "Not just to us anymore, but to Camp Jaha.

The people feel safer with you."

"If anything, I just offer them the illusion, Clarke. Not the real thing."

But she shook her head. "That's no true. Bellamy, all of our people would be dead if you weren't here. When you promise something, you deliver, and that's why you have what Kane doesn't. You have their trust."

"Which just makes me likely to lose it," he answered, voice turning hard. He gave her a tired look. "I can't promise them anything, Clarke. Not even tomorrow. And even if I could, I wouldn't. Because like you said, you're not a leader anymore, and neither am I. Them looking to me is a distraction, and its one that could get them killed."

With that, Bellamy returned to his horse and saddled up and Clarke followed suit.

"I'm sorry," she said, after they'd ridden away from the river. "I know leaving must have made that harder on you."

"Yeah," Bellamy deadpanned. "But you knew it would. I'm not blaming you for leaving, Clarke. Its not like you bailed halfway through. You saw it to the end."

Clarke took a deep breath, tightening her hold on the stirrups.

"Besides," he looked across at her. "Without the information you gave, we'd still be at Camp Jaha, completely vulnerable to an attack. We may not be leaders anymore, Clarke, but we still protect our people."

At his words, her mind went to Dante in her dream, clutching the weapon that had maimed her back.

"But at what cost?" She asked herself.

                                                                                 **************

It was a four day trek to the Boat People's village, one that passed slowly during the day and even slower at night. Clarke found it difficult to sleep, waking from figures clothed in shadow and weapons dripping crimson.

On the last night before arrival, Clarke finally gave up on rest and crawled from her tent, only to find Bellamy still awake, poking a small fire. Flames danced up from its center, winding through the patches of grass and bundles of wood.

She took a seat across from him, watching the light from the fire illuminate his face.

"You get them, too," he said.

It wasn't a question and required no answer. Instead both of them grew quiet, content sitting by the fire, and Clarke found herself comforted by the small truth that at least in this kind of war, she wasn't facing it alone.

It wasn't until the following evening they reached the Boat People, a scatter of thatch work huts littering the area beside the moor. A row of barges, archaic and creaking, the paint long-since worn away, stood idle in the shallow water, rocking on the gentle waves.

Emotion swelled inside Clarke's chest as she stared down from the hill they were on, to the people farming and working below, smoke billowing up in wisps.

The Boat tribe hadn't been Clarke's home, but it had been a home. One with kind faces and and welcoming smiles. She hadn't been turned away like she'd anticipated, six months ago. She'd been accepted, and given a roof that had provided shelter and safety.

"Looks homey," Bellamy mumbled, but Clarke had already dismounted, leading her horse down the rocky decline.

She had barely reached the base when she heard someone shout her name. Clarke squinted in the dying light, but instantly recognized the small person running to her, hair billowing behind her like a black flag.

She barely had enough time to brace herself before the child rammed into her, enveloping her waist in a hug. Pain split up her back, but this time Clarke welcomed it, bending down to hug the little girl correctly.

Ni'tyo, Phlox," she said, reciting the small pieces of their language she'd learned here. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad, either.

She looked at Bellamy who was watching her somewhat curiously, scrutinizing the language she'd used. "This is Phlox," Clarke introduced. "Daughter to Konuu's second- in-command."

Bellamy crossed his arms. "I never took you for the motherly type, Clarke," he said, voice teasing.

Clarke rolled her eyes.

Before she could introduce him to Phlox, the girl let out a flurry of native tongue, but Clarke picked out the essential fragments, most of which Clarke had already assumed. Many of the villagers had thought Clarke to be dead, after her failure to return, but she was quick to reassure Phlox as bet she could in the foreign dialect.

When she'd calmed down some, she seemed to finally notice Bellamy, standing stoically beside them.

Instantly, she withdrew behind Clarke, suing her body as a barrier.

"It's okay," Clarke told her. She pointed at Bellamy. "T'yshen," she said. "Friend."

To Clarke's surprise, Bellamy crouched down slowly and gave the girl a small wave. That seemed to comfort her and she gazed back at him with her big, dark eyes. She appraised him up and down before evidently coming to some conclusion and gave him a dazzling smile.

Clarke couldn't help but chuckle at the quick acceptance.

By now, others had taken notice, and more people approached them, welcoming Clarke but eyeing Bellamy warily. She sought out Phlox's father, a tall muscular man with matching long hair that went by the name Noshua. But he located her first, barking at the others to take a step back.

Clarke didn't bother wasting any time. "I need to speak with Konuu," she said, knowing he'd recognize the name. He cast a suspicious glance to Bellamy but Clarke shook her head. "He comes with me.

Noshua looked as if he wanted to argue, but nodded stiffly. He turned on his heel and Clarke motioned for Bellamy to follow, all of the people parting away from them except for Phlox who clung to Clarke's hand.

