Clarke felt trapped the moment she slid through the entrance, like an animal cornered inside a cage. The walls wrapped around her, binding and constricting her until she found it hard to breathe. Memories bombarded her, and voices echoed from the past, full of threats and the hiss of blades and colorless eyes that seemed to stare straight into her soul.

Armory, Clarke reminded herself, pushing through the memories as she plunged back through the meandering current of soldiers and into a chamber filled with barracks. No one looked at her, though.

No one saw a Sky person or a Grounder; they didn't see her at all.

She darted forward, trickling through the moving throng. A few orders were barked overhead as she moved down the tunnel, deeper and deeper until the only source of light was provided by torches. She called up her memories of what she knew of this part of the Nation, pausing as the tunnel branched off. One direction led to the Ice Queen's chambers; the other led to the armory.

Clarke waited until no one ran passed her and bent down, feeling the leveled ground, sensing the slight tilt downward of the left tunnel. The armory would be buried deeper than the chambers and Clarke took that one, her footsteps echoing off the walls around her. Some Scouts ran passed her and Clarke sped up, trying to look rushed like them. It wasn't a difficult act to portray.

Down the tunnel went, the shape of it cruder than the corridors in Mount Weather and much, much darker. But unlike Mount Weather, there were no directions, nor points of reference. It was easy to get lost here; just one wrong turn to to find yourself swallowed by the earth.

A shout broke out and Clarke froze, her breath stilling in her chest. But again, no one saw her and she pushed passed her panic and moved again, faster and faster until she met a bend in the cavern. At the end of it stood a large door, crafted from what looked like stone or a dull metal, held together by rivets. The door wasn't open, but it was unlocked and Clarke eased it open just as a couple of Ice soldiers materialized down the cavern.

Clarke acted quickly, throwing the door open and pulling herself inside. She had a split second to marvel at the rows and rows of guns, not just AK-47s, but she spotted a few AR-15s and even some smaller handguns among the rest.

She quickly snatched up two of the AK's and held them out to the Ice soldiers. "Hurry!" she screamed at them, and they took the guns in their hands before fleeing back the way they'd come.

Clarke dismissed the bitterness she felt at arming them, but it gave her the time she needed to retrieve the grenade. She backed up a few yards, but already she was running out of time, as more footfalls echoed from behind her. It had been almost easy up to this point and Clarke prayed the explosion would provide enough chaos for her to get away, but if not, at least she'd be able to take the armory out. She'd almost gladly bury herself if it meant burying these weapons with her.

Clarke stood back as far as she could, until the Ice soldiers were coming around the bend and she raised the grenade.

I will not miss, she told herself, before casting the grenade into the door.

Then she turned and bolted. She got as far as she could before the blast sounded, knocking her off her feet and pooling heat around her. The ground shook and dirt fell from overhead, along with rocks and other debris. Her ears rang, and smoke filled the tunnel but Clarke pulled herself up, feeling the strain of the cavern floor. She choked and gagged, the smoke stinging her eyes as she pushed her legs forward, back up the way she had entered from.

She'd essentially buried one of the Ice Scouts, but the other was simply wounded, his leg crushed by fallen debris.

"Intruder!" he screamed, that word ricocheting off the walls like bullets.

Clarke quickly retrieved her knife but the cavern silenced him for her, raining down large chunks of rock and dirt and burying him, too. He barely managed to raise the alarm a second time before his voice was cut off.

She coughed again, but stumbled forward, through the growing haze and up, up, up. This much smoke inhalation was dangerous and Clarke went as fast as she could before the tunnel could bury her as well, not stopping or even hesitating before she burst into the barracks chambers again.

More shouts sounded around her, but Clarke had no time to see if they'd noticed her, dropping to the ground behind one of the barracks and pulling out the bomb.

It was a simple one, lit by a fuse and Clarke set it on the ground lined in stone, unraveling the charge until it snaked across a yard of floor. She gretrieved a pair of rocks and flashed them together. Once, twice. Again. The fourth time sparked and the end of the fuse lit up, wafting a trail of smoke and a tendril of fire.

Clarke coughed again but stood and reached for the exit, to the stairs that led out to fresh air and freedom. The door stood ajar as more soldiers flooded down and up, two tidal waves crashing together.

