A/N: I was thoroughly convinced I wouldn't get this chapter to you today. I have been having trouble with it, and sometimes it's felt like I'm dragging a screaming child through a shop. But tonight I sat down and finally – FINALLY – managed to edit it, and finish it. Honestly, I could have posted the chapter up last night, but it was nowhere near as good as it is now.

So...the last chapter. I love this story, and I'll be sad to finish it. But it's the right time. Plus, it's by far the longest chapter of the entire story, and plenty happens in it. I hope you all like it.

And though I'll get to this at the end – over thirty reviews for the last chapter? WOW. Seriously, wow. I cannot thank you all enough for your kind words and encouragement. I love getting reviews, even criticisms, and I am so pleased that a lot of you care enough to write them. So, though I will say it again, thank you.

Now...

Summary: "I am going to offer you a deal. Your companion can be taken back, left close to your city, and go free. He will be unharmed. In return, you have to agree to join our tribe." An AU story where Clarke stumbles upon a Grounder tribe. In return for sparing the life of her boyfriend, she has to go with them as part of their tribe. Reluctantly she agrees, though it doesn't mean that she has to like it, particularly their leader, Bellamy Blake. Bellarke story with some Linctavia.

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The 100 or any of the characters; I also do not own any quotes/poetry/lyrics used in this fic.

Bravery

"And how can I stand here with you,
And not be moved by you?"

Lifehouse, Everything

XIV

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"How you became King."

He looks away, and she wonders what exactly he is hiding. Shame? Embarrassment? Maybe even a little bit of pride? He's taken her out of the village again, in the joint purpose of teaching her how to ride, how to shoot, and how to spar. Blaze, still on his best behaviour, is a little distance away, ears flicking forward as he listens to them.

She waits, toying with her bow.

"Okay," he says finally, looking back at her. Her chest lightens, but only for a second before he adds, "As long as you tell me about your home."

She wants to step back, but doesn't. "You already know about it."

"Not about your life," he points out. "Is that fair? You already know more about my past than I know about yours." When she can't find an answer, he tilts his head. "Let's go back."

He starts making his way towards the horses. She has no intention of telling him about her home, but her feet spin round without her control, and she hears herself say, "Okay."

He turns round, his eyebrows quirking. She's taken him by surprise. "You mean it?"

She nods, and it's only when she does that she realises how much she wants to know about Bellamy's past. He pauses before walking towards her, slowly, like a hunter stalking prey. "Tell me," he says, using her words. She can see by his expression that he doesn't believe her.

Her tongue feels twice as big, her throat so swollen she can't believe she can get words out. But her mouth moves, and they do come out, no matter how much her chest begins to ache. "For a long time, I was living happily with my family. I knew about the rules that the government placed on us, but it was like – all the bad stuff happened, it happened to other people. People who were evil, who wanted to attack the government, who wanted to destroy the peace we had. Even when parents of kids in my class were killed, I never thought that perhaps they could be innocent. I thought they were traitors." She makes a noise, a laugh or a whimper. She's not entirely sure. "When I look back, I'm so ashamed of who I was.

"I judged other people, but my family was actually the one that was breaking the rules. Not my mom, my dad. When she was out my dad would show me his books – books that the government banned. These books, they were like yours – fairytales and histories, things like that. Looking from the government's point of view, these books promoted dreams and rebellion. They were worried that they would inspire people to want more, and lead to another Great War. So they banned a lot of them.

"But my father loved to read. I don't even know how he managed to get hold of them. He hid them under the floorboards in his room, and when my mom would leave the house he would show them to me. For years he read me stories, and for a while I didn't even realise it was illegal. I just thought Mom didn't like them. He made me swear to keep the secret, and I did. I thought it was just a great bit of fun. I didn't know that my father was breaking the law.

"It was only when I was sixteen that it all fell apart. By that point I knew something was wrong with what my father was doing. I didn't know what to do. Who could I tell? In the cities, pure suspicion is enough to execute people. But..." She looks away. "But even knowing this, I showed them to my mom.

"I don't even know why I did it. She didn't tell me anything at the time, just told me to put them back and stop looking at them. I knew she was upset..." She can still see her mother's tight lipped face, the worried pinched on her face. "I never really got the full story of what happened – why she told someone, or if she meant for it happen, or what. The next thing I knew, policemen were storming into the house and arresting my father in the middle of the night. They took him away, and they took me too."

She looks away again, wants to close her eyes. But it doesn't take away the sight of the dirty police cell, the scent of piss, vomit and fear entering her nostrils from the very air she breathed. She was kept in there for an entire day, but it felt like weeks. Almost every minute she was in there, she was trembling.

She feels him before she sees him. His hands take hers, squeezing them. "Clarke," he whispers, and then stops. For once, Bellamy Blake is actually speechless. She would laugh if it wasn't...

She holds onto him, and it helps stop the shaking in her voice. "Our trial was the next day. My father was sentenced to death via t-the..." The image comes in her head, but instead of fighting it she closes her eyes, lets it overwhelm her. "The electric c-chair." Her breathing quickens, and the images are coming faster and faster. Her father, being strapped in. The ways his eye scanned the room until they found her. How his last smile made her think of the flowers in fields, beginning to bloom.

She only realises that she's been crying when her throat begins to ache. Bellamy has her in his arms, and she doesn't feel any hint of awkwardness as she sobs into his chest. It takes minutes before she slows down, before the tears fall silently.

"They came to me then-"

"Clarke, we don't have to talk about this." His face is scrunched up. "I shouldn't have asked."

She wipes her eyes on her shirt. "This is good Bellamy. I've never spoken about it to anyone – everyone in my class, all my friends knew what happened. It hurts, but – it's a good pain." Like setting a broken arm – once you've gone through the pain, you get better. Bellamy looks like he disagrees, but he doesn't say anything more.

"They came to me after they killed my father. My father and I were guilty of the same crime, so we had the same trial. That's why I was there when they killed him." She sees a spark in Bellamy's eyes at that. She knows he would never force a child to witness their parent's execution.

"There were people who wanted to kill me too. But my mom pleaded my case. She claimed that since I had told her about the books, I was on their side. She pointed out that I wasn't even eighteen. They were reluctant, but they let me go.

"I spiralled. I was furious with my mother, and the only thing I wanted was to punish her. I disobeyed her, stopped helping out in the hospital, avoided her. That's why I left the city. I wanted to worry her, to make her think I was never coming back. Of course," she says with a muted chuckle. "I never knew that would actually happen."

He's been watching her while she speaks, his faced closed. "I don't get it."

"What don't you get?"

"After that happened to you, why would you ever want to go back? They killed your father."

Tears begin to fill her eyes again. "I killed my dad Bellamy."

He grabs hold of her then. "No Clarke. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it is. If I hadn't told my mom, he would never have been killed. We would have kept going as we were, and my dad would have still been alive-"

Her breathing grows rapid. He grips her shoulders. "Don't you remember what you said to me? That it's not my fault when people die. It's the fault of the murderer – it's the same with you. They chose to murder him, not you. You didn't want this."

"And don't you remember what you said? That it was your fault." She can't even see his face anymore through the tears. "My dad trusted me, and I betrayed him."

He hugs her again. "It's not your fault. And yeah, maybe you'll never believe it because you're like me. But it wasn't your fault. And your dad loves you, no matter what happened."

"You don't know that," she whispers, her throat aching.

His voice is low when he answers. "I do know that. If he's everything you claim, he would never stop loving you."

Her parents' bedroom used to be her favourite place, her safe place. But like all safe places, eventually they cease to exist. After her father had been killed, she could barely allow herself to step into the room anymore. When she came here, she was convinced she would never feel secure again. But to her surprise, she has a safe place. Even more amazingly, it ends up being Bellamy's room.

These days, she finds herself going to bed earlier and earlier. She and Bellamy don't always go up together, but there's not much time between them.

From then it varies. Bellamy has taken to teaching her history. A tedious subject at home, Bellamy speaks with such enthusiasm that she can't help but get into it. He loves most periods, but the Greeks and the Romans are his favourites, telling her the legends and stories; and he can talk for hours about the kings and queens of Europe. He likes to hear her questions and explain the answers. He speaks with his hands, and sometimes she just asks him something to watch them move, the animation on his face.

