Frostbite

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

The windows in the trading post were locked down tight and the door closed. If it weren’t for the smoke billowing from the wooden stove, you would think that the shop was deserted in the harsh weather. Hail, wind and even lightening made the village lock down to keep warm. Niylah was tending the stove, wrapped in a long fur blanket to keep warm. She worried about her father who had been hunting when the storm hit—so she left the door unlocked, hoping he would return fast. This kind of weather was out of the ordinary, despite the months drawing closer and closer to winter. The hail was heavy and sharp enough to cut and the wind was a biting cold that bit your cheeks so badly heat stung.

This was the worst storm she had seen in years, and she thanked whatever Gods there were that she wasn’t headed to Polis when it hit. She could hear the horses out back getting riled up in their stables over the howling wind, but she knew the village itself would be deadly quiet with everyone huddled close. Niylah was lucky. The trading post was never low on supplies when they needed to wait out these storms, but normally her father was here too. When she did hear some movement outside the post, she was quick to see what it was. It was probably her father with the supply cart. She couldn’t let him wait—but when she opened the door she was surprise to see the Skaikru man from weeks before..

If it weren’t for her sharp memory she probably wouldn’t have been able to recognize him with the ice that clung to anything it could. “Skaikru?” she asked with surprise as she grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into the warm trading post. She slammed the door behind him; fighting against the wind as she did so. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here? Didn’t you see the sky?” her words were fast as she walked to grab whatever medical supplies they had. It had to be bad... just twenty minutes in that weather would cause frostbite. The heat in the cabin had to be hurting him too.
nisl.

OWL

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: amber4

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy knew this was unwise. But recent events had pushed him to do this. He had nearly lost Clarke. No, he had lost her. Word had reached to them that she was in Polis, that the Commander would be calling a summit. It didn't make him feel any better. Though he supposed there was some relief in the fact that she was unharmed. Yet Bellamy had received the news today that he would not be attending the summit with the others. Apparently, his leg needed to heal. But he knew it was more than that. Kane was teaching him a lesson because he had defied orders. He didn't regret it though. Clarke's life was in danger and he wouldn't hesitate for a moment if it meant keeping her safe. Yet his frustrations had caused him to stray too far, getting lost from the others in the midst of the storm. It didn't help that he was having trouble walking, the limp still strong and each step caused pain to course through his entire leg.

Until it got to the point that it was numb. He couldn't feel anything at all. Well that wasn't a good sign. The air was cold, too cold. The wind was strong, the hail and ice hitting him first like small stones and now what felt like daggers. He didn't even know how he was moving his body right now. Resilience. Stubbornness. Perhaps that was a better way of putting it. Whether it was his subconscious or pure conicidence, familiarity started to strike in the male's mind as he saw an all too familiar trading post. It had been the one they came to when tracking Clarke. The woman inside had nearly died, and she had helped them on the path to finding 'Wanheda' . . . a term that Bellamy still hated. Hope was in sight though. So with each painful and strained movement, he made his way to the door. Pausing, it was soon flung open and even sooner he was pulled inside. Relief was the first emotion, but pain quickly trumped that.

His entire body was trembling, unable to even part his lips to speak. She recognized him, and she wasn't rejecting him. Both were good signs indeed. She had asked him a question, albeit perhaps a rhetorical one but he should still answer. He just needed to gather the strength to do so. He moved his lips apart, the frozen nature of them causing his skin to tear a bit. "I thought . . . " The tremble was as evident in his voice was it was in his body. "I could . . . make it . . . " That was the best he could get out. And yet, there was something else he needed to ask. "Can I . . . stay." Until it passes. Would it be safe her? Seeing as the last time she had interactions with one of their people, it had nearly cost her her life -- though for very different reasons -- he certainly didn't want to be the reason that would endanger her again.

