A/N: This chapter is short, but after this, I plan on lengthening them. Thank you for the support, and if you have any thoughts about it, please leave me a review! Enjoy!

This is War

He had been quiet for a long time, processing her words, trying to feel for any sign of deceit that he could latch onto and escape this reality. Clarke sat motionless beside him, letting him get lost in himself. She didn't speak and Bellamy wished she would, if only to take his mind off of what his life had become.

They sent us here to die.

It had to be true, for there were no supplies, no working radios, no anything. Just a rowdy group of a hundred delinquents breathing real air for the first time in their short lives.

"How do these people, these Grounders, fit into the equation?" Bellamy spoke suddenly, surprising both himself and Clarke.

"They- they are barbarians," she began, pulling a tattered book from her bag. Despite its fragile appearance, Clarke did not comb delicately through the pages, choosing instead to flip through them, until she stopped suddenly and thrust the book into his hands.

An image of a man jumped from the page, in thick, dark lines of charcoal. His face was hidden by a mask the shape of a skull- Bellamy refused to believe it was a real one- and a blade gleamed from his hand.

"This is one of them?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Yes," she whispered, pulling the book from him briefly, to flip the page, before handing it back to him. "And this is what happens to those that cross them."

A mound of bodies, this time done in bleeding shades of red and black, screamed at him from the book.

Bellamy dropped it, recoiling from the image and glaring at Clarke. This was all her fault.

"So what's your grand plan, Clarke?" He spat, his rage only growing as she flinched and glared at him. "Get everyone to kill themselves partying before the Grounders come and attack? Do you know how stupid that is?"

They wouldn't be here if it weren't for her and her father, Bellamy concluded, and that realization made him wish to see her floated.

He would never see Octavia again. Because of Clarke Griffin.

"My plan? Let them enjoy life, because we're on earth and we can. Until death comes for us." She bent over and scooped up her book, and waved it in his face. "What about you, Bellamy? You left the one thing you care about miles above where you can protect her. Do you know how stupid that is?"

Both panting, they faced each other, tendrils of electricity sending static down their spines.

Bellamy didn't want to focus on the gravity of his mistake. He didn't want to think about how, for the second time in his life, he let his sister down: there was no fixing this, he knew, but that didn't mean he couldn't fix the situation he was in now.

"I am not innocent, Clarke," he uttered calmly, trying to control himself, "but make no mistake that when people start dying, my hands are clean."

He brushed past her, making sure she felt the coldness of his shoulder as he passed. "Take a good look around, rebel: this mistake? This one's on you."

It was late when Clarke finally emerged from the dropship. All eyes flew to her, and the flicker of flames cast long shadows on her face, enhancing the grim-set line of her lips.

"They sent us here to die," she professed, her voice shaking slightly as it left her mouth, matching the way her hands quivered at her sides. Bellamy watched her intently, wondering if the tension from their argument was trapped inside her, itching to be released- because he felt it deep within him as well.

"But when have we ever done what they wanted?" A few cheers punctuated her words, and Clarke's smile grew: she had them.

"When I said last night that we were sent here to die, I meant it. There are people here- Grounders-" her eyes flitted towards Bellamy, "- that will kill us once they find us. What they don't know is that we are killers and thieves and miscreants, and we will not give in so easily. We are not the prim, delicate members of the Ark. No, we are the gritty, hardasses that are here to claim earth as our own again. Because, like everything else in our lives, it is ours for the taking. The only difference now, is that there's no men in riot gear threatening to float us! Our feet are firmly planted in the ground, and that's how it's going to stay."

The last word heralded a cacophony of applause, but Clarke did not linger to take it in. Instead, she made a beeline for Bellamy, and pulled him along with her as she made for the trees.

Once they were sufficiently far away from the group, she turned towards him.

"You're right. This is on me." Her eyes glittered like the stars as she hesitated. "But I need your help. I can rally a group," she smirked and he returned the gesture, "but I can't keep them mobilized."

Crossing his arms, he took her in, cataloguing the desperation in her pleading face. "Alright, I'll help you," he acquiesced, "but we're doing things my way. Got it, princess?"

Her eyebrows shot up and she scoffed as the nickname. "Princess?"

"Yep," he said, popping the word merrily. "You just became the leading class of earth. Welcome to royalty."