SUMMARY: Having fallen into Malivore with Hope Mikaelson with no escape in sight, Clarke reflects on his legacy and the story of a golem that once was. A being, nothing more than a failure. Imperfect: a word thrown at him throughout his millennium of a life. He wants to change that. (Post-Episode: s01e16 There's Always a Loophole)

i know that you're empty

"You don't have to do this," he tells her.

One last effort. The mud inside of him rushes through his veins and his heart thrums dangerously in his ears. One look at the young woman's face and he knows there's no changing her mind.

Her father's daughter indeed. Ryan's never met the Mikaelson man himself and with good cause. New Orleans was never part of his mission, but still, he's heard the stories.

"I know," Hope says. "But it's the only part I'm actually enjoying."

Her eyes are sad and cold for a brief second before they hold nothing but contempt toward him. Merciless, but a hint of joy sparks there in her eyes. They're bright and dangerous and his lips curl in anger. Taken down by a child's play-spell. He's never been in tune with magic. That seems to be Landon's gift, not his, and right now, Clarke is paying for it. A basic imitation spell has gotten the best of him.

In synchronization, they hook their legs around the bars of the railing, and Clarke is desperate not to fall. But he can't do anything. Next thing he knows, his hand shoots outward. Their hands are locked tightly around each other's throats; one fighting to get himself free and the other tightening her grasp.

His eyes flick toward his half-brother for a split second, who is lying still on the grating floor. He's been cold and gone for fifteen minutes now but he knows Landon will be warming up soon and will return from the ashes. When he does, the boy won't remember anything.

He won't remember him. And for the first time in his lifetime when he meets Hope's eyes again, Ryan Clarke is afraid.

Damnatio memoriae for the both of them. Doesn't she realize what she's giving up? Doesn't she understand —

And with a terrible lump in his throat, he knows she does.

And with a daring smile, Hope continues, "Too bad you're so clumsy."

He wants to scream in rage as they fly over the railing together into the pool of darkness below them and he can't, he can't and this girl has stripped him of his free will and his father, Malivore roars and the earth shakes and —

They're drowning. They begin to suffocate in darkness. He can taste the liquid mud filling up his lungs and it tastes like death. Together their limbs thrash wildly as Hope begins to panic over this new sensation. Clarke can feel Hope's hand weakening on his shoulder as she struggles to breathe and for a second, he considers letting her go. He's used to this. But a voice whispers, what if I need her to get out?

So Clarke reaches out, grips her shoulders and pulls her back in.

They wake out of the ground.

Out of the dirt and mud, he's been reborn thrice now. Oh, the irony.

Hope coughs as they sit up, spitting dirt out of her mouth vigorously as she clears their lungs and together as one, the two turn their heads toward the other and stand.

"Undo this spell," Clarke growls. His dark eyes glare into hers as the two face off. "Now."

"No," she smiles, pretending to think about it. "You'll just betray me once I do."

Clarke laughs. Touché.

He'd have to rethink his plan. Seducing her wouldn't work, she'd see through his act and she is the only one currently here that still has magic bellowing through her blood.

Her blood.

Her blood is the key.

"Will you kill him?" he asks genuinely. Clarke's betrayed his father and no doubt, at this very second Malivore would be searching for him. For them. He would erase him once and for all and he's terrified of that.

Clarke sees on her face a flicker of certainty and an annoyed eye roll as she ignores his question and she turns to walk in a careless direction and he finds himself following behind in her footsteps. He really has no choice. "Child, I have walked this Earth longer than you. You have no idea where you're going in my father's wasteland, do you?"

They stop. Hope refuses to look at him. Finally she whirls around and he can feel the spell working its magic through his bones before it dies, still thrumming distantly in the background. Her voice is harsh. "Why do you care anyway? What do you have to live for?"

Ryan pauses. "Besides my ever-enduring hatred toward my perfect baby brother? I don't know. I shouldn't care at all," he admits. "But … I think I knew someone once. Her memory, her life, her name, who she is to me … it escapes me. I should be able to remember. But all I have from her is the name she bestowed upon me."