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

As Bellamy spoke, Niylah was already gathering supplies she’d need to soothe his tearing, ice bitten skin. Oils from animal fats were used quite often in these situations. She had water heating up near the stove and she was quickly gathering clothes for him to change into. No—she was not a healer, but she had learned enough. When he asked if he could stay she was tense... He saved her life once. She nodded as a response, though she couldn’t imagine her father allowing it. He was not here, though. Perhaps he managed to beat the storm. “I am surprised you made it this far.” She said as she sat beside him. She shifted him as much as she could so that his back was against the counter.

She wasted no time. His clothing was wet and cold from the melting ice, and getting him warmed up was a priority. Niylah examined his shirt for a moment before grabbing shears to cut the frozen fabric off of him. Waiting for it to melt would have taken too long. “Stay still,” she said quietly as she grabbed a thick hide blanket from the pile of furs she took out from behind the counter and tucked it around him before she got a good look at his face. His cheeks were blue, purple and red from the cold, but the important thing was that they were not black. She had seen people lose fingers and toes in this weather.

Niylah took a small bowl of hardened paste made up on animal fats and greases. No doubt it smelt vile, but it would protect his skin. She smeared it on his cheeks gently. “You might be warming up too fast, but there is nothing we can do about that now. You have to tell me if you feel tired or confused—do you understand?” her English was flawless—after years of being taught, so she didn’t mean did he understand her words. She needed to make sure he wasn’t getting worse.

OWL

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: amber4

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy was moving wherever he was directed to, feeling as if he was in some strange state of delerium. No doubt from the state of his body right now. Once he was sitting, he watched her collect a variety of things, not bothering to question it. She was far more experienced with this kind of weather than his own people were. They used technology to survive through it. But that wasn't at his disposal right now. He had to rely on the Grounder methods of doing things. But . . . he wasn't in any position to object. The fact that she gave him shelter was more than enough.

She could easily have let him die out there, or even die in here. But she didn't appear to be doing anything remotely close to that. He watched her as she began to cut his shirt of, knowing the reason she did so but his gaze still fell to the now cut fabric. "I liked that shirt." It was half a joke, a tease if anything, aware why she had done it. Perhaps it was his hazy mind making him act this way . . . perhaps it was just his smart assery coming through to help ease the severity of the situation. Whatever the reason, the words had come out. He complied with her words of staying still, not moving, or at least he didn't think he was. He could follow orders . . . when he agreed with them. And right now, it was easier to stay still than to move. The blanket felt like she had torn a piece of heaven from the skies and wrapped it around his trembling body.

It felt so damn good that he already broke the order she had given and moved his arms to hold it tighter against him. He didn't know if he was still trembling or not. He was just basking in the warmth she was providing him with right now. She proceeded to move a bowl of . . . something and smeared it on his cheeks. She said something but the actions overpowered the context of her words. He made a bit of a face as it assaulted his sense of smell. "That smells like shit," he commented. Bellamy never made the best patient. He hated being seen as weak; he hated being useless and powerless to do anything. Right now, was no exception, even though he clearly lacked the physical strength and expertise to help his situation.

The woman was doing that for him. He was grateful for it. He would need to tell her that. Oh wait. She had asked him something. What had she asked him? He just slowly nodded his head, the words somewhat processed in his mind. "I feel a bit tired." Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that wasn't a good thing. "I shouldn't sleep though, right?" Wasn't that dangerous? Or was he assuming wrong? He just fixated his attentions on her, needing a distraction . . . which was easy enough with how she was tending to him. "What's your name?" He didn't recall exchanging names with her the first time they met. If they had, he didn't remember. Though either way, he hoped to rectify that now.

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

Her eyes were focused, but when he complained about the shirt and the smell she couldn’t help her answering smile. She didn’t reply because she was busy potentially saving his life, but she appreciated his humor—or even his attitude. It gave her hope that he would be just fine. Of course, as his head lulled and his speech slurred, she cupped his face in her hands and slapped his cheeks lightly; hoping that the pain would wake him up. “No, it’s not good.” She said slowly as she looked him over. He was still frigid... It didn’t seem like the time for conversation, but if it would keep him up and talking then it would help him... “I forgot that you didn’t know—“ how funny that her savior really didn’t know a thing about her.

