"Victory stands at the back of sacrifice." Clarke feels a calloused palm land on top of the back of hers, fingers threading together as they grip the lever as one. The Commander's green eyes burn with a determination that is mirrored in her own, and together they rid themselves of both their enemies—and their mercy.

Bodies, everywhere. It is all that Clarke can see. Around her, amongst the throng of people reunited with their families, the burned corpses litter the ground like discarded trash. Their eyes are held open, wide as they shoot her with accusatory stares, and it is also all that Clarke can feel. Skin peeling off from their flesh, they reach out with their hands, frozen in place as they seek vengeance upon the woman who caused their death, fingers curled into wicked claws that seek to run deep gauges into her sanity. They lay unmoving, and yet it is all that is required to cause a fresh wave of tears to appear in Clarke's eyes.

"What have I done?" Her voice shakes. Their screams echo in her ears, drowning out the joyful cheers of the crowd. She stands there, seemingly the only one who is weighed down by her decision to massacre an entire gathering, and she feels droplets stream down her cheeks, leaving hot trails on her flesh. She makes no move to wipe them, however. In fact, she makes no move at all. "I killed them all."

"Clarke." A voice swims into her consciousness, causing her to turn around and eye the Commander, who has been standing by her side the entire time. Her voice is strong against the hum of the crowd, the buzz of the Mountain's lights overhead, fighting through the noise to reach Clarke's ears, as well as her heart.

"What have I done, Lexa?" She repeats this question once more, fingers curling into her palms until her nails bite harshly into her flesh, threatening to break them open and bleed. "They're all dead! Every single one, they're all gone because of me!"

Clarke fights for calm, but it is an uphill battle. Her entire body trembles from the stink of death, and she feels that if she stays put any longer, she would vomit. Even the mere act of swallowing is hard, as the motion gets lodged into her throat. Her nostrils flare as a wave of nausea and guilt subdues her, and she is nearly overwhelmed, if it had not been for the Grounder Commander, whose hands latches onto her wrists and brings them up between them.

"Breathe, Clarke." The Commander's voice might have been soothing, but it barely quells the war in Clarke's heart. She feels it, still beating mercilessly within her chest, and she would give anything to have it ripped out, stomped on until it beats no more. She feels her head shake, left and right, furiously, as if it would help stop the voices of the dead from haunting her ears.

"I can't," she whispers, her voice shaking in her effort, in her fight to remain standing. Her knees are weak. Her strength is frail. Her weakness grows with each gulp of air she breathes, the same air that killed the Mountain Men, both enemies and allies alike. "They're dead, Lexa. They're dead because of me! The people who fought us, the people who saved us, they're—they're gone."

"They are not gone, Clarke! Do not be blind!" The Commander's tone is filled with so much heat, so much ferocity, that Clarke stops shaking her head to stare at the woman in front of her. "Look around you. Do you not see the life that you have spared? They are not dead, Clarke. Our people live. They breathe and walk and rejoice with their families, for they have been spared, for they have been saved."

Lexa holds out a hand, motions to the scene around them, and Clarke follows the gesture to stare at the sea of faces. Grounders and Sky People blur into one as they gather together and grin at their victory. Despite their aesthetic differences, they are all the same, for joy reflects in their gazes and triumph shines in their smiles, making one no different from the other as they huddle close to celebrate their victory.

Clarke turns around, a complete circle, to watch as families and friends are reunited—and yet one face is not celebrating, but rather grieving over the body of a woman. Jasper is in a morose state, clutching Maya's hand desperately, as if it would bring her back to life. Clarke realizes that her corpse is the only one that appears peaceful, and yet when Jasper catches her gaze, the look in his eyes inform her that he does not feel the same way as his lover. No, not a single shred of piece could be found in his darkened oculars. Clarke can find only hate, and so she turns away, feeling far worse than she did before.

"It doesn't change what I've done," she murmurs, feeling the Commander's searing gaze on her back. She faces the woman now, looking up into her paint-streaked face and searching for those green orbs that seek to fill her with strength. "The children didn't have to pay for what their parents did, but they are dead, all the same."

"With that, I agree, Clarke of the Sky People, but your hand was forced. The children did not have to die, and if there had been any other way, you would have spared them—but what you did, what we did, was the only thing to ensure the survival of our people. In acts of defence, no one is at flaw."

"But it still hurts. If I could've just—given myself more time to think, I could've spared the people that helped us, the people who committed no wrong. If I hadn't rushed into that decision… there must've been something that I could've done, Lexa, and I wouldn't be feeling this way if I—"

"Hod op, Clarke. Halt. Do not, for one second, think that pulling the lever was wrong. It was merciless, but do you think your people would scorn you for that?" Clarke feels Lexa's grip grow tighter, the spaces between her fingers filled with that of the Commander's until their palms are melded together. "I understand your pain, I am as sinful as you. And yet you forget that pain does not stand alone. Pain cannot exist without relief, and the moment you let go of what you have done, you will breathe again."

"I can't—" Clarke has returned to shaking her head, lower lip clasped between teeth as her brows furrow together in worry. A crease appears between them, a small curve of anxiety as she feels hot tears begin to flow again, each breath turning ragged and harsh.

"I will speak truth. For now, pain is all you will feel. It will demand your attention and it will capture it. It will grip your heart and coil around it until you feel like your heart does not exist at all. It will stay there, even if you will it away—" Lexa stops, tugging on Clarke's hands until they are closer together, two people standing still in a wave of people seeking out others as they are released from the Mountain's stern captivity. "But all wounds heal. You have shown me such. They will leave a scar, that is certain, and it will always be there—but you will not suffer forever."

Clarke breathes in, and though the air is fresh and sharp, it is tainted with the crime that she knows she will seek absolution for soon. Still, she clings onto Lexa's words and Lexa's hands and Lexa's wisdom, for it is the only thing that she could do, for she fears she will drown into her sorrows the second she lets go of the woman who killed these people with her. She often forgets that Lexa had a part in their death, too, and sees herself the only one to carry such a burden, but the ghosts in the Commander's eyes remind her that she is not alone, that, in this crowd of joyful faces, she shares her decision with a woman who could understood her agony.

"You are strong, Clarke. You have shown me, time and time again, the power that grows within you. For now, you are weak, but you are not alone." Lexa's voice grows softer, and it draws Clarke's attention enough to understand her words. It is as if the Commander has read her mind, saw in her glassy eyes that she recognized this, too. "You are not alone, and you will never be."

Oh, what is this? A brand new, fresh out of the oven fanfic from an author who has been gone for who knows how long? Ooh la la! Hello, girls, boys, and everyone in between! For those of you who have no idea who I am, I am known as Alex Van Heussen, but feel free to call me Lexi. I've been here for a pretty long time, and some of you might recognize me for a couple of Jori (Victorious) fics that I've written in the past. I went through a long hiatus, but, as Octavia would put it: I'M BACK, BITCHES.

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I would be eternally grateful. Stay safe, gentle-viewers, and see you on the next update. Ciao!