When he was created, he had no name. Child, he was called. Thing. Every waking moment of his birth reminded him he was a failure. Imperfect: a word he would later then. His father despised him. And so he became empty. He harboured his rage and rounded up the humans and told them how they could get rid of Malivore.

And then sometime after that and he thinks it's after he came back from the pit, Ryan Clarke was born.

He raises his arms out as a gesture and drops them, their hands making a clacking sound against their clothes. He figures it's better to tell the truth and not mince his words. She would know anyway. "He took her from me after I gave myself to him. I begged for his help and this is what he gives me in return."

"You tried to murder him," Hope reminds him in a not so helpful way. "No wonder he took her from you."

They storm toward each other, their hands outstretched dangerously and Clarke reminds himself where he is and lowers their arms, his lips pressed tight before he forms it into a smirk. He needs the help he can get. "Hmm. I suppose I deserved it."

Hope stares at him. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now and let your dad have you."

"I can get us out of here," Clarke lies. "We find all three artifacts and return home in a blink."

A good lie is better than no lie and right now, he wants something to believe in. To give her something to believe in so they can get the fuck out of here. But he knows Malivore will keep them here until he's ready to put them to use. Or worse, kill them.

He's been drowning in the mud for centuries, alone, waiting for his father's guidance. He's received none. But now, with a gifted tri-brid by his side to keep him company, just maybe, just maybe he can finally get the answers he needs.

Clarke's neck aches and he twitches it uncomfortably.

His first death by his own brother's hand and he can feel the moment his neck snapped to the side as bone jutted out from his clay skin as the headless horseman's whip curled around him. Darkness befell him and for a second, he had felt relief as he crashed to the floor.

Too bad it didn't last.

"Would you stop?" Hope snaps. "You're making my neck hurt."

"Blame my brother," he retorts. "He's the one who killed me."

"Well, you tried to sacrifice him and make him your dad's host. Payback's a bitch, Clarke."

Together, the two walk in silence.

Clarke's not sure when it had happened.

Perhaps it's when she had bonded the mimic spell to them but then suddenly Clarke became unimportant. There is no I now. There is only we and us and them.

They work together quite well in battle. With their backs straight and pressed against the other, they fight off their other un-devoured enemies of Malivore who seek vengeance.

They really have no idea what will happen if one of them dies while under the spell and Hope doesn't want to risk it. Clarke agrees. And besides, he learns new moves than he has eight thousand years ago and memories them in a heartbeat. In return when she asks, he teaches her the ancient playbook of a vampire respectively. If anything, he can use that against her.

In one sleepless night, she mistakes him for Landon and calls out for him. Clarke can hear the grief in her voice as she sobs. For a moment, she is a human, not a monster but he reminds himself who she really is and well, this is all he knows. This is his mission. Deliver her to Malivore and his father would be pleased with him once and for all.

She is powerful. A weapon. The cause of Malivore's extinction.

Her blue eyes pierce into his when she remembers who he is. They face each other on the cold ground, taking cover under a pair of dead trees and Hope turns, they turn and he stares at nothing but the dead bark in front of him.

Clarke thinks, Perfect fucking Landon. Can't do no wrong even in our father's body, can you, brother?

Even in a forgotten memory, he is still the lesser prodigal son.

The mimic spell is painstakingly slowly wearing off, he notices. Yesterday or a week ago, they don't know — they had fought, their moves evenly matched and in hazardous synchronization. It had been no use and he's so very frustrated.

Clarke had managed a make-shift dagger and had imagined slicing the young woman's throat when he had pressed it against her throat. Hope's hand curls around his throat, her voice eerily calm, her thumb pressing against his apple.

"Kill me. I'll just come back again but not before I take you down with me." Her blue eyes and red hair is a contrast to the black he wears in this dark world and then she continues with an familiar expression he knows all too well, "You're afraid of being alone."