It's because of that she begins to sketch. She takes some paper and pencils and begins to draw again. She tells Bellamy that she only draws the things she sees outside, the stuff in her imagination. She doesn't tell him that she's specifically stayed up later than him so she can draw him when he's asleep. He's so still at night, that it's the only time she would be able to draw him. She hides them away, because she doesn't know what he'll do if he finds them.

Other times they read. Sometimes they talk about the books, but mostly they are lost in their own worlds. The books fill her mind with so many possibilities, and she loses hours thinking up ideas and plans. She thinks of how methodical she used to be back home, and she wants to laugh at how her thoughts how changed. Now, she actually dreams.

Most of the time, she and Bellamy talk. Ruling is such a huge part of his life that it takes up a lot of his mind. Clarke likes to ask him about it, and after a little while he responds. She's not sure if he's meant to tell her about this, and maybe that's why he takes so long to open up about it. But he does, and she hears about the subjects of the meetings. Justin and Kat are arguing that the Northern tribe need teaching a lesson. They are convinced it was them who attacked.

"He had the nerve to tell me to send in soldiers," Bellamy snarls. He tears his shirt off, throwing it to the side. Clarke is sitting by the fire. She had been lightly dozing, but she hadn't wanted to go to bed without him. He had only arrived five minutes ago, and he had not stopped talking about the meeting. "Told me that I was being weak." He makes a noise, something between a snort and a growl. "Told me I should man up. In a council meeting. Which, in case you didn't know, means you have to show some level of respect."

"So you're not sending people in."

"Of course not," he snorts. "We have no proof. But now it has the added bonus of annoying Justin."

She watches as Bellamy paces up and down, a scowl on his face. "You don't think the Northern tribe tried to poison us, do you?"

Her words catch him. He looks at her, and she can tell he's trying to decide whether or not to tell her. "No," he says finally. "I don't."

She peers up at him. "Tell me."

He sighs, sitting down by the fire next to her. It lights up the right side of his face, and she imagines the left side of hers looks the same. Like we match, she thinks absently.

"I asked Babaduo about the type of the poison they could have used," he says quietly. "I wish I had kept the wine now, it would have helped me identify it. I told her what happened when it was spilled, and I told her it didn't smell or change the colour of the wine. She's not entirely sure, but she thinks it could have been the chameleon flower. The flower is really beautiful, like pure white. But they are deadly poisonous. They're named the chameleon flower because once the petals are placed in a drink, they dissolve and take on the colour. They don't smell – they're practically undetectable."

She sits a little straighter. "How can you even tell?"

"By doing what we did," he says. "Pour the wine on a little bit of food. It'll dissolve it the instant it touches, which shows you what it'll do to your insides. But the point is, that flower isn't common. In fact it's quite rare."

She feels her stomach sink a little. "As in, only around here."

He nods. "That doesn't mean that the Northern tribe couldn't have done it. Someone could have gathered it on the trip down here. But since it's not found near them, it's not likely they would know it would be poisonous."

"So you think someone in the village tried to kill us."

"Yes."

"Justin?"

"Maybe. Again, I have no proof."

"So you aren't going to ask him?"

He snorts. "Would he admit it? Killing a king or queen is the worst form of treason. He would be sentenced to death."

"But – you're not going to do anything?"

"I've got a few guards keeping an eye on him. Discreetly, of course." He sighs. "What I really need is an assassin."

Her hands clench so hard she leaves nail marks in her skin. "He could kill you Bellamy. And you're not going to do anything about it? Why the hell not?"

"I have no proof Clarke." His own voice is rising.

"So?"

"So? I can't banish or imprison someone for no reason. That's not the kind of place I want to live in, and I don't want people remembering me that way."

His voice is earnest, and it makes Clarke look at him a little more deeply. "Tell me."

"What?"

"What happened to you. How did your family become royalty – how did you become King? What happened in the war?"

He rolls his eyes. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

"I told you about my past Bellamy. That was weeks ago. Don't you think it's time for you to return the favour?"

She watches him run a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze. A part of her wishes she could do the same. She almost does, lifting her arm.

It is several minutes before Bellamy speaks. "Have you seen Babaduo's house?" She nods. "Well, that was where my entire family lived. My mom, my dad, my grandparents – my dad's parents. When I was seven, an illness spread through the village and my mom, dad and grandfather died. So Babaduo raised us.

"Not that we had a bad childhood. To be honest, Octavia and I never wanted anything. We had Babaduo, and we had each other. There are so many days that Octavia and I would spend by the river, nights where we would sneak out of the house and count the stars." A smile creeps up on his face, staring in the distance, and she feels a rush in her chest. "Babaduo never caught us, but I think she knew.

"I was seventeen when we finally went to war with the Northern tribe. Tensions had been high for ages, and it finally erupted. There had been a number battles – but the last one was the biggest." He glances over at her. "It was just below the mountain. Y'know the one to the west? We were ambushed by the Northern tribe's army. It – it was one of the biggest armies I had seen. It outnumbered us two to one.

"I don't know if I would have lasted. I was doing okay, but I had been cut pretty badly-"

"Under your arm?"

His eyes flutter over to her. She feels heat crawl over her face. She wasn't meant to have been looking at his body. And – it's not as if she meant to, or anything. They share a bed for God's sake. It's impossible for her not to have seen it, the line stretching down from his armpit right to his hip.

A smile brushes across his face. "Yeah, that one. I was bleeding out, and I'm not sure that I would have made it. I was fighting someone else when – when a landslide came down. The rocks swept down, like a giant hand was pushing them on us. And I don't mean just a few rocks – it felt like half the mountain was coming down. Afterwards it was like someone had taken a huge chunk from it. To this day we don't know whether it was a trick by the Northern tribe that went horribly wrong or some loose stones or an act of the gods.

"I don't know how it happened, but even though I was buried under rock like everyone else – I only had a few bruises. I was the farthest away from the mountain, so I was caught by the last of the rocks. I was only lightly buried underneath them, so I was able to push my way out. I was the only one."

"You mean-" She blinks, leans forward. "You were the only survivor?"

He gives a jerk of the head. "I can still remember standing up and looking round. There were a few moans, but no one moved. It was like something out of a story, where a magician placed everyone under a sleeping curse. Everyone was dead, including our king – including their king.

"So when I went back, I became a hero. The battle had destroyed most of the Northern tribe's army. Yeah, it took out ours too, but we'd held more men back, a disaster at the beginning of the battle that ironically ended up better for us. They needed peace, and so we met and eventually agreed for negotiations."

"You still haven't told me how you became King," she reminds him. "How do you decide something like that anyway?"

He rubs his nose. "Usually it follows the bloodline, like the kings and queens from the past. But public opinion matters more here. If people don't have faith in their leader, then they won't rule."

"And you said Justin's family had a good claim?"

Bellamy nods. "He was almost certainly the next king. But there was a public outcry, and people demanded that I become the ruler." There is a tinge of redness of his face, and his smile is slightly bashful. "Like I said, we value bravery. Both tribes went to the site of the battle to bring home their dead – people were amazed that I managed to survive. They claimed that I was chosen to rule by the gods." He shrugs, turning away. "I hadn't been expecting it. I'm not sure..." His voice lowers, so she has to struggle to hear him. "I'm not even sure that I'm happier now than I was when I was poor."

She moves then, placing her hand over his. She knows what it's like to have your childhood snatched away in the blink of an eye, to know that you can never reverse the changes that have occurred. "Did you never think of refusing?"

"You don't refuse to be king. I was living in a little hut with Babaduo and Octavia; now I have the biggest house in the village. Now I make all the decisions. Now I get the first of everything."

His words don't match his face.

"Besides, Octavia is better protected. She would never have been able to marry someone like Lincoln if I hadn't been King. And I wouldn't have been able to save you."

She meets his eyes. They don't look away from each other. Instead Clarke feels her body shift towards him. She doesn't know what surprises her more: the fact that she is moving towards him, or that she feels his body reacting the same way. Before she knows it, she is so close that she can feel his breath on her face. Her entire body is tense, and she swears that if she just breathes she'll kiss him. She can feel the heat radiating from his body, and she finds her fingers are itching to touch his skin, to feel his heartbeat echo from his chest against her palm –

The crack of a branch against the window makes them both leap apart. She glances back at Bellamy before quickly dropping her eyes to the floor. "I should-"

"We should get to bed." Bellamy glances away from her too, and she quickly turns her back to him as she crawls in between the sheets. A second later she feels him on the mattress. Even though they're used to facing each other, she doesn't feel like she can do that tonight.