Clarke turned her face from them as she thrust herself through the soldiers, up the stairs until she broke through the door and fresh air surged around her. She wheezed and choked but sucked in grateful lungs that burned and nipped at her raw throat.

Clarke went to take cover and headed for the tree line, counting the seconds for the bomb. Raven had said a minute and Clarke was already on fifty.

But her feet slowed when she counted down the last ten seconds and no explosion sounded.

Dread uncoiled in her and she looked back at the entrance, door gaping like an open maw, waiting for the shake of the earth, for it to breathe fire.

But it didn't come.

"No," Clarke murmured after a few more crucial moments elapsed. But the entrance was still, its structure unperturbed.

Had the bomb been a dud? Malfunctioned somehow? Clarke couldn't believe that; Raven was thorough in her work. And she'd known how vital this was. No, the flame must've been stomped out in the chaos and she glanced between it and the tree line.

A tiny voice wondered if the bomb was necessary. If she could just leave it all as it was. She'd caused the most damage, by burying the armory and Clarke gazed around, eyes going to the third entrance. Whether the others were out by now or not, she couldn't tell and Clarke's attention returned to entry one, at the traces of smoke that still billowed from it.

Maybe Lincoln and Tyrell had run into trouble. Perhaps the bomb would be a last-ditch effort for them.

But this had been the plan, Clarke told herself. And the others could be counting on it, even if that meant them having to leave her behind.

Clarke turned back, stumbling through the snow until she reached the entrance again. Smoke and shouts rose up but Clarke reentered the chaos, shouldering her way through bodies and back down into the barracks. She returned to the one sheltering the bomb behind it.

Clarke had been right; the flame was snuffed out, and she hurriedly relit it, hands quivering with anxiety. It took nearly six attempts before this one burned, but it did, and the flame resumed its path along the fuse. Clarke backed away from it, discarded the rocks, and slipped through the soldiers.

She was nearly to the stairs when someone grabbed her, a thick hand wrapping around the hood and pulling down. It caught up some of her hair, wrenching a few from her scalp and she hissed at the sudden bite of pain, dulled by the swell of panic that coursed through her veins.

It yanked her back and she met the eyes of a soldier, narrowed and lit with rage. Cool steel bit her cheek and Clarke acted with instinct, dropping down and driving her elbow into his gut. But the soldier was fast, and went for her again, barreling into her and knocking them both to the floor. Her back slammed against the ground, and the man was on top of her, straddling her and reaching for her neck.

Cold hands gripped around the skin there and Clarke strained against him, his fingers skimming the soft flesh beneath her jawline.

Clarke pushed at his chest, his hands, tried gouging his eyes, but this person was stronger and his hands finally found purchase, wrapping around her neck.

The air left her lungs and Clarke gasped, but no breath drew in. She could hear her heartbeat echo in her ears; could feel her pulse pump against the man's hands.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the flame teasing the last bit of fume and she released her hold on the soldier, his hold tightening and she fumbled for her knife.

Blackness burst in front of her vision just when she found the hilt of it.

Sound narrowed around Clarke, cocooning her in a moment of infinity, blackening around the edges as her consciousness began to slip. But with her last reservation of strength, she raised it and slashed down, splitting the man's arm open.

His grip disappeared and Clarke dragged in a strangled breath.

She drove the blade into his shoulder before he could grab her again and twisted to keep the wound from closing. The soldier screamed in pain as Clarke pulled herself to her feet and practically threw herself at the stairs.

When she reached the top, she launched herself onto the snow, just as the ground heaved and the entrance blew. It breathed out flames and roared, the sound like an ethereal beast, wounded and bleeding ash.

*******

Lincoln pulled them through the entrance and into the bitter cold. It clung to Bellamy's skin, chilling him to the bone. It was accompanied by a string of shouts, and he caught the blurred outlines of soldiers through the stunning brightness.

He was shoved forward, thrust across the snow and in the direction of the trees. Mayhem was breaking out around them, but Bellamy focused on putting one foot in front of the other, willing his vision to adjust to his surroundings.

"Where is she?" Bellamy asked, squinting to see more clearly.

Lincoln glanced back but kept forcing Bellamy forward, keeping his blade ready.