“My name is Niylah...” her brow quirked as she tugged the torn shirt off his arms and put another blanket around him. “What is yours Skaikru?” She was surprised he came here... what reason did he have to trust her to help? Was it because she helped him find Wanheda? Those were questions for another time.

Instead of waiting for an answer, she moved back towards the stove and picked up the warm water. She poured some into a cup and the rest into a bowl and set both down beside him before picking up a cloth and using it to thaw his hands with the warm water. She was sure that it would hurt like hell but her grip was tight and precise.

OWL

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: amber4

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy could already feel himself slipping into the darkness of unconsciousness . . . but a sudden and sharp pain jolted him back. His eyes immediately opened as he slightly shook his head to recover from that. He wasn't in the habit of allowing anyone to slap him . . . but his was a unique circumstance. She was saving his life by keeping him conscious. He couldn't be angry about that in the slightest. She confirmed that it wasn't good, and he tried to take those words to motivate him to stay awake. But . . . it was getting increasingly difficult. His eyelids felt so damn heavy. Maybe could just close them for a moment . . . just one second.

Wait, what did she forget? It was only then that he remembered what he had asked her. Her name. Right. Niylah. That was a pretty name. Or was it just his own delirious mind making him think such things? He didn't know. He didn't have the strength or energy to find out. He felt the remainder of his shirt parted with his skin, though felt the instant comfort of another blanket. "What does it mean?" Bellamy always enjoying hearing the relevancy of names. He had after all named Octavia, from his passion of Roman history. Did her name have a meaning? He was curious to find out. Though . . . it wasn't a question Bellamy would ordinarily ask. He just, felt a bit too out of it to realize the uncharacteristic inquiry. "Bellamy," he answered. At least he still remembered his own name. "It means, beautiful friend." Which was completely irrelevant at the moment. But it was also indication that he was slipping. It felt impossible now, to keep them open.

He wanted to succumb to the darkness. But yet again, a pain suddenly awoke him, this one more intense than the slap. His hands felt like they were on the fire, the contrast of having been so cold, now touched with damp, warm water. It reminded him of something. A familiar kind of burning pain, though for very different reasons. The decontamination process in Mount Weather. It had hurt like hell, getting sprayed with boiling water, and then sprayed with someone that burned far worse. Bellamy clenched his jaw, fighting back any sound or expression of pain. At least now he was awake . . . and perhaps a little more sober. She was strong, keeping his hands in place which was what he needed to ensure he didn't move. "What did you put on my face?" He asked, needing the diversion. The distraction. But also . . . it would be good to know for future reference.

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

Her methods seemed to be working. He was warming up, though it seemed he kept slipping in and out—as though he was between worlds. She could tell that he was lost in that near unconscious state, which was probably why he asked such a silly question. “It means my mother named my Niylah,” she answered coyly while she worked to warm his hands. “She used to talk about the meanings of names as well... I think that Niylah means imagination, inspiration... silly things like that.” Her brow quirked as she moved the cloth to his other hand and pulled another fur across his lap. “Are you a beautiful friend?” she asked with a soft laugh while she set his torn shirt aside. The risk was not gone, but he was warming up and that was the best she could ask for.

“It was grease. When skin gets dry and it cracks, we use it... It also helps dry spots and burns. Your cheeks are burnt from the cold.” She held up the cup of warm water as she shifted so that she was sitting beside him. “Drink this,” she told him as she rested the cup against his broken lips. Bellamy was a strange name; not one she had ever heard before. These sky people were odd to her still, but after the mountain, she embraced them. She was still tense with worry that her father would return and throw him out... He was more of a traditionalist.