One night she's dozing by the fire again, though it's finally beginning to get warm. Bellamy's late, and she's been reading poetry (Carol Ann Duffy, because there's still no better poet than her in Clarke's mind). She must fall asleep because when she wakes up Bellamy is in front of her. He's on the floor, leaning back against the sofa.

"When did you come in?" Her voice is low; she doesn't have the energy to raise it.

"A little while ago." He turns his head slightly. "I didn't want to wake you up."

She feels herself smile.

"I have a question." He turns properly now, looking across. "What's the deal with the mark on your hip?"

"The-" She sits up. Her hand moves down to dark circle on her side.

"Yeah. I always wondered. It looks like a pretty bad burn."

"It was." She glances down at her knees. She never thought of telling anyone about it, but she and Bellamy – they talk. And she trusts him. "It was punishment for what happened with my dad. They spared me, but they branded me with this mark. They do it with all the people they let go, to show that they've burnt through their first chance." She tries to say it lightly, but her voice is thick.

His gaze has hardened, like ice freezing over the ground. "Why would you want to go back to those people?"

"My mom's there, and my friends. They're – they're my family."

He is searching her expression. She would have thought he would blow up after her words, but there's something else – like he's looking for something on her face. He lifts his shoulders. "Let's go to bed."

But before he blows out the candle, he pauses. When she feels his hand on her body she freezes. She thinks – she knows – Bellamy won't hurt her, but he's never touched her like this before: palm spread out over her skin, a claim, an ownership. She watches his dark head bend, a flexible branch of a tree, and feels his lips on her skin over the mark.

It tingles when he moves away.

It's after he blows the candle out and the room is dark, lit only by the fading fire, that she says thank you. "My pleasure," he says, and that's the end of it.

XV

Spring is brighter than ever, and every morning Clarke wakes up with a sense of excitement. She loves the way the world around her changes, unlike the city she came from. She likes the feel of the grass in her hands, and Bellamy teases her by bringing her blades of it in the evenings. Then yellow daisies that grow on the sides near the boundary of the village. Then the very first apple of the tree, red and fresh that when she bites into it the juice dribbles down her chin. She likes these gifts, and thinks he likes bringing them to her. As far as she knows it's just between them, but she notices Octavia observing them one night at dinner. After that there is a little smile on her face, and her eyes remind Clarke of laughter.

Clarke tries to ignore it. She also tries to ignore that, at night, they move closer to one another. Sometimes she can feel Bellamy's breath against the back of her neck. Other times she lets her arm stretch across his stomach, inwardly shivering when she feels the muscles against her arm. She likes the way she can feel his stomach rising and falling, the way it lifts her too.

Early one morning Cora comes over. Clarke is in the kitchen, brewing tea. "There you are," says Cora, moving easily into the kitchen. "We're out of the feverfew herb. I was hoping you and Bellamy could collect them today, if you're not too busy."

It never ceases to amaze Clarke that Cora knows exactly who she's talking to. "I don't mind. I'm a good rider now, and I'd like to see some of the greenery. What's wrong?" she asks when she sees the look on Cora's face.

The woman shakes her head. "I was certain that we had plenty of feverfew. You know I keep it in large supply, because it's treats so many things. But I swear, there's none."

"It doesn't matter," says Clarke. "Give us a list and we'll get whatever you need."

She does so and Clarke writes them down, now easily recognising the herbs by sight. But Cora's still wearing a frown on her face, and she asks the woman what's wrong.

"I feel this is more than just a trip for herbs," Cora murmurs finally. Those white eyes lift to Clarke, scanning her face. "I'm not quite sure... It's just out of my reach... For you and for Bellamy..."

Clarke's first thought is that Cora is faking it; that Octavia's said something and she's trying to push her and Bellamy together. But she quickly dismisses that theory, because it simply isn't Cora. "Are these visions of yours real?"

The woman smiles. "You're not the first one to ask me that. Octavia believes me, especially since I predicted her relationship with Lincoln. Bellamy doesn't – he's never had much faith in the things he can't see. Though perhaps that's changing," she says, eyeing Clarke. "Most of the villagers don't believe me, and that's fine Clarke. I'm happy."

"Do you have visions then?"

Cora gives a minute shake of the head. "It's more like a feeling. I can't explain it, but it's a very powerful thing. When I was a little girl they used to terrify me. It was only when I was a teenager I finally began to understand what they might mean." She lifts her head again. "Be careful Clarke. I don't like this vision, but...it's strange...it feels like it's a journey you need to make.

Cora's words take some of the beauty out of the trip. She told Bellamy who waved his grandmother's concerns away. "Babaduo is always having these 'visions'. Don't worry about them." Still, they trouble her, and she knows Bellamy can see it. "C'mon Clarke," he says, a hint of frustration in his tone. "Look at how beautiful it is!" He gestures and Clarke can't stop the little smile on her face. There are blossoms on the trees, pink, and she lifts her hand up to stroke them. A shower of petals fall down, catching in her hair.

"What do we need?"

"Feverfew, peppermint and butterbur," she replies, remembering Cora's list.

Bellamy jumps down from Hosanna. "I know what peppermint looks like."

"Oh really?" Clarke lifts an eyebrow, attempting to suppress a smile. "The last time I let you pick the herbs by yourself, you nearly walked into a bunch of poison ivy."

"I know what poison ivy looks like," Bellamy replies, turning his head. "I was too busy listening to your boring explanation to watch where I was going."

"Whatever you say," she says, still smiling.

"I'll find the mint-"

"Peppermint Bellamy."

"-and you go find the others. Come back when you've got them."

She feels her spine straighten at his words. "I can go on my own?"

He half-turns, hands fiddling with some leaves he's picked up from the ground. "I assume you can find your way back?" he asks, lifting his own eyebrow. "If not, Blaze will be able to find the village. Go get the other herbs." His words are authoritative, but it's his tone that is soft, and when he turns his back it's a little hunched, not like his proud stature.

She pushes Blaze into a trot, and goes through a clump of trees, in the direction where she knows some feverfew will be. She turns back, but Bellamy is nowhere near her. She kicks Blaze into a canter, and the two of them fly down through the trees, and she allows Blaze to gallop when they get to a clearing. Once they're back under the shelter of the branches she pulls him up, listening. All she can hear are birds. There's no sound of Bellamy tearing off to catch up with her.

He's letting her go.

Is he aware of what he's doing? But Clarke dismisses that theory: Bellamy's no fool. He's spent so long keeping her in the village, there's no way he would just forget to keep an eye on her.

He's testing her.

She turns Blaze in the direction of her home, the city, and she knows she should push Blaze harder. She'll let him go a few miles before she gets back. She knows that the authorities will be all over her, but she won't tell them where the village is; it won't be hard to convince them that she has no idea where it is, that she stumbled back to the city by good fortune. And she can see her mom again. And Raven. And Monty and Jasper. And Finn.

So why isn't she going faster?

Her muscles seem to stiffen up, and she couldn't nudge Blaze on if she wanted to. She's going back – going home. She'll see her bedroom, go to medical school, live the life that she had planned out so carefully.

She'll be in the city again. Unable to leave the boundaries. Careful of what she says in case other people report her. Stuck reading books with boring storylines – and no poetry. No freedom of thought.

She won't be able to practice using her arrows anymore. There won't have any horses to go riding on either. And they'll be no swimming in the river, and rushing round the village, or lying in an empty field staring up at the sky, surrounded by flowers. No blades of grass. And she probably won't have time to bake either, which is a shame, because she finally made the perfect loaf of bread last week: not too doughy and risen perfectly. It was stupid, but she was really pleased: Cora was impressed, and Bellamy said that he hadn't tasted better –

She'll never see them again: Links with his cheeky smile and kind eyes, or John the healer with his cool, careful hands – and when he tells you you've done a good job, you know he means it because he rarely says it. She'll never see Lincoln and Octavia get married, never watch them start a family. She thinks of Octavia, who makes her laugh so much, who's become – become a friend. And she'll miss Cora. In some respects, she's been a mother to her here. And Bellamy –

She thinks of all those nights in bed together. The mornings when she would wake up before him, the sunlight glinting through curtains. His face would be soft, mouth slightly open. He usually slept with his arms above his head, and at some point they've begun stretching towards her. And sometimes, when she's between sleep and consciousness, she thinks of reaching out and twining her fingers in between his and pressing her lips to them. Press her lips on his.