The knife presses harder, anger flowing through him and a line of red begins to break through their skin and he asks himself why should he listen to a child. Because he's not afraid. Attachments are weaknesses and look where that has gotten them now. Alone in a vast dark wasteland with no one but each other.

"So am I," Hope admits.

I've been alone for centuries. This is what life is.

"But you don't have to be alone anymore. Help me and I will help you."

He can imagine the ruby waterfall pouring down her porcelain skin out of that wide gaping smile and make its way into the essence of Malivore's mud and then he would finally be free. One slice and then their throats would open.

"Ryan. Please."

A brief tremble overtakes his hand. He knows there's truth in her words and a Do the right thing is all but unspoken but Clarke hears it in her voice.

Even if he delivers Hope … who's to say his father won't turn on him once Hope is consumed? Even if Ryan gets his praise … will it be worth it?

Clarke lowers the knife.

Their pleads to Malivore to let them out falls on deaf ears.

Malivore never heeds their calls.

Then one day:

Hope?

It's a voice he knows all too well. His baby brother and Hope, without hesitation, runs toward the sound.

"Hope, stop! It's a trap!"

Hope?

"Landon!" she cries out.

Their legs pumping and hearts thumming, he twists their bodies violently to the ground in a futile attempt to make her listen and pleads to her. Hope's screaming for his brother and struggles to get up but Clarke roots their bodies to the ground. He's not dying today because of her impulsiveness.

Hope? Where are you?!

"It's not real!" he shouts. "He's not real!"

"Shut up! Landon! I'm here!"

This is where love gets you. Choking themselves on an attachment to the living that won't even remember them when they return the real world.

"He's not real!" he repeats over and over and Hope freezes, their bodies half-raised and listens as Landon's voice vanishes to the wind.

Malivore's lure has failed. And Hope sobs, their faces pressed to the ground that smells of death and emptiness.

Loneliness is a funny thing.

He'd gone nearly insane the first time before Malivore spit him back out. Like he was nothing. And he is nothing. He's just a golem and God knows what else lurks through his veins.

But the two are the only warmth in this cold vast wasteland and Clarke thinks: Hope Mikaelson is not a monster but a innocent girl who just has too much damage and tragedy burdened on her soul and together, the two grieve their losses.

"Tell me why you love him," he commands. Anything to keep her sanity from breaking because right now, they're all each other has.

And so Hope Mikaelson explains and tells him of their adventures and for the first time Clarke doubts himself and wonders if his hatred and jealousy of his brother was even warranted at all in the first place.

"Tell me why you hate him," Hope asks him one night after they've gathered firewood to keep the cold from settling in their bones.

He tells her the truth. Besides, who would believe him? All his life, he's been riddled with lies spewing out of his lips like second nature. His legacy means nothing to Malivore. Landon is the favorite son. The ideal host for their father and the one who will bring others like his kind into the world. He tells her once upon a lifetime he had liked the idea of a family. But that had been before he grew cold and the idea of love and family had torn from his heart as the love he craved from Malivore was denied.

Failure.

A golem and a tri-brid, sitting side by side telling each other camp stories. Another irony, he considers. Both of them the last of their kind and now erased and forgotten.

She doesn't need to keep saving him when Malivore sends his un-devoured hoard of monsters after them but she does and he can't understand why. He's tried to kill her and Landon. Why does she keep doing this when he doesn't deserve it?

And soon, sometime after for a reason he doesn't understand, he starts to repay the favor.

They've gathered the last artifact — the knife. And hoards of monsters chase after them and Malivore roars, requesting revenge on Clarke. As one, the two fight back to back, Hope's magic in use and his bare fists raised and bloody. They fight hard and dirty and it seems in that moment, everything is fine.

A deadly mistake is made. His fists had lowered and a sword is being jammed through his heart. Next thing he knows, Hope is on the ground and he shouts in agony before he pulls it out, blood pooling around his white shirt. The spell is broken, but no, that's wrong because it has already worn off days, weeks ago … right?

