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“You are her mother.
Why did you not warn her?
She watched eyes much like her own, filled with unshed tears of guilt. This was not her daughter. This was not the young woman who fought for the right of the Ark to know about the lack of oxygen. Not the girl who used to draw pictures of the world on whatever she could find. Not the child who asked too many questions and cried for characters in books.
Rain fell as if the world were crying for the souls of the dead and the ones living. Pouring onto heads of warriors, washing them clean of the blood of both their brothers and their foes. She never imagined standing next to grounders, working alongside savages yet here she was.
Abby could see Clarke in the distance the grey of sky and shadows of the forests cast all of them in a darkness that matched the way how black and white had blurred. This woman she saw, holding her back straight, her eyes searching.
She was no longer her Clarke.
Hold her like a rotting boat
and tell her that men will not love her
if she is covered in continents…
Her skin was covered in dirt, her eyes were darkened with paint. She resembled Lexa more than she looked like the man Abby had married. Since when had her daughter disappeared, when had she been swallowed by gladiator? When had she traded her kind heart for stone like warfare? Abby wanted to scream. She is not a weapon! She was my daughter! What have you done to her?
She was dangerous, leading armies with the sweep of her arms. And that scared her.
“Abby.”
Her eyes moved to Kane, his dark hair soaked and suck to his head. He carried no gun like the others, his deep dirt colored eyes bore into hers and she might has well of written her emotions on her sleeve.
“They might not have made it,” she said softly, watching Clarke’s hands clench at her sides. Grounders waited around her with worried Ark parents. They waited for their children, their wives and husbands.
“They must have.”
“She can’t..” Abby took a shaky breath, “She won’t be able take it if he…if they don’t make it.”
If her teeth are small colonies,
if her stomach is an island,
if her thighs are borders?
Kane placed a hand on her shoulder, a reassuring gesture that was supposed to make her feel better. Instead the weight just mirrored the cement in her chest, the way her heart was heavy. She wondered what would happen, if the other children never came through that tree line. If that boy with war in his hands and courage in his eyes never survived the impossible mission?
What would Clarke do if he had died thinking he never got to save his sister?
“Thelonious spoke of faith,” Kane said, watching the lines in her face become more prominent the longer everyone waited in hollow silence. The rain was only a slight reprieve.
“Can we spare any?” she whispered under her breath.
Heavy footfalls in the distance had her heart in her throat. No one moved, everyone’s eyes were waiting. Guns were drawn, swords raised. In case this was just another wave of mountain men in suits. Faith, Abby.
A collective breath fell from everyone’s lips the moment familiar faces broke that tree line. It was a slow transition, it was recognition of salvation. An answer of prayers. Then a blur of bodies running, colliding against wet armor and mud. Each captive both grounder and sky people were shivering, barely clothed in thin hammy down cloth and splattered with blood and scars. It didn’t stop them from holding each other that much tighter, whispering words that could be translated in any language.
And then there was Clarke.
The man she had so much faith in, bet lives on, lost lives on, stood before her ten feet away. They looked at each other, neither moved. This wasn’t the same as before, when Clarke had thought this boy was dead by her hand. This was different.
This was something far deeper than what met the eye, deeper than any gratitude or ease of worry. He looked at her daughter like he was wondering if he get close to her. She never explained the birds and bees to her, never had a chance to tell her of relationships.
So when a man spent, broken and bloodied stops at your presence because how could he touch something so guarded?
What man wants to lie down
and watch the world burn
in his bedroom?
“He’s alive.” Kane said, a smile played at his lips. Abby couldn’t force herself to do the same.
“She can’t run from him,” Abby replied softly.
Kane’s brow furrowed, his lips opened slightly. The rain fell down his face and off those lips, the dirt washed off of him in a way that the nightmares could not. The man grabbed her shoulders, turning her away from watching the words form on her daughter’s lips, the tired broken way the boy responded to her. She looked up at her own companion, concern in the eyes that she almost saw last when she was in the floating chamber.
“Abigail, what are you not telling me?”
She couldn’t help my smile sadly with a shake of her head. She promised to keep her secret and she would. She would always keep her secrets, that’s what it was to love someone.
“She can’t run from him. She can avoid me, try to keep me out. She could push everyone away and tell everyone that she is okay. Not him. You should’ve seen the way she spoke about him, she would do anything for him.” Abby said, her voice choked at her own words.
God, if faith did anything, please let him love her.
Your daughter’s face is a small riot,
her hands are a civil war,
a refugee camp behind each ear,
a body littered with ugly things.
Both chancellor and second looked over at the two children who had grown to lead nations. Their arms were wrapped around each other, Clarke’s face was pressed into the man’s neck as her shoulders shook. Her weakness was not for everyone to see. Just him.
She would always love her daughter, always forgive her for everything she might do, will do. She was her Clarke. She was still that child who cried at the end of fairytales, the girl with a wild soul and beautiful heart. Abby felt her own tears mix with the rain, she wasn’t sure if it was from happiness or regret.
No mother could prepare her daughter to lead nations. No man could hold onto a natural disaster so the moment she watched her little warrior step out of the comfort of Bellamy’s embrace, turning her heel to look over at the grounder commander.
Please let him love her, with blood on her hands and mud under her nails.
Since when had her daughter become an embodiment of her environment?
“Even forgive herself?” Kane said softly, disappointment in his eyes mirrored her own.
She placed a hand on his. She should’ve explained what it was like to kill something for the good of man, explained what she would have to give up in return. She was no longer just Clarke.
But God, doesn’t she wear
the world well? ”
-warsan shire "ugly"