Last week, when she was looking at him, his eyes slit open. Still misty from sleep, they held each other's gazes. It wa few moments when Clarke realised that they had been staring at each other longer than normal. She was acutely aware of how close their bodies were to each other. There was something about him then that made him so... Maybe it was because she rarely ever saw him so relaxed when he was awake, his expression smooth instead of creased with annoyance or worry...

Back in the city, she'll sleep alone. And even though that's what she's wanted for so long – what she's claimed to want – she feels a stabbing in her stomach and chest, so painful that she almost doubles over in her saddle.

The realisation strikes her, as powerful and unsubtle as a bolt of lightning. She doesn't want to go back. She wants to stay.

Sensing her mood Blaze pauses, and his head turns, nuzzling the tip of her boot. She leans forward to stroke him, eyes staring aimlessly forwards. "When did this happen?" she asks the stallion. "When did I begin to love this life?"

Blaze's brown eyes stare at her, almost in condescension, as if he's saying, took you long enough.

She whirls the stallion round, and he's only too glad to gallop back towards Bellamy. She's not sure what it is, but laughter is bubbling in her chest, and she wants to burst out with it – wants to scream out loud, throw her hands in the air. It's the right decision, she knows it because the second she made it, she couldn't wait to return. She wants to throw her arms round Bellamy and give him a hug, wants to find Octavia and dance with her, wants to listen to all of Cora's stories and learn the ways of their people – her people. And yet now there's no rush, no ticking clock; now she has all the time in the world.

Blaze leaps into the area where Bellamy was, and Clarke, breathless, has a grin on her face. But he's not there.

"Bellamy!" She glances round, and unable to sit still, leaps off Blaze. "Bellamy!" She goes through the trees, searching for him. Perhaps he's gone to find her. She debates on doubling back, when she remembers what Bellamy had been teaching her about tracking. She glances down at the ground. There are no prints, and yet... She bends down, peering closer at them. There are long marks, dug hard in the dirt, like someone's being dragged, like –

- like a sign of a struggle.

Her breath catches, and at the same second she hears a shuffling behind her. She whips round, but she's been caught off-guard, and he pins her down on the ground with ease.

Justin. She knew it; could feel it in her blood. His hands pin her down, and she tries to lift them up with no success.

"I wondered where you were." He grins, and her stomach feels like it convulses at the sight.

"Where's Bellamy?"

The corner of Justin's mouth hitches up. She hates him, in that second she knows it, with such certainty that she would dagger him without another thought. "We went down to the river and he had...an accident."

Bellamy. She lunges for him, and he has to put his entire weight down on her. "What did you do to him, you bastard – if you've hurt him-"

"What are you going to do?" He runs a finger down the side of her face; she snaps at it, and he jerks his hand away. "I've always wondered what was different about you. Did you know Bellamy's never come close to even having a girlfriend ever since he became King? Then you came along. So what gives? What do you do for him?"

She can barely hear his words; there is a buzzing in her ears. "You couldn't be half the king that he is."

A frown appears on his face, the look of a sulky child. "We'll just see, won't we? When they come looking and find your bodies, they won't know what to do. Everyone will be in shock. It'll be easy for me to slip into the role of King." He pulls a knife from his belt and presses it against her neck. She barely breathes. She can feel the point pressing against her skin. "Any last words, Princess?"

She mutters under her breath.

"What was that?" He bends closer.

She jerks her head forward, smacking her forehead right against his. He's taken by surprise, and quickly moves backwards, shifting his weight. Knowing she has only seconds, she lifts her legs and pushes them in front of his body, yanking him backwards. She's up now, and she goes for Justin –

He moves fast, and is on his feet. He already has a blade, but she finds that she's not worried. She's not scared of him. Instead she feels her blood racing through her body, feels energy that she's never had before. Rage. That's what it is. That's why she wants to smash Justin's face in. That's why she wants to wrap her hands round his neck and squeeze. Bellamy.

She doesn't remember what Bellamy's taught her, but she thinks it's better that way. She's not thinking about what moves to use, how to play to her strengths – all she's thinking is that she wants him dead. He's using his knife – he catches her on the side of her arm, but it just feels like a twig. She's dodging him and getting hits in. She actually catches him in the face, and feels a satisfying crack. He grabs her arm and swings her round. She thinks he's about to fling her to the floor, but she uses her elbow, catches him in the soft part of his stomach. Coupling that with putting her foot behind his leg, she manages to off-balance him.

She ducks away from him, leaping over a fallen log. The ground towards the river slopes downstairs, and she rolls, using gravity to push her down. She's not running, but her mind keeps straying towards Bellamy – Bellamy. Maybe – maybe she can save him. Surely – Bellamy wouldn't go down without a fight, she knows that.

"Princess." She hears Justin's voice, cooing, calling for her. She pushes herself faster, needing to get to the river. She hears a slicing through the air, remembers Bellamy throwing his knife, and hurls herself to the ground. It catches her on the shoulder, but because she's ducked it doesn't stick in. It slides to the floor, and she grabs hold of it before she pulls herself up again.

She hears running water, and by the time she reaches the river she is panting. Her eyes fly across the shore, then going farther out – nothing. She doesn't see Bellamy's body floating, doesn't see him lying unconscious on shore – he's not there.

Her heart begins to race. Would Justin have tied him down to something to force him under the water? If that's the case then it's too late, way too late –

Justin comes up behind her, but he's not being subtle, and Clarke whirls round and catches him. He lunges, and she falls to the ground, letting him fall on her and then shoving him backwards. She scrambles to her feet, but she's getting tired now. Justin's a good fighter, and he's bigger, stronger. She needs something more –

"Bellamy's dead, Princess." He's in a fighter's stance, dancing on the tips of his feet. "No point trying to look for him." He lifts his hand, wiping blood away from his lip, and despite everything she feels a thrill of satisfaction.

Her entire body feels like it's shaking, right down to her bones. Her throat is tightening and she thinks – Bellamy's dead – and she has to fight not to lose it. It feels like a bad joke: when she finally decides to stay, Bellamy's – it's like someone's punishing her for attempting to leave, for even thinking of leaving.

She knows then that she's going to kill him – kill him or die trying. She can't and won't live in a world where Justin is King. She would rather go back to the city, rather die right here right now then live by his rules.

He is shifting on his feet. "You can't win. I will kill you. Might as well make it easy." His mouth twitches. "Bellamy did."

She lunges, but he's ready: he catches her in the stomach, and the pain is intense, feels like something is tearing. Clarke tightens her grip on the knife and, even though she knows she's going to lose, she raises the knife and prepares to swipe down on him –

Justin's grip on her relaxes, and in a blink he is off her completely. She stumbles backwards, and she's actually grateful that she's fallen, because she knows she wouldn't be able to stand.

"You know what they say about mongrels," Bellamy snarls. "They're tougher than pedigrees." He shoves Justin to the floor. He stamps down on Justin's arm, and the blonde gives a yelp. He should be focusing on him, but Bellamy's head jerks to the side, searching –

Their eyes meet, and she can't help herself – she lets out a little cry. He's bleeding, she can see from his left arm, his face is marred by cuts and blood, and he's sopping wet, soaked to the skin. But he's okay. He's okay. He's alive.

Justin uses this distraction: he knocks into Bellamy's leg, on the part behind his knee, and he collapses. Justin is about to leap onto him, but Clarke's behind him, pulls him back. He rolls towards her, his nails scratching along her arm, and this time Bellamy is behind, pulling him upwards.

Justin's face is that of a rabid dog: he hadn't expecting having to fight both of them at the same time. It's harder for him. Bellamy's the better fighter, but Justin's good, and Bellamy's losing blood. Having Clarke going for him too makes it easier.

Justin elbows her in the face and she goes down. He's about to go for her, but Bellamy pulls him back. The two of them begin fighting again, hand-to-hand combat. It's hard for Clarke to watch: her eyes feel like they're spinning. Her head is pounding but she needs to get up, needs to help –

She tries, but her legs are shaky. Fuck it, she thinks. She falls back down, landing on her back –

It feels like her heart stops. She reaches behind her, feeling – how could she be so stupid? She's still got her bow and arrows. She scrabbles, but during the fight she's lost half of them. Other bows have been torn, which might affect their trajectory. She shuffles, and by her count there's only one that's good enough to use.