"There!" Someone screamed, and Lincoln pulled Bellamy along faster, until it was taking every ounce of willpower to keep himself erect. They were close to the treeline when the soldier caught up, and Lincoln ducked just in time to avoid a slash to the neck. Before the soldier could correct it, Lincoln flipped up his blade and drove it through the man's chest.

He tossed him aside and resumed the trek, pausing for a moment only when they slipped into the foliage.

Bellamy's breath heaved and the coldness burned, freezing the spilt blood on his chest. "Where's Clarke meeting you?" he asked through ragged spurts.

Lincoln's eyes roved over the expanse, to the soldiers that were still approaching the woods, branching apart like a pack of wolves. "The bomb hasn't blown yet," he said and his expression darkened. "We have to go."

Bellamy looked at him in disbelief. He didn't exactly feel like sticking around this place, but he wasn't about to abandon Clarke. Not after he just let Tyrell sacrifice himself.

But Lincoln was already moving back, supporting him at his side.

Bellamy pushed off him, with enough strength to force the Grounder to a halt. "We're not just leaving," he hissed.

Lincoln's eyes flashed. "Those were her orders, Bellamy. If we stay here, we all die."

Bellamy shook his head, ignoring the pounding it ignited at his left temple. No, he couldn't do this; he couldn't leave her, especially after experiencing for himself how these monsters worked.

Once, he'd told Clarke that people did what they had to do to survive. But the Ice Nation wasn't just about survival; they were advocates of terror and pain, who didn't seek just to kill people. They sought to break them as well.

He glowered back at Lincoln. "If she's caught, they won't just torture her. They'll mutilate her."

"She won't suffer," Lincoln responded, his voice empty. It fell flat.

Bellamy raised himself taller. Anger emanated from him at the implication as an almost unfeeling coolness radiated from Lincoln. "Exactly what does that mean?" he bit out.

Lincoln didn't reply, but his silence was answer enough, and it was as if a huge weight had suddenly dropped inside Bellamy's chest. He shook his head again, keeping his eyes on the man before him.

Bellamy understood loss. He had come to know pain and fear very intimately on the ground. But he also understood loyalty, and sacrifice, and honor. Had bled for his people and pushed the odds just to keep them alive. But he hadn't done that alone.

Clarke was there.

When that drop ship door had opened, she was the one that had introduced partnership to him. What it meant to meet someone halfway. Before that, Bellamy was accustomed to doing everything on his own, answering only to himself for all that he did. But she'd made him compromise; had forced him to put his trust in someone again. She'd shown him the man he'd always wanted to become. And where he'd struggled, she'd made up for. All that he wasn't, she was. And what she wasn't, he would be.

"No," Bellamy snapped, "This is Clarke we're talking about. And we are not-"

Lincoln grabbed Bellamy roughly and yanked him forward, so hard his body belied what instinct shouted, and he nearly pitched forward into the snow.

Bellamy pulled back, ignoring the scream from his wounds. "No," he repeated, his tone deathly cold. It rang in warning. "I won't let her do this."

Lincoln glanced back at the clearing, the sounds of soldiers closing in. "Then do it for Octavia," he said. "If you die now, it makes this worthless. Then Tyrell gave his life for nothing."

Bellamy clenched his jaw, wishing for the strength to hit Lincoln. The trees. One of those guards. Anything. Guilt stabbed at him, too, but above it was the fear. Fear at the prospect of leaving someone he cared about behind. His friend, his companion, his confidant.

His partner.

But Bellamy also knew what Clarke would tell him. She'd be pissed, and would lecture him on all the things such a stupid choice would render. And like Lincoln, she'd lay into the sacrifice people gave, and the need to prove it justified.

"Clarke made it off this mountain once," Lincoln said, gaze still trailed on the area behind Bellamy. "She can do it again."

Bellamy shut his eyes for a moment. He had no decision to make. Clarke had already done it for him. Dying wouldn't help her, just as it wouldn't help him and he felt the resolution solidify into something as heavy and paramount as lead.

Lincoln looked at him and he hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.

They moved, and Lincoln helped support Bellamy's weight as they passed deeper into the trees, each footfall feeling heavier than the last.

Bellamy knew that Clarke had borne the weight of the guilt when she'd left him. Both in Mount Weather and at Camp Jaha.

I bear it so they don't have to.

Now it was his turn.