Never Let You Go// The 100

I Love You, Princess

 *Chapter 9*

 "I met a boy whose eyes showed me that the past, present and future were all  

 the same thing." 

 - Jennifer Elisabeth

 Clarke Griffin was what you could call an untold legend. She was someone you didn't read about in a textbook or looked up on Google, but someone you heard stories about. Stories that were passed down from grandmothers and grandfathers with war in their eyes and memories on their tongues. 

 At first, you didn't believe them. Only for a second. They were old and their minds had faded. Maybe it was something they had made up. But, no, it was true. Clarke Griffin was a legend in many ways. But most importantly because she was a rebel.

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 The wounded soldiers came rushing in looking like they had just seen ghosts. Their faces were white underneath the blood and dirt and fear. Clarke knew that expression well. She saw it every minute of every day working with the Red Cross. She made that expression when she was on the battlefield herself. But that was long ago. 

 "Griffin." Raven said urgently, pulling Clarke away from the entrance of the tent. Somedays Clarke was right on top of things, handing out medicine and whatnot. Other days it took a lot to get her to pay attention to anything. War had changed her in ways she wasn't even sure of.

  "What do we have?" Clarke asked, shaking all the stray thoughts from her mind. 

 "3 gunshot wounds to the leg, 2 to the arm, 1 to the chest. 6 stab wounds to various places. 4 dehydration and 4 small scratches in need of stitches." Raven recited, looking over a messy list. Clarke surveyed the room, trying to focus on the job at hand. Today was one of those bad days.

  "What's the worst?" Clarke questioned, blinking at the 20 new men that had crowded into the tent. There was so much blood and so much chaos, yet it didn't affect her. That was why she had enlisted in the first place right?

 "The chest. He's got dehydration too and is gonna need some stitches for his head." Raven said, nodding to one of the beds. There were so many nurses surrounding him that Clarke couldn't even see the patient. 

 "I'll take that one." Clarke nodded, before slipping away towards the crowd. The whole tent was buzzing, making Clarke's head spin. Sometimes she wished that she didn't have to be the boss.

 "Alright, everyone shut up!" she shouted, causing the whole tent to stop in its tracks. Every nurse, patient, and doctor was silenced. 

 "Patients please find a cot and sit down, I don't care that you feel fine. Whoever has a bullet or stab wound must see a doctor or nurse immediately. Stitches can wait."Now all of you," Clarke pointed to the group surrounding the chest wound patient. "Get the hell out of my way and find your own case." 

 Everyone knew Clarke was the boss so she didn't need to say things twice. The nurses fled the scene, finding other patients to tend for. The remaining patients grumbled a bit but eventually found seats somewhere. Despite being a woman, everyone listened to Clarke. 

 The man in front of her was in worse condition than she expected. His chest looked like it was torn apart, with blood soaking through his torn shirt that made it look like skin. His whole face was covered in so much mud and blood that his face seemed almost inhuman. And all the while he was still conscious. 

 "Hey, sweetie." Clarke whispered, taking his face in her hands and checking that he was still alive. His eyes were barely open but they looked straight at her as if he was totally fine. "Can you tell me what your name is?"