She draws it back, using her mouth as an anchor, like Bellamy told her. She whistles, low but strong, and Bellamy jerks his head round to look at her. From his position he's blocking her from Justin's view, and with impressive speed he ducks. The second his head lowers, Clarke shoots.

The arrow soars through the air and digs into Justin's chest. The blonde looks up, his face turning thirty shades of white in a moment, and his hand reaches for the arrow. His legs give out underneath him and he falls.

The bow falls to the floor as she races towards him, pushing herself off her knees. He's bleeding, so much, and he's almost unrecognisable because of all the cuts and bruises that are already forming, but he barely seems to notice: he opens his arms, taking a giant step towards her, and she goes to him. It's only when her body hits his, still there, still upright, that the fact he's alive hits her.

"What happened?" she says into his shoulder.

"I was by the river, getting water. He came up behind me, knocked me in the back of my head." When Clarke looks at his face she sees him grimace, annoyed. "I should have been better. I wasn't expecting it. He pushed my face under the water. I couldn't fight back – the only thing I could do was pretend that I was already dead. I thought I was dead. I thought he was going to hold me down for minutes, but then he left-"

"He heard me." Clarke lets out a little laugh. "I was looking for you. He must have decided to get rid of me too-"

"Are you okay?" He pushes her back and she gives a little mew of protest, but he ignores her. He winces. "Fuck, he got you good."

"I got him better."

He half-closes his eyes. "I take back any comment I made about your shooting skills. You have the best aim of any warrior in our village." A laugh, a breath of air, escapes from her mouth, and he lets out a chuckle.

It's her turn to look at him. She lifts her hands, gently touching the side of his face. "Shit," she murmurs. She expects him to wince, but when she looks at him she sees his eyes are still on her face – right on her.

"You saved my life," he murmurs.

She licks her lips, feeling hot under his gaze. "And you saved mine."

But he's shaking his head. "You saved your own life, and mine – because of your bravery." His hand lifts, mirroring hers. "Thank gods I found you."

Only when Justin makes a gurgling sound in the back of his throat do they blink. Bellamy moves to him, and when Clarke gets closer she sees blood running from his mouth. His eyes stare at Bellamy, and he tries to speak. Bubbles burst from his mouth.

"Could you save him?" Bellamy asks lowly, eyes trained on him.

"No," answers Clarke shortly. "And even if I could I wouldn't, and you're an idiot for wanting to."

Bellamy pulls out his knife and, in a quick movement, slits Justin's throat. The boy gurgles for a few more moments, deep red blood pouring out, and then his body stops moving. He closes his eyes and his chest, heaving so heavily, remains still.

"Can't say I'm too sorry," he mutters.

"You've been too kind already," Clarke argues. She reaches again for his face, already thinking of how to fix it. "Let's go home." Bellamy, whose eyes were looking back at Justin, jerks back towards her. They fix on her, and it looks like he's going to say something about it. She waits.

But in the end he just nods. "Home."

That's the best word she's heard in a long time.

XVI

Once the decision has been made to stay, the weight on Clarke's chest, the thing holding her back from enjoying herself, is lifted. Now she laughs more, begins to use the knowledge that she's learnt from them, smiles so wide she's using muscles she didn't know she had. She stops measuring time in her head, stops wondering if this will be the last time that she talks to this person.

For the first time, perhaps in her entire life, she begins to live.

And Bellamy is different with her. He loosens his grip on her. He doesn't constantly check up on her, isn't over-shadowing her all the time. She doesn't feel eyes on her back. She moves with ease round the village, and now doesn't even bother glance behind.

She remarks to Bellamy about it one night. "How come you're not checking up on me?"

His eyes are half-closed, leaning against the bed. He shifts them open. "Truth?"

She nods.

He lets out a sigh, straightening. "I was always worried about how you would handle yourself if it came to a fight. I thought you would-" He cuts off, and then shakes his head. "But you fought Justin yourself. You held out against him." He meets her eyes, and she feels a spark in her stomach. "Now I know that you can take care of yourself. You're strong."

She feels a blush rise up on her face at the compliment. "Took you long enough," she jokes. To cover herself, she reaches for the wound on his side. That one was the worst: the blood had been coming through his clothes by the time they got back. When Octavia had seen the two of them – bleeding from multiple areas, yellowing bruises already formed – it had taken the combined forces of Links, Lincoln and Jared to keep her back from going to getting Justin herself. It was only when Bellamy and Clarke had assured her that he was dead that she calmed down.

His eyes are soft, still muzzy from sleep. "It's healing well, don't you think?" he asks, his own hand moving to the stitched wound. There's nothing in his tone, and yet...

Clarke smiles and snuggles closer to him. She doesn't touch him, but rests her head beside him on his pillow. "Provided you don't get attacked any time soon, you should be fine. Perfectly healthy to give your sister away in three days – well, two days time."

Bellamy groans. "Can't you tell them I'm gravely ill and get them to push the wedding back?"

"I think Octavia would drag you down the aisle even if you were on your deathbed. You can't blame her – she's been waiting for what, nine months?"

"Nine months, one week and six days – not that she's been reminding me of it." Clarke laughs, and even Bellamy manages a smile. "I know. My sister's not a little girl anymore. I need to let her go."

There's a mournful tone in his voice, and Clarke sits up, resting her head on her elbow. "C'mon Bellamy. You've got a good deal with Octavia. She's going to be living in the house next door, for God's sake."

"That was one of my better ideas," he admits, unable to stop the corner of his mouth rising.

"And she's marrying Lincoln. He loves her, and you can't ask for more for your sister."

He doesn't answer, but his eyes change, and she knows he's thinking of – and she has to force back a smile. Instead she settles back down on the bed, still feeling his eyes on her.

The biggest change happens the next day. The wedding is now two days away, and Octavia is buzzing round here and there, making sure everything's going according to plan. One morning Clarke had stumbled downstairs for breakfast to find the entire living room floor covered with flowers of all colours. Octavia and Cora were in the middle of it, along with Bellamy.

"Having fun?" she had called down for the stairs. Bellamy had scowled, only to laugh when Octavia had insisted Clarke come down to help too.

Now though, when she comes downstairs, it's quiet in the living room. Bellamy is at the table, talking with a few members of the guard and another woman, Kat. Clarke recognises her and another as members of the council.

"If we're going to invade, we need to do it now," Kat is insisting.

"I agree," Jared states. "I don't know whether it's a good idea, but if you decide to do it Your Grace, I would suggest we do it soon. The Northern tribe is on the edge. If we attack with a strong army, we have a good chance of winning."

Bellamy's got a frown on his face, a hand on his head. His eyes catch sight of Clarke. "What do you think?"

The people at the table all turn towards her, and she feels the heat rush over her body. "What are you talking about?" she asks. She doesn't like the way Kat's eyes narrow when they land on her. She looks away, seeks solace in Bellamy's gaze.

He doesn't waver. "We're discussing the suggestion to invade the Northern tribe. My spies tell me that civil war is certain to break out any day now. We're debating about whether to take an army and attack. If we can defeat them, we'll have free range for miles. We can have more orchards, and more land to grow food."

"But?"

He lifts his eyebrows, and she can see that he's fighting a grin. He likes that she knows him. If it was that simple, Bellamy would have invaded already. "But it's a risk. The Northern tribe is a lot bigger than us. Even if we did win, we would have a bigger area to look after, and a lot more people. It would cause a lot of issues that we haven't even considered yet."

"Your Grace," begins Kat, but Bellamy holds up a hand.

"You know I'm right Kat. We can't ignore that, even if many of the Northern tribe died, we would still have a much bigger tribe. We would also be in danger of rebellion later, and in a bigger tribe it's always harder to control."

"If we don't take this chance-"

"You said that the Northern tribe are on the brink of civil war?"

Kat glowers at Clarke. "Yes," Bellamy answers, turning back towards her.

"Then I wouldn't invade," she says bluntly. Everyone is looking at her, but she sees a few friendly faces and pushes forward. "If you invade now, you risk uniting the tribe and feeling the full force of their army." She pauses, listening to the muttering of the others. It doesn't feel hostile though, and she strides on. "If you're thinking of invading, I would wait until the civil war is over and a new leader is declared. If it splits into two tribes, then they would be smaller and easier to defeat."

More murmurings, but soft. She sees Bellamy's eyes flicker, and knows he's thinking it through. Someone begins to talk, but Bellamy cuts them off. "I agree. We'll wait and see what happens. It may be worthwhile seeing what leader emerges."