Part of her wondered how the Skaikru was managing in the weather... Their scouts had vehicles from mount weather to hide in... Were the rest of them safe? It was hard not to worry about things she couldn’t control—but keeping Bellamy alive was her priority. “What does that mean, even?” she asked in a teasing tone. “Beautiful friend. Handsome? Or does it mean good friend...” Keeping the conversation going would keep him awake while he warmed... No doubt this was exhausting for him.

OWL

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: amber4

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

The answer to his question wasn't quite what he had meant, but based on her expression that followed, she knew that. She then contineud to explain it, speaking of imagination and inspiration. "Not silly at all," he responded. It sounded like a rather nice meaning for the name. Or, as this whole conversation seemed to be a product of it, his half conscious mind void of any filter of words that were coming out. Would he remember the entirety of this conversation in the morning? She then asked him if he was a beautiful friend.

"No." The answer came out almost too quick, as if that was the reflexive response. He had done too many horrible things to be a beautiful friend, or a beautiful anything. No. He was not beautiful. He was a monster. He focused on her answer to his question, speaking of what she mixed in there and what purpose it served. "Smelled terrible. But did the trick." A way of acknowledging that despite the disgusting smell . . . she sure as hell knew what she was doing. Not that he had any previous doubts. For the moment she had pulled him in, she had gotten to work. This clearly wasn't the first time she'd dealt with frostbite. Probably wouldn't be the last either with this kind of weather. He parted his lips, forcing his arms to raise so that he could take the cup.

He started with a small sip. It burned his throat but once he past that, he took another sip and it went down with more ease. Before he knew it, he had emptied the contents of the cup, swallowing the last of it and setting it aside. What does it mean? Her laugh made a sligh smile flicker on his own lips, not even realizing the expression nor the reason for revealing the meaning of his name. "No idea." Though he had some clue as to its meaning. "Maybe beautiful. Maybe a good friend." Either way, he was neither. It was getting increasingly difficult to stay awake, his blinks getting longer and more prolonged. "Who lives with you here?" He wondered, unsure if he should be expecting anyone else's company. Or if she lived alone. He was asusming of course. Seemed like a busy place for just one person.

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

His answer caught her by surprise as she continued to thaw his frozen fingers. When she was done, she pulled his hand under the blankets and sat beside him. As far as healing went, she had done her part. “I don’t believe that.” She answered, instead of answering his question. She leaned against the wooden counter and looked him over with a faint smile. “You’re handsome; you are... brave.” She laughed softly and tilted her head in thought as she looked over the bright red sky person covered in heavy furs. Surely he had seen better days... but she had a very specific image of him in her mind.

She had honestly thought that she was going to die the day he saved her... Or at the very least, she would lose her hand and bleed out alone on the floor after betraying Wanheda. Niylah had been beaten before but not to such a degree. Hints of a scar still rested on her cheekbones and the taste of blood never really left her mouth—but with one shot Bellamy stopped it. “You saved my life—and probably the lives of countless others...” Her people admired strength... and right now he was not weak, simply hurt. Strength was more than just an ability to fight.

“I think that it means that you are beautiful in the sense... that your flaws make you a beautiful friend. Not a fierce one, or a particularly strong or ‘perfect’ friend... But I believe that you care too much and act without thinking out of desperation for the people you care about, or the people that you feel the need to protect.” She knew it was a lot to take from the desperate eyes of a killer, but when he shot that man she didn’t see bloodlust, but instead saw the need to find Wanheda. Desperation. “I think that’s beautiful—and I think that you believe that to be a ‘beautiful friend’ you need to be perfect but... that isn’t true.”

She let out a long breath and shook her head with a grin. “I swear some days I sound more and more like my mother...” She glanced over at him under her lashes with that same grin in place. “My father lives here... but he was headed to Polis. I don’t think he will be back for a long while. At least until the storm passes. You’re safe here.”