"No!" he shouts. He grabs a fallen sword from the remains of the ancients his father devoured from the ground and drives it straight through a deformed human's head and tears its heart out in retaliation. Because there's no way he's gonna lose his loophole. No way he's going to let this stubborn girl die on him before Malivore gets to him. No way, no way.

His heart is already mending, already mending and he runs to her and he is born of clay and mud and he can never die but she — The large gap wound tells him otherwise and he wishes he had Hope's magic. He could fix her, fix them —

"I think I'm dying." Red speckles Hope's lips as she coughs a weak laugh and the blood underneath her body begins to sink into the ground. She gasps and wheezes, hee chest falling and rising rapidly as blood fills her lungs, her eyes wide with fear and then she stills.

Her fingers slip from his and the bright red blood from Hope Mikaelson is a stain on his ivory skin compared to the dark around him.

Malivore shakes and wails. His fingers scramble and fumble for the artifacts and then find the urn, the knife in Hope's hand and the dagger and presses them against Hope's chest.

He can hear the sluginess of mud forming behind him and then a hand is gripped around his throat, forcing him to look up. The mark on his own forehead burns as it reveals itself.

No.

Malivore, Eater of the Dark, a dark carass of moving mud and a disfigured human form, stinks to high heaven of death is finally before him.

He asks in a gasping breath, Why?

He never receives an answer.

Instead, the blackness begins to wrap around Ryan Clarke, seeping from Malivore's hand, face and body and his father begins to pour himself into his throat and ears and eyes and he chokes on death. Soon Ryan Clarke will cease to be no more —

A palm slams directly above his makeshift heart and he gasps violently for air when it starts to beat. Hope.

He's not alone, he remembers. He has Hope.

Malivore's mud retreats from Clarke's body and then for a glimpse as he collapses backward from exhaustion, he can see as Hope rises from the ground in front of him, the full potential of her unlocked. She meets his eyes before turning her head to face Malivore.

"You want to be human so bad?" she snarls. "Well, here you go."

Hope lunges forward within an eyeblink, magic swirling between her hands as she grips Malivore's head between her palms. The mark on Malivore's forehead glows brightly. Hope swipes her hand across his father's forehead and screams with her breath an incantation. The mud begins to slide off him, drip, drip, dripping to the ground until one by one, it's revealed to be skin. Dark curly hair the same as Landon's and Clarke's; those same dark piercing eyes grow wide in confusion and Malivore raises his hands behind Hope's shoulders in newfound curiosity. His fingers curl into Hope's hair when realization hits him and he yanks her head back violently.

Clarke staggers to his feet and his fingers latch onto the one of the keys, the knife or dagger, he doesn't know and he lurches forward. He grabs Hope's shoulders and pulls her away from Malivore.

Malivore's never been a fighter. He's never really needed to fight when all he did was consume. And so when Hope's clear of him, Clarke doesn't hesitate. Wasting no time, Clarke expertly drags the knife across Malivore's throat in one clean arc.

"That's the thing about being human," he tells him. "You bleed."

Malivore struggles to stitch the skin together with his fingers and ultimately fails, his eyes wide and gushing red blood. Clark turns and sees Hope and gives her a nod; Hope's face rapidly changes as she sinks her newfound fangs into his once-mud flesh to tear his throat out and drinks and then the world flares to white with a bang.

Triad Industries is gone.

That's the first thing he notices when they wake up on the ground instead. A dead green land, a clear blue sky above their heads.

They've returned.

The second? He's not alone. They're not alone. Around Clarke and Hope, thousands of other humans and creatures have begun to wake and stir.

The third thing is, and he thinks it sounds crazy but Clarke thinks he's … alive. He can't really explain it but Clarke can feel the difference between the once mud and the now crimson blood flowing through his veins. When he accidentally slices his fingertip on a sharp blade of grass as he gets to his feet, a red bead slowly drips down his finger and when he tastes it, it tastes like copper. Not death.

When he looks to Hope, she offers no explanation and just raises an eyebrow, Malivore's blood still staining her lips. "Well. Let's find out how we can get ourselves un-Obliviated, shall we?"