"But Sire-"

"I've made my decision. We'll wait. Now, isn't there a wedding that we should be arranging?" The group of six breaks apart at the dismissal. Kat shoots her a withering glance before she walks away.

"Thanks for pulling me in the middle," she says dryly. "Should I be preparing for another attack?"

"You mean Kat? Nah; she's like that with anyone who disagrees with her. Besides, I wanted to know what you thought."

"Since when?"

"Since now." His face is relaxed, and it allows Clarke reads between the lines: since you didn't run; since you decided to stay; since you became one of us. "Maybe you should sit in on a few council meetings."

She does a double-take then. "I'm not on the council Bellamy."

"Yet."

She remembers, what she said on the day they met: "I'm not one of your people."

"Yet."

This time his words don't irritate her. This time, she smiles.

Octavia's wedding day arrives, all too quickly for Bellamy's liking. The evening before they all have a night in, a family dinner with Cora at the head of the table. Octavia can't sit still, shifting her legs and her fingers dancing across the wood, constantly glancing over at the clock. When her cutlery drops on her plate for the fifth time, Bellamy says, "Can't you control yourself? Gods know what you're going to be like tomorrow."

"Leave her alone," says Clarke. "She's excited, that's all."

"I'm so nervous I can barely eat."

Bellamy's face brightens. "Y'know, if you want to call it off, I'd understand. I'd talk to Lincoln for you-"

"I'm not having second thoughts!" snaps Octavia while Clarke buries her face in her hand, laughing. "I love Lincoln! I want to marry him."

Bellamy scowls, looking away. "Don't blame me if you're regretting it the night after."

"Believe me, I won't be regretting anything."

"What?" Bellamy's head snaps upwards.

Octavia simply smiles at her brother, her finger twirling in her hair. "I'm just saying that I love Lincoln and I know I won't regret marrying him." She glances back down at her food, but the corner of her mouth is hitched up, and she looks like she's trying not to laugh.

"We're not cancelling anything," Cora says with finality. "We've spent days getting the hall ready. Someone is getting married if Octavia doesn't." Clarke has to agree, it would be a shame to waste all the work that's gone on setting up the wedding: since mid-spring they've been arranging the hall, and the entire village has been gathering flowers this past week, putting them in baskets and hanging them from the ceiling in the hall. The village is excited; wedding, especially royal weddings, are a village affair.

"Who's coming from the Northern tribe?"

Octavia's face clouds over. "Just his family. We're having them stay for a week."

"Maybe longer," interrupts Bellamy. "I've had word that the fighting has started. I don't think it would be a good idea for anyone to return until it's settled." Clarke sees Bellamy glance over at Octavia, and knows that no matter what he's said, he's glad things have turned out the way they have.

The next morning everyone has to get up early, but at least when Clarke is going through the beauty regimes, Octavia is with her. She tries to distract the girl by pulling faces at the mud as it hardens over her skin, but she's too nervous to pay attention. "He's good, isn't he?" Octavia asks, even though she doesn't wait for an answer. "He's so good and strong, and he loves me."

Octavia goes to put on her dress, and Clarke finds an outfit left for her on the bed (Bellamy of course is overseeing everything, and will probably race in the room ten minutes before he's meant to walk Octavia down the aisle). This dress is stunning: at first glance it looks white, but when she puts it on she sees the hint of pink in it that makes it glitter every time she moves. She loves how cool it is when she wears it, loves how she feels beautiful.

She doesn't see Bellamy until the ceremony. She's sitting at the front with Cora, observing Lincoln at the front. He's wearing a warrior's outfit, and for the first time she can see a few nerves on his face. She debates whether Bellamy would kill him if he walked out on Octavia or if he would hug him.

"How long will the ceremony be?" Clarke asks the woman beside her.

Cora smiles, her long silver hair tied in intricate braids, all the colours of a rainbow. "It's relatively short," she says. "Gods forbid that we spend time on the ceremony when there's dancing and drinking to be done. "

Before she can question her further, the music plays (violins and a piano, which aren't normally used, but Octavia is a princess) and the doors open. She almost has to hold back a gasp when she sees Octavia. She's wearing white, and the dress is made of the finest silk. She has pink flowers in her hair, the symbol of spring – a new beginning. She has never looked so girlish, and Clarke has never seen that type of smile on her face before. She's beaming at Lincoln, and now that the warrior has seen her, he's standing tall. Clarke feels a bubble form in her chest as she looks at them.

Bellamy looks good too. He's dressed in a warrior's outfit as well, but his has a finery that Lincoln's lacks, and there are little flecks of gold dabbed here and there, another symbol. When it's time to give her away, Octavia and Bellamy cling to each other for a long moment, enough so Clarke has to fight back tears (she is not going to cry). Finally Octavia steps forward, and Bellamy settles with her and Cora. Clarke doesn't realise she's reached for his hand until they're holding onto each other. Hard hands, calloused hands – those hands match hers now, blister to blister.

The ceremony begins, and she listens. Cora's right, it's not long. It's entirely in their own language, but now Clarke can keep up easily. They don't talk about husbands and wives; from what Clarke can tell, they are speaking about bloodlines.

She hasn't heard the words since that night, but she recognises them like it was yesterday, poetry passed down throughout the years. They echo deep in her memory, and she sits up straighter. She watches as the knife cuts into their palms, one long line, before they press them together, fingers entwined.

It's all making sense now. Images flash in front of her eyes, all clicking into place.

Bellamy's pale face as he lets Cora take his hand –

Octavia eyes are teary as she looks at Lincoln, palms still held together –

Rough hands, rough fingers that press against mine, held –

Lincoln's smile is soft –

His expression is solemn, like he's about to go into battle –

Now the man performing the ceremony is tearing cloth. He ties it round their hands, over the cuts he's made –

The knot is tight as the cloth goes over my hand –

It's almost over: he's stating that once the wounds have stopped bleeding, they will swap the cloths and wear them always, for as long as their marriage lasts, even after the other has passed on "to the spirit world" as they call it.

Bellamy taps his finger over the cloth – his cloth – that he's just tied over my hand. "This stays on," he tells me, a command –

She lifts her eyes to Bellamy's. He's staring down at her, his expression expecting, eyes still. Beside them, Cora is humming quietly to herself.

The ceremony ends, and in a swift movement Lincoln and Octavia face the crowd. Holding hands, they lift them up in the air. The people are on their feet, cheering, and the two of them stand without thinking. They're clapping, but not once do Bellamy and Clarke break gazes from each other.

She's fine. Completely, utterly fine. She smiles at the people as they congratulate Octavia, Lincoln and Bellamy on the marriage. She makes polite chit-chat, watches members of the tribe hand the new couple gifts, both knives and baby blankets, something that would ordinarily amuse her.

Finally Octavia and Lincoln move away to have their first dance, and all eyes are on them. Bellamy shoots her a desperate look, and she turns away, moves out the stuffed, crowded room, outside. There are people milling round, but she steps further and further away, to Bellamy's house –

To their house.

It is completely empty; everyone is at the wedding, even the servants. She can't bear to go upstairs, to the bedroom, so she stays in the living room, her hands running through her hair, making it go curly again.

The door opens. "Clarke-" Bellamy begins.

In less than a second she's crossed the room, and his face clicks to the side. He closes his eyes, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I understand that you're mad," he begins, and she can tell he's about to launch into one of his speeches.

"Mad? Oh, no, I'm not mad. I'm not at all upset that, all this time – you and I have been married." She can feel her entire body shaking, her heart racing against her chest – and yet, hadn't she always known this? Deep down, hadn't she sensed it? The way she was always with Bellamy even on formal occasions, how people looked at the two of them, how no one questioned that they shared a bed or spent so much time together –

"Clarke." Bellamy's face hovers above her, snapping her back to reality. "Let me explain."

"Please, tell me what explanation there is for marrying me."

"How about the fact that you were in danger, and that tying your bloodline to mine was the only way to ensure your protection," he snaps. "Marrying you – it made you my wife, the future queen – no one would dare attack you after that. There was no other way to give you that kind of protection."

"And you didn't tell me because?"

He gives a bark of a laugh. "You haven't exactly taken it well."

Something else clicks in her mind. "That's the real reason you and I share a room – a bed. So everyone would believe we were married."