OWL

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: amber4

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She told him that she didn't believe that. He felt himself sobering far more than he wanted to, the topic shifting to one that he tried to escape. But then again, it was impossible to. She had saved his life, but who would save his soul? He had to live with the consequences of his actions and knew he didn't deserve to be lifted of the burden of guilt. Her words threatened to do that. Even if it was just for a brief moment. To allow himself the comfort of another person's kindness; to allow himself to think, just for a second that he was not a monster . . . it was dangerous.

A dangerous hope. Yet, he said nothing to stop her. She called him handsome, brave, her melodic laughter making it so much easier to fall into the aura of comfort that seemed to radiate from her. She spoke of how he saved her life. He hadn't thought of it in such a way at the time. He'd been relieved to have gotten there when he did, seeing how beaten she had been. Though he wasn't able to stay to make sure she was alright. Even now, it wasn't until she spoke of the incident that his eyes searched over her face for any sign of lasting injury. Whatever delirium that had previously afflicted his mind was fading, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing.

All he could do was sit in silence, taking in her words. No. Not just taking them in. Basking in them. But alas, he could not find comfort in them. It was far too selfish of him to do so. "I've killed more people than I've saved." Would that alarm her? Would that frighten her? Would she look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? With terror; with the disgust that he the blood of over 600 people on his hands? Perhaps part of him wanted her to fear him, so that she would toss him out into the cold to succumb to the natural elements. It was what he deserved. Death. He had caused it onto so many others. Why had earned him the right to live? She truly thought all these things? Part of him wanted to be touched by it . . . the other part of him hadn't allowed himself the comfort or grace of such kind compliments. What he did that day was not save others, but murder innocents. He tended to focus on that more than the good that came out it . . . even though he would never regret his actions.

"I think . . . " He began to say, not even realizing how intent his gaze was upon her as she sat next to him. He slowly drew his line of sight away from her, though not out of lacking confidence. They said that ones eyes were the window to their soul, and he wasn't sure he yet wanted her to know that he didn't have one. That his soul had been destroyed that day at Mount Weather -- even if perhaps she didn't know of his involvement in it. "You see the good in everyone. No matter how dark they seem." He didn't know her well, just as she did not know him. And yet, there seemed to be a depth to this conversation that was undeniable. "Your name really does do you justice." Particularly the inspiration part. To meet someone so untainted by the cruelty of the world; someone who chose to see the good and focus on that . . . it truly was a rarity.

"Well if that's the case, then it's definitely not a bad thing." That she sounded like her mother. "She sounds like a wise woman." Whether she was alive or not. "And it's rare. To find someone with that kind of mindset." The one she possessed, that could grant a person instant solace. Even if just a short while. She then answered his question, revealing that her father lived here . . . but that he was on his way to Polis. Bellamy then realized that he hadn't said the words that she most deserved to hear. Turning to look at her, a sincere expression on his face -- now that he could actually move it. "Thank you." For taking this risk. For saving his life.

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

Niylah did not see the mountain as a colony of innocents, but rather their greatest enemy. She saw the mountain as a very large creature that turned her kind into beasts and killed the ones they loved. In her eyes, Wanheda—and the sky people didn’t kill hundreds. They killed one. They cut poison from their land and saved all of them... So when Bellamy said that he killed more than he saved she didn’t flinch or get scared. She didn’t see him as the monster he thought he was, but rather a hero who was forced to make very difficult decisions... But she could feel the guilt he carried, and honeyed words wouldn’t lift that from his shoulders even if she wanted them to.

Instead she drew in a long breath and toyed with the edge of the second fur that covered him and looked at it intently while he spoke. She wanted to tell him, you couldn’t see good that wasn’t there... but she still was searching for words. Then he mentioned her mother, which tugged at the corner of her lips some. It may have been a sad smile, but she still liked hearing it. She was told that she was like her often... sometimes she wondered if it was why it was so difficult for her father to be around her now. Still, she didn’t leave because she knew he needed her here.

