✮ Her head wished she had went on thinking he was an infuriating, overly-confident, horribly handsome asshole, that hated her people and always put himself first. Her heart knew he wasn't any of those things. He was a celestial; a man plucked from t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come."
―William Shakespeare
Astoria knew that even if Clarke's plan worked—if Abby was able to help Lincoln, and the sky people were able to prove their worth through saving the reapers—her people would not forgive her of her crimes. She knew the grounders better than Bellamy, or Clarke, or Octavia, or any of the Ark's chancellors. Just as it had gone last time, her people wouldn't negotiate peace as long as she was being harboured. As much as Clarke didn't want to believe it, her new life on Earth would need to be built upon Astoria's death.
Still, when Clarke asked her to return to camp alongside her and Finn to convince Abby and Jaha that peace was possible, Astoria agreed. Arguing with Clarke never proved to be worth anything; the blonde was too good at it, and Astoria didn't think she'd ever win.
She moved down the ladder to the bottom floor to wait, because Clarke needed a few extra minutes to ensure that Lincoln would remain stable until her mother arrived. Finn sat at the bottom alone, and only looked up to meet her eyes when she removed her hands from the ladder. She sighed, and went to sit beside him.
A long silence passed between them, before Astoria twisted her head to find the boys face. "Everything will be fine," she assured, but she was wrong. Nothing was fine, but it was important that everyone believed it could be. She was realistic, and pessimistic, because she had to be. She would questioned the others plans and point out flaws that they all wished to ignore, and it kept them alive. Finn was the one who believed change was possible, but Astoria wasn't sure he believed that any longer.
He shook his head, "Even if Clarke saves Lincoln, he won't be the same."
Astoria fought off a frown. "Finn..." she wasn't sure what to say. What could she say to that? How could she tell him that he was wrong, when she knew from experience that he wasn't?
"The things he's done," he continued, pausing for moment and finally looking to meet her eyes. "They'll stay with him forever. We both know that."
She sighed. "I know," she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. They had both done horrible things; things that would haunt them for the rest of their lives; things they'd never be able to live down. "But... when you do things you regret, it isn't about trying to forget them. If we ignored all the lives we've taken, if we didn't carry them on our backs everyday, then they were taken for no reason. You need to learn to live with them, and I'm going to help you do that."
She had done it herself; sure, she still felt guilt when she killed, and some nights she was kept awake by the ghosts of her victims, but she didn't let them consume her every moment. She forced herself to push forward. Perhaps it had changed her—made her harder, and less capable of kindness and love—but she wasn't sure there was another option.