He nods once. "I don't know what it's like back where you lived, but here, a marriage isn't – what's the word? – legal until the man and woman have slept together. I had to make sure that people believed we were truly married." He glances away, his hand flexing. "I wouldn't have bothered if we didn't have servants – they would have talked, and the whole thing would have blown up in our faces."

"So all this time – everyone but me has known?" Bellamy can't meet her gaze, and she whirls away from him. "Oh my God."

"That was the whole point," he mutters. "Why do you think I had the guards witness it?"

"And people just accepted it?" She thinks back, to those days when people hated her: stared at her with dark eyes, not going anywhere near her, tense in case she made a move against them.

"Not at first. But then you delivered the babies, and Octavia and Cora accepted you, and the guards spoke of your bravery, and people saw that you cared. You became one of us." She can tell that he wants to smile. "People congratulated me on choosing such a strong wife."

She shakes her head, her hair flying around her. "This isn't a joke Bellamy-"

He snorts. "I think I know that more than you."

"But – why? You barely knew me and yet you were willing to marry me in order to protect me? I mean, I thought kings and queens married for alliances. I – I couldn't give you anything. What political advantage did it give you? I've caused you nothing but complications..." The words seem to be coming out her mouth faster, unstoppable, and she doesn't know why but she doesn't like the look Bellamy is giving her, like his whole face has lost its sharp angles and hardness, and she doesn't know if she wants to hear it or not –

"Because I love you."

She feels those words, right to her very core. Something that again, deep down, she knew. But sometimes you can't face something until it's been spoken aloud.

"So," Clarke says after a moment – what feels like a huge gaping moment of silence. "We're married?"

He is watching her, keeping a careful space between them. "Yes."

"You married me so you could protect me? Because you loved me?"

"Yes."

By now she has stepped closer to him, and she can see that he's got his arms ready to lift in case she attacks him. "Make no mistake," she states coolly, "I am very, very upset with you." And then she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him.

She tells him that she's mad at him, over and over again, even as they tear at each other's clothes. And when they're lying in bed, their bodies pressed together under the warm blankets after having sex, Bellamy kisses her shoulder and says that if this is her version of being angry, he would love to see what she's like when she's happy.

XVII

For a week after the wedding, they give out that they have flu, and tell everyone to stay away in case they're contagious. The servants leave food outside their bedroom door, and call through to ask if they're okay. The healer tries to see them, though Cora doesn't bother.

Neither of them gets out of bed except to go to the bathroom and for the food: they lie tangle in each other, hands together, bodies resting on top, sweat glistening from their skin. "Explain this to me," Clarke murmurs, the back of her head resting on his shoulder. "Why am I a princess and not a queen?"

Bellamy smiles in her direction. "Don't you like being a princess?" he teases.

"I'm just curious as to why I'm not yet a queen."

"Give me a kiss and maybe I'll tell you."

She rolls over on his body, enjoying the warmth that is coming from it. She plants a gentle kiss on his mouth, soft, and feels another thrill zap through her body. "There," she murmurs throatily, loving the look on his face, loving the way his kiss sends a tingle through her nerves. "Now explain."

His hands are on her back, running up and down her smooth skin. "When a king or queen gets married, their partner doesn't become a ruler until they give birth to a child, as that child will be the next ruler. That's when they earn the right to call themselves king or queen."

"I thought the kings and queens weren't based on bloodline."

"They are, and they aren't. Becoming ruler is a combination of having a good family line and a popularity contest." His smile is lazy as he watches her. His hand is now playing with the ends of her hair. "I wasn't exactly born to be King."

"That's a matter of opinion." But she is thinking. "Is that why Justin tried to poison me?"

He nods, a dark cloud passing over his face when Justin is mentioned. "Yes. I mean, for all he knew you could have been pregnant. If he had killed me and you were pregnant, our child would have been ruler – depending of course whether people wanted it, that is. He would want to make sure that none of the royal bloodline would survive."

"But he didn't poison Octavia-"

"Remember what I told you, about when you become a king or queen? Once that person is anointed, their siblings lose their place in the line of succession. All that matters is the line from the king or queen."

Clarke lowers her face into Bellamy's chest to hide her confusion – but only partly. She breathes him in before looking back up. "Is that why everyone went crazy when I tried to help in the med bay?"

"Yeah. For all they knew, you and I had been having sex like rabbits every night since our marriage. You could have been pregnant, and they didn't want to endanger our child."

She lies back, listening to his explanation. She couldn't help but marvel at the kindness of these people – her people. It touches something inside her, and for a second she feels tears stinging in her eyes. Blinking them away, she asks, "Is that why Clovis propositioned me?"

She can't help but laugh when he sits up, knocking the covers off his chest. "He did what?"

Clarke tries to keep a straight face. "When we met at the feast, before we sat down. He definitely made a pass at me."

"He-" Bellamy uses a string of curse words, ones that she's only heard used by guards when they're really, really pissed off. Royalty certainly doesn't speak like that. "Of course," he says, teeth gritted. "That sonovabitch. He would have made sure that you were caught, and our village would have gone mad. I could have been forced to divorce you."

She lifts her eyes. "I didn't know you could get divorced here."

"You can. It's easy if you're lower class; much more difficult if you're members of the royal family." For a second Bellamy shifts, looking uneasy. "Clarke, if you don't want to stay married to me, I would understand."

This time she sits up. The cover falls away, leaving her chest bare; but it's his words that hurt her more. "For the better part of a year you never told me that we were married; and now you're talking about getting divorced?"

"You're safe now. I wasn't exactly honest with you; I didn't ask your permission. So – look, I know we've been having sex-"

"You mean like rabbits?" The corner of Clarke's mouth twitches, ever so slightly.

She gets a smile from him. "I'm just saying that if you wanted to get divorced, I wouldn't be upset."

Clarke looks down at the sheets of the bed. "Do you want to get divorced?"

"I-" She hears him give a little growl. "I'm asking you."

She lifts her head. "I hated you when you first brought me here. I hated that you made me make the decision to give up Finn, that you forced me to come with you in this life. I wanted to go back home and forget about you.

"But you made me see the beauty of this place. You people, in this tribe – everyone looks out for it each other. You don't betray people for money, you don't leave the sick to die. You aren't paranoid; you don't haul people into prison for making a mistake. You don't kill people for wanting to read some books." Her voice lowers. "You don't burn people on their skin as a warning."

His fingers reach for her mark.

"I fell in love with this place, this life, because of you. And through that...I fell for you."

His eyes are veiled in softness. He sits up, destroying the distance between them in a single movement. "I don't want a divorce," he whispers.

"Neither do I." She leans against his shoulder, feels his skin – so earthly in scent, surprisingly soft – against her face. "Husband."

His entire body lifts; it's the only way she can describe it. His lips press against her body, and she smiles.

XVIII

In the second spring of their marriage, Clarke and Bellamy have their first child. Her labour pains start in the middle of the night. Clarke walks up and down the room, making deep groaning sounds, while Bellamy, pale, doesn't leave her side. "I wish there was something I could do."

"Bellamy," Clarke says, teeth clenched together. "I love you, but if you say that one more time I will kill you."

"I just-"

"I – will – kill – you."

"Relax," Octavia says, taking Clarke's hand but looking to her brother. "You should have heard the things I said to Lincoln when I gave birth to Ezekiel; they were much better insults."

"You never told me that," Clarke says, breathing in and out. "Just like you never told me a few other things."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "For gods' sake, it all worked out in the end, didn't it? I knew you and my brother were perfect for each other from the moment I met you. You should have seen – aah!" Octavia cries out as Clarke clasps onto her hand.

Cora, naturally, helps the most. She keeps Clarke on her feet, making her walk back and forth and refusing to keep her to the bed when she feels like she wants to push. "It's much easier for a woman to give birth standing, believe it or not," she cheerfully informs Clarke as the girl leans against Bellamy.

"Yeah, I know, gravity and all that," she says, eyes clenched together. She pushes when another contraction hits, well aware that she's giving birth with a blind woman waiting to catch her child – but then, she's learnt to have faith in things you cannot see.

In the wee hours of the morning, their first child is born. Clarke collapses in sheer exhaustion, and even Bellamy is teary as he puts his lips on his son's soft head. Nicklaus grows up strong, blonde and beloved by everyone. He looks like Clarke mostly, except for the freckles across his face that seem more pronounced in the summer. He has his mother's gentle hands and his father's way with words. When he speaks, people listen; a born leader.