“I don’t think I can make you see what you’re blind to.” She said after he thanked her. It didn’t fall on empty ears... but she owed him so much that putting some furs on him and keeping him talking seemed so little. “I know what our people did... What our commander did,” her brows knit with frustration, even if technically Heda was the one who freed their people, she didn’t avenge the ones who were already gone. It made her stomach knot that their leader could show such weakness... She understood caring for the living was more important, but for those they already lost... for the reaping that would no doubt start again—she owed the sky people. People like Bellamy. “Those deaths should not be on your hands.”

She straightened up and turned to look at him head on before pressing a hand to his still frigid head. “Out there you can think whatever you want about yourself. You can say that you’re a murderer; that the people you save don’t outweigh the people you hurt but in here you need to see your worth.” She offered a small smile before wrinkling her nose a bit. The close proximity to the grease on his cheeks made her throat tighten. “Even if you do smell like shit, you’re still a hero in my eyes.” She stood to get something for him to eat, and also to get away from the smell, but she didn’t stop talking. She was still trying to find a way to show him that he wasn’t the monster he thought.

“When the armies got to the mountain, my mother had already been killed—but you gave us what our commander did not.” Her words were heavy while she set aside a rustic bowl and served some dried meats and thin cuts of fruit. “You gave people like me justice, and that means the world. It means that what happened in the mountain will not ever happen again—that the reaping is over and there will be no more reapers raiding our villages... If you count the people you saved simply by doing that the numbers would be in the thousands.” When she came back with the bowl she was smiling a little; hopeful that what she said made sense. “Our people are not yours, but all blood is red, and we all have souls.”

OWL

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: amber4

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She started by saying that she couldn't make him see what he was blind to. That was true, and yet, he didn't think he was blind to it. But then again, that was the point of her words wasn't it. That it was not something he could see, acknowledge or accept. He knew what he had done, but his perspective was different. He had made ties to those in Mount Weather, he had met a few of them, crossed paths with those he had killed. The innocents. The children. And then to see them again, suffering a horrible death that they didn't deserve. Bellamy couldn't regret the decision, but he had to live with it. Which in itself, was a challenge to say the least. Yet, there was a strange sense of comfort in the woman's words. A conviction that he had never heard before. Perhaps it was because she was a Grounder. He was hearing it from that perspective for the first time. Lincoln's was different.

She was someone else. Someone who owed him nothing -- as he believed -- yet someone who had taken him in to help him, despite the risk. Just as she had with Clarke. It shed a more positive light on her people, especially after what the decision of one had cost them. Something she pointed out. He knew better than to express negative words toward the Commander, but based her tone and demeanor when speaking about it . . . she evidently disapproved with what was decided that day. And that, that meant something as well. She was right. The death's shouldn't be on his hands, but they were. Because they did what they had to do. Lexa had allowed the Arkers to take all the risks, make all the sacrifices . . . and she came out with her people intact -- for the time being anyway. "But they are," he said in a quiet voice, heard only perhaps due to their close proximity. He looked at her with her hand on his skin, as she went on to tell him that he needed to see his worth here.

Part of him wanted to, the other part of him, the more dominant one, knew he didn't deserve it. He had wronged so many, destroyed so many lives . . . for even the culling was not far from his mind and heart. "Why?" He asked, not really over thinking his reasons for the inquiry. Why did he need to see his worth? "I don't regret what I did," he admitted to her, knowing it probably made him sound more like a monster. "I just . . . " He looked passed her, not really looking at anything in particular. He slightly srunchled his nose for a moment, sniffing without any cause of tears. A gesture he did that often indicated the attempt of a suppression of emotions. "I made a decision that put more worth on certain human live's than others." He had chosen the fact that his people deserved to live, that they were worth killing the others for. "I had no right to. But I did." He took the blame because the person that he was meant to get through it with, was not a part of the healing process. So why should he not individualize it.