It was easy to spot the Boat Leader's hut; it was the largest one was placed in the center of the others, closed off by a wooden plaque. Noshua pulled it open and jerked his head, gesturing them inside.

Clarke was the first one to enter, recalling the heavy scent of smoke, clinging to the air and weighing it down.

The interior of the structure looked much more stable than the outside, lined with multiple sheets of wood and the occasional plate of metal. A bar was placed off to the left, lined with a few bowls of fruit, but Clarke's attention had turned to the familiar chair behind it that stood against the farthest wall, intertwined meticulously in wood.

Konuu was an older man, reaching between his fifties to sixties, Clarke estimated, his braided black hair streaked grey. A pelt of animal skin was draped over him and he brandished a scythe tall enough to meet Clarke's shoulders. The sight of it made her involuntarily tense.

She bent her head in greeting and Bellamy copied her actions awkwardly.

"Clarke Griffin," he breathed, his tone ragged and deep. His eyes studied her, cold and black as obsidian. "I see you're quite alive after all."

Bellamy ducked his head towards Clarke. "He speaks English?"

"He's the only one." She turned her attention back to the leader. "As alive as to be expected," she told him.

He studied her with very careful precision, gauging her expression, her stance, the shadows beneath her eyes. When he was satisfied, he replied, "Quite. To be honest, I originally doubted your durability. It seems you're much stronger than you appear to be."

Clarke felt a need to deny that but squandered it. "The alliance," she mentioned. "I came to tell you that no attack is coming. Not against your people."

Konuu leaned forward. "Do you have proof of this?"

Clarke blanched. "Proof?" She stuttered. "You never said anything about proof-"

"Then am I supposed to simply take your word for it?" He asked, raising his thick brows. "Pin the lives of my people on something so frail? I'll admit, if you did manage to reach the Ice Nation and escape, it's admirable. But to escape unscathed? Not even I believe that."

Clarke clenched her jaw, understanding the innuendo in his words. She didn't blame him for it, but it didn't lift her dread either.

First, she told Phlox to leave, and only when the girl was gone did she repeat her actions she'd done so with Bellamy. With him, it had at least felt safe. Here, exposing her wounds felt personal.

"Clarke-"

She ignored Bellamy, raising the shirt just high enough for Konuu to catch sight of her marred flesh beneath, cracked and still oozing drops of red. Then Clarke yanked it down and turned back to him.

His expression didn't change but she thought she caught a subtle hint of sympathy shining in his black eyes.

"Very well, Clarke Griffin. An agreement is an agreement. You have your alliance," he breathed and she felt some of the tension leave her body.

Konuu stretched out his hand and she met it, their fingers clasping tightly together. "May it prosper between the Boat and Sky people," he said.

When they left Konuu's tent, Phlox was waiting for them, and instantly resumed her place beside Clarke.

The girl had grown fond of her from the day she first arrived, after showing her how to skip a rock across the moor. Since then, Phlox had become a consistency in Clarke's life here, and her presence was refreshing. There was something soothing about being with someone who didn't share the same black outlook as they did.

"That reminds me," said Clarke, returning to her horse they'd brought down for them. She grabbed her duffel and, with Bellamy and Phlox watching in confusion, retrieved something inside. It was a husk doll Clarke had made, recalling a lesson given on Native Americans once on the Ark. She held it out to Phlox who gazed at it with that childish wonder, before taking it gently into her hands.

She beamed up at Clarke and the sight made her feel a little less cold. Then the girl sped off, raising it up to show the other children.

Bellamy pulled off his duffel, pausing just long enough to watch Phlox disappear. He glanced at Clarke. "It seems you're a natural."

She scoffed. "Because one kid likes me? I don't think so."

"You're good with them, Clarke." He sounded convinced.

But she just gave him a small smile before they began walking to the hut that Clarke had been given.

She didn't want to picture herself as the motherly type. She couldn't, simply too consumed by the thought that while she gave one child dolls, she'd taken the lives a few dozen more just like her.

                                                                               *************

Instead of both her and Bellamy staying in the same thatch-work hut, he was given the one beside it.

Their evening meal had already passed, so Clarke was given a variety of fruits and nuts combined with her and Bellamy's rations of dried venison. It was only when they were finished that they retired for the night.

When Bellamy passed her on his way to the hut, he gave her the trace of a smile. "You did it, Clarke," he told her.

The credit made her feel uncertain and she sighed. "We'll see."

He nodded at that. "Don't we always. Night, Clarke."

"Night, Bellamy."

When she entered the small room, the weight of Clarke's journey finally settled on her and she dropped onto the straw bedding. It took mere moments for her to fall into a fitful sleep, of empty rooms and gleaming knives.

But a couple hours later, Clarke was jolted awake by the sounds of screams, replacing her nightmare for one that was very very real.