The Salvatore School is still standing when they push past the front door. They're met with a few familiar faces and weapons pointed at them.

"Hope?"

"Landon?" Hope asks. Her eyes are wide and she blinks several times in disbelief and then she's running.

It's Landon. Alive and in the flesh, his green eyes confused and worried but realization hits him and then he's running to her. The former Phoenix gathers her up in his arms and twirls her around as he presses his lips to hers.

"Oh god," Landon says, when he pulls away from their long and well deserved kiss. His thumb wipes away the blood on his own lips. "This better not awaken anything in me."

Hope smiles and laughs, her eyes wide in embarrassment before she realizes that she's had blood on her the whole night before running her tongue over her lips and pulling Landon in for another kiss as Clarke awkwardly looks on.

Alaric has his crossbow aimed at him, a steel glare in his eyes, which really shouldn't be a surprise. "Um … Hope?"

"Oh shit!" Hope exclaims when she remembers Clarke. She pulls back from Landon quickly. "Wait. Wait. He saved my life. Clarke helped me kill Malivore."

"He did?" Alaric doesn't seem convinced and well, why should he? Clarke's fucked him over by using Dorian and Emma for the urn. Landon's watching him cautiously, his hands linking into Hope's fingers.

"Yeah," Hope tells them. She meets Clarke's eyes. "I know you guys don't trust him after what he did to us but he saved us. Me. I wouldn't be here without him. And he's different now."

"I may be human now," Clarke says, grabbing a lone bottle of bourbon lying on a nearby table. He takes a swig and the taste has never felt better. "But I'm still a thousand years older than the rest of you. My knowledge of history over the years, of the forgotten creatures, would be of great use to you and this … school, Saltzman."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You really shouldn't. But all my life I thought I knew my purpose. To rid the world of the supernatural. The abominations. All for the sake of my father's approval," Clarke tells Alaric as he sets down the bottle. "Doesn't mean you have to like me, I'm asking you to let me prove to you I can do the right thing."

Alaric is silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, after what seems like eternity, he lowers the crossbow aimed at Clarke's heart. "One chance. That's all I'm giving you."

Clarke smiles. "Of course." He turns to Landon, his lips parting, unsure what to say. They had not ended on good terms the last time they spoke and he can feel the phantom pain of the whip cutting into his neck. Clarke's really not sure if he's ready to apologize to Landon yet. "Brother … when you're ready. Let's talk."

Landon looks at him, his eyes angry but sad at the same time. In what seems like a heartbeat and Clarke wonders if Landon will reject him which he understands, his brother nods.

Hope is asking something about how they still remember Hope and something about enchanted pens and paintings and realizing missing pieces after three months come into the conversation and he tunes himself out because well, he's not really welcome here. To no one in particular, he says, "I need a drink."

The Mystic Falls Bar & Grill is quiet at this time at night and Clarke swallows in his self-pity with another bottle of bourbon.

Fingers slide in with a pair of twenties to the bartender as someone takes the seat next to him. "Hello, Ryan."

Clarke pauses. Thinks about it because … no. It can't be.

He forces himself to turn his head. There she is. The same warm smile she's given him when they first met. Those same dark eyes creasing with light when she first suggested his name.

Is she real? Hesitantly, he slides his hand over hers, meeting warm flesh.

She's real. You're real.

For the first time in a long time, Clarke smiles genuinely. He feels like a young boy with a schoolboy crush.

"Mind if I join you?" she asks.

He breathes out, "Yes."

So I finished Legacies and to my surprise, I really enjoyed it! I love Handon's relationship and that finale had me reeling so I thought of a "what-if" with Clarke and Hope. I find Clarke's character super interesting, to be honest and so this is the result and hopefully maybe the show will go for an redemption arc for him and he can bond with Landon. (He'd still occasionally screw over the group from time to time cause well, that's all he really knows.) This is also cross-posted on Ao3.

Anyways, don't be afraid to tell me what you think of this in the comments below and I apologize for the OOC of everyone. :)