Her words of him being a hero made his heart twist with emotion. A hero. He was ashamed to have anyone consider him that. He wanted to find some sort of relief and joy in it . . . but he couldn't. "You shouldn't think like that," he told her, disagreeing with it. He was not a hero. He was a murderer. And yet . . . she seemed to genuinely think differently. He couldn't deny the gratitude that his heart swelled with, but also all too aware that he shouldn't allow himself to silently sit and let another paint him as a heroic figure that he didn't deserve to be named as. His eyes remained fixated on the nothingness in front of him, though she continued to talk. And when she did, it made his eyes finally rest on her once more. So that was why she saw him and perhaps even Clarke considering how she helped her, in this way. It was one of the many reasons, Bellamy had never understood the Commander's decision. When it had come to Finn, she demanded justice from them. But she left the Mountain Men alive; those who had been the real threat, who had killed more than 18 of her people.

And they didn't lose a single damn thing in the deal. They only gained from it. What was stopping them from continuing to hunt her people? They would need the blood for future generations. "Jus drein jus daun." He wasn't an expert in Trigedasleng, but that phrase he knew all too well. There was an undeniable logic to her words. He knew it. He knew that the threat had to be fully eliminated and that the Commander's decision had not done that long term. Only for the moment. That single moment. "I'm sorry for your loss," he told her in a voice thick with sincerity. It was not easy to lose a mother. He knew that all too well. "Justice had been given," he agreed, unable to deny her words and the rationality behind them.

"I only wish it was solely directed to the people who deserved it." Not the innocents. Had it just been the Mountain Men they killed, Bellamy's heart would not be so plagued with pain and the weight of his actions. He looked at the food she set before him, not feeling particularly hungry in this moment. All blood is red. Everyone had a soul. Did they? Did he still have a soul? Was there anything left of it? "If everyone could see it the way you do, everything would be a hell of a lot easier," he stated. His words held a slight flicker of a smirk, albeit a faint one . . . but his words were not in jest. They were all people at the end of the day. And yet, they had become enemies at the same time. The ceasefire had not lasted, and there would be a war approaching soon enough. Peace was a foreign concept down here, and it was not going to become any more known.

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

Bellamy clung to his guilt like a rabid dog clutching a cut of meat, and Niylah couldn’t say anything. She was not shocked into silence, but instead simply did not know what to say. How did you argue with a man who had already sentenced himself to a life of guilt. How many deaths did he blame himself for? How much guilt was he carrying alone? When war happened, an army killed thousands—but no one man had to hold onto the guilt of those who did not have to die. Heda did not show that kind of conviction either. Death was a part of the never ending fight... Innocents died. All Niylah could do was listen to his self depreciation. “If there had been any other way, Bellamy, you would have done it I’m sure.” She let out a low sigh and once again felt his temperature and ran her fingers through his knotted locks.

Jus drein jus daun. Words she had grown with... Words that were embedded into the heads of every single whelp the moment they learned to speak. Blood must have blood. A never ending cycle of war—finished only by a sea of enemy blood. The world was painted red by those words, and yet they were the pillar of her people—so much so that Bellamy knew them and used them... It made her cringe, though she was not innocent. She wished she did not believe in them, yet until the mountain fell she felt an impossible void; a hunger for the rivers of blood they were owed. “Jus drien jus daun.” She repeated heavily with a deep frown. Her expression was twisted into one of disgust for that very idea. Violence answered with violence. It was the only way justice was ever given.

The sounds outside made her stiffen, if only for a moment. The wind hit the small post with all the fury of a thousand storms, but they were safe. “Come,” she said as she stood and carefully moved the furs to make it easier for him to stand. She couldn’t carry him, or she would have. “You need to lay down now. You are warmer... and this... isn’t helping you.” She swallowed hard as she considered her words. “You’re drowning yourself in guilt. I don’t know how you...” another sigh separated her words. “You seem so strong. You are... You have to be to carry that around with you...” She reached down and wrapped her arm around him, under his shoulder to help him. “You need to rest. I’ll watch over you to make sure you are alive.” She offered a small smile while she moved to pull him up.