Not even a year later they have their first daughter, a dark-haired, pale skinned little girl that they call Skylar. She is quieter than her brother, but determined in a way that Bellamy declares is exactly like Octavia. She has the sweetest smile that anyone can recall, that can cause people to stop in the middle of sentences, and even before she is at the marrying age, boys are already appealing for her hand.

"Over my dead body," Bellamy growls. Clarke smiles into her shoulder and whispers assurances to her daughter that she'll marry before she turns thirty.

Next is Tarka. His hair is brown, almost mud, but his eyes are a powerful, dark blue. More sensible than the rest of his siblings put together, he pours over the family's books, forcing his eyes open so he can keep reading. Even when he grows older, Bellamy lets him read in their bed, and is loathed to put him in his own when he falls asleep.

"Bellamy," she explains as Tarka snuggles down under the covers, tucked under his father's arm. "How many times do I have to tell you, we're not going to be attacked in the middle of the night. Our children are safe."

"I know," he argues. His passes a hand through his son's thick hair. "I don't want to disturb him. Just this once," he promises, tactfully forgetting that he went through the same stage with Nicklaus and Skylar.

Their next child is a welcome relief. Only three months earlier Cora died, in the same house that her husband died in. The entire village had taken it hard, but Octavia and Bellamy had struggled the most. If their next one had been a girl they would have named their child after her; but a boy, they name after Clarke's father (besides which, a few months later Octavia has her third child and first girl, and she and Lincoln agree to name their daughter after her grandmother).

Oddly enough, Jake is the child that resembles Bellamy the most in looks and in stubbornness, whether he believes it or not. He goes missing a lot, driving them mad, usually found in places he shouldn't be: in the med bay talking to patients, in the stables in between the legs of the horses, or in the meeting room listening to discussions – once, even inside the grandfather clock in the hall, trying to figure out how it worked. One time Nicklaus finds him beyond the boundaries. "I was waiting for the wolves," he explains as Clarke bends over him, cleaning a cut.

"To eat you?" snaps Bellamy. He had turned the village inside out looking for him, his worry for his son increasing by the second.

Jake gives him a look that is beyond his years; as if Bellamy is the child. "Wolves don't eat their own," he says, and Bellamy doesn't quite have an answer for that.

Clarke has three miscarriages after Jake. It hurts more than anything, and she almost resigns herself that they'll have no more children when she becomes pregnant again. It's a difficult birth, and their daughter is weak. The parents spent the better part of two weeks over her bed, almost waiting for her to give in.

But she is perhaps the most like her parents, because against all the odds she survives. They call her Hana, and at first she is struggles, called frail, silently assumed not to survive her first winter. But she would never know that. Like a wild horse determined to keep it's freedom, she will jump anything, her long blonde hair blazing in the sun as she leaps; sings louder than anyone, and dances with or without music. She takes life by the horns, and even as she hits her teenage years, she flies without thinking.

"Cora would be proud of her," says Clarke softly. They are in their bedroom, just about to go to bed. Already it is filled, Hana and Jake under the covers, meant to be listening to Tarka tell them a story, but all three of them are now asleep.

"Babaduo would be proud of them all." Bellamy looks back at Clarke. "Are Skylar and Nick home?"

"Nick is. He said Skylar was on the porch."

"With who?" Bellamy's voice is deliberately even; but Clarke has been married to him for too long, knows him too well.

"Vitus," she says, naming Octavia's second son.

"And?"

"Ellis."

Bellamy swears and Clarke reaches out to hit him – "Not in front of the kids!" – and he peers towards the window. "Maybe I'll throw the dirty bathwater out the window."

She bursts out laughing. "Bellamy, Sky would see through that in a moment."

"Well – she's too young."

"Hardly younger than I was when I married you."

"That was different." But he's looking back at her, his mouth curving into the half-moon smile she knows so well. They've changed, grown older, gone through childbirth and arguments and disputes and even a war – but she still remembers the boy that married her to keep her safe, when he barely knew her.

"Let's go to bed," she murmurs, holding her hand out to him.

He casts a glance over at the three bodies tangled under the covers. "I don't think there's enough room."

"Then perhaps, husband, we should send them to their own beds?"

"We can't disturb them." Instead he picks up a quilt, pulling it over the two of them in front of the fire. "Let's just give them a little longer."

"Or hope that we'll fall asleep here?" She smiles, reaches to touch the line of his jaw. He pulls her towards him, bodies pressed together. "Bellamy?"

"Yes, dearest wife of mine?"

"I prefer Great One."

"Duly noted."

"I was wondering when exactly it was you fell in love with me?"

His eyebrows move together, but she can tell he's fighting a smile. "I've never told you?"

"Not in all these years."

He sinks into the sofa, his arm curling round her waist. "I'm not entirely sure," he admits, "but I think I fell in love with you the very moment you stabbed yourself with that knife. Before you did that, I thought you were just a foolish girl; but when I realised that you had enough courage to kill yourself..."

"You fell in love with me in the first minute of our meeting? Before we even met?"

"I sure hope so, otherwise I have no excuse for why I spent the rest of that night staring at you while you slept."

She sits up, the quilt falling off her shoulders. "Why did you never tell me that?"

Bellamy's smile breaks through, reminding her of the blazing warmth of sunshine. "I didn't want you think I was a sap, especially since from the second I've known you, you've been so courageous."

She closes her eyes and thinks of the boy that pressed his palm against her own, that lay in bed beside her every night without expecting anything for nearly a year, that watched out for her even when she was fighting him tooth and nail. There are all different kinds of bravery, but Clarke knows that the strongest, the hardest, is opening yourself up to someone when you knew that they could tear you apart where it would hurt the most. "You've got that wrong," she murmurs, placing her head on his chest so she can hear the beating of his heart. "You're the bravest person I know."

"'...was it worth it?'

'Mate, if you find someone you love enough to ruin your entire life for, it's always worth it.'"

Will Scarlett to Robin Hood, Once Upon a Time 4x07, "The Snow Queen"

A/N: So, for the last time, let's review:

1) So Justin was the one who tried to poison them? Are you surprised? I'm not that good in writing mysteries, and in a way it was never meant to be one. What I really wanted was the fight scene...

2) ...which I hope you all enjoyed. Originally it wasn't very long at all, but when I came to edit I made it more drawn out. I was working up to the moment Clarke would finally use her skills and become a true warrior. I actually had a lot of fun writing that part.

3) Clarke decided to stay. I know a lot of you were waiting for the moment when she had to decide, and of course, Clarke had to be let go to realise that she wanted to stay. That was another bit I really loved writing. I wanted this chapter to show how Clarke had grown, not just in strength but how her mind changed too.

4) So, Clarke and Bellamy are married. Again, obvious, but I've always wanted to do a fic where Bellamy and Clarke get married either without knowing or when they're forced into it. I tried writing a few stories to that affect, but it's only in this one that it felt right. Of course, most of you realised it from the second this story started. But I hope you enjoyed how Clarke found out, and of course her decision to be with Bellamy.

5) I know the ending was kinda epilogue-y, but I usually want to write happy ending for these too. I loved showing their children and Octavia and Lincoln's children, and how Bellamy and Clarke lived happily ever after. Again, originally that part was a lot shorter, but I couldn't help myself.

6) Now, the quotes. THE QUOTES. In this chapter I have used quotes that I honestly love. Firstly, the quote by Lifehouse is from a song that I adore. I've always loved that line, and I thought that it really worked in the story, when Clarke and Bellamy were talking about their pasts. And this last quote, from Once Upon a Time... I love Once Upon a Time. I mean, Fairytales + incredible women + true love (Captain Swan specifically) – what's not to love? And ever since I heard the quote by Will Scarlett, I knew I wanted to use it. I had tried with other stories but it never really seemed to fit...until now. I am thrilled to have used it, especially in this story, and since many of you are Once Upon a Time fans too, I hope you liked it.

7) For the most important part: thank you. I cannot thank enough everyone who followed, favourite, and especially those who reviewed this story. I had secretly been hoping that, seeing it was my 100th story, I would get a hundred reviews too. I calculated that I would need twenty reviews for each chapter – and I am amazed that every time a chapter went up you all excelled my expectations. I am so overjoyed that you loved this story, and the reviews you left encouraged me to keep writing. Thank you again.

So, that's it. I hope you all are happy with the ending. Again, please – for the last time, if you would leave a review? This time, since it's the last chapter, I will try to reply to them. Thanks again.

Hours to make. Seconds to comment.

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