OWL

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: amber4

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She was right. He would have. What they had to do, was not their first option. It had been their last resort. Their only option. The only way to save everyone. It was either his people that die, or those in the Mountain. It was a horrible choice, placing value on humans lives; prioritizing one group of innocents over the other. But alas. It had been a decision made. Bellamy was always the more emotional one out of what used to be him and his coleader.

He hated that that, mixed in with his state had left him vulnerable and practically exposed -- not physically, but emotionally. He hated that he was too delerious to just shut up and keep everything inside, as he always did. Instead, he had burdened her not only with his presence, but his conscience too . . . the latter being far more heavy than the former. The gesture of her fingers running through his hair was always a comforting one, and he found himself closing his eyes as he just basked on that sensation. He didn't deserve any comfort right now. Then again, he didn't deserve to be saved either. But she had. She had saved his unworthy life.

Her repetition of those damn words left a chill running through him, though not from the cold, not did his body show any visible sign of it. It was just from the magnitude of the words. The way they were selective, chosen only for when it was appropriate for the Commander to decide when blood must have blood. He opened his eyes when she prompted him, assisting him in standing. He felt so ridiculously weak, but his body was still recovering, so couldn't deny the aid she offered him. Her words sounded even more tempting, suggesting that he lie down, that this . . . wasn't helping. It was true. But it was also now the perpetual state he lived his life in.

Sleep never came easy. Night was always the worst. At Arkadia, he would find ways to occupy his time, but here . . . there was only her. And he already felt guilty enough for what he had burdened her with. As he rose to his feet, the earlier numbness of his leg wound wore off and his face slightly twisted with a cringe. But he didn't let it effect him too much. Her help was allowing him to move with enough ease, as much as could be expected. "I bare it so they don't have to," he said. The words that Clarke had said to him before she departed. It was his burden to carry. And he would do it . . . for the sake of his people.

She told him she would keep an eye on him, and well, her company was obviously most welcome. "You should rest too," he told her. He couldn't imagine this was how she would want to spend her night, looking after a patient that wasn't even among her own people. He moved one arm around her for support, wishing he didn't have to, but lacking the strength to oppose what his body needed right now. "I'm fine anywhere," he continued. He had slept on the floor for most of his life on the Ark -- giving his mother and Octavia the beds -- and then camp was the same way. He would be fine anywhere.

[amber4]

TRY NOT TO RUN FROM THIS FREEDOM ALWAYS HAS A PRICE TO PAY tagged: Bellamy Blake

Niylah ignored Bellamy as he told her he could sleep anywhere. He seemed almost paternal in a sense, where he wanted to care for those around him even though he clearly needed to be cared for. She couldn’t help her small smile as she pulled back the thick blankets on her bed and moved to get him settled. “You don’t have to take care of me, Bellamy.” Despite the room being warmer, you could still hear the wind howling mercilessly against the trading post. The walls shook under the pressure and even Niylah grew stiff with worry. “Somebody has to make sure this place doesn’t blow away while you sleep.” She offered a small smile as she pulled the blankets back up again. Now that his condition was improving, was he going to be a bigger pain? She wouldn’t let him talk himself out of being looked after.

She stood up again and began blowing out candles in the shop, leaving only her room well lit and one candle in the window in case her father did return. “I will rest when the storm passes.” She made her way back to the bed and sat beside it on the ground with her back against the wooden wall beside her.

Her thoughts took a turn she didn’t want them to take—though she didn’t know why she would feel as hurt as she would if he left without telling her. It was silly to think like that, but she wanted to know he was okay. “Bellamy if I fall asleep, wake me before you go so that I can make sure you’re better.” Niylah’s words were firm. “I don’t plan on sleeping until I know you won’t slip away on me, but just in case.” She looked up at him and rested slightly against the side of the bed. “Are you... okay?” she didn’t mean health wise... She kicked up a lot of dust and toyed with his demons, whether she intended to help or not.

OWL