✮ 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...
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"Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart."
―Corrie Ten Boom
Astoria had woken from her nightmare to the sound of birds, and she was quick to realise that she allowed herself to sleep the entire night.
It was foolish, and it left her sweating in her furs and grasping for her neck when she shot to sit up. The chirps from outside her cave helped to calm her down, but she was breathing so roughly she feared she may have fainted.
She took her time returning to the hundreds camp—instead deciding the bathe the storm off in the nearby river and catch herself breakfast. The sun was warm on her skin but the left over breeze from the night before made her zip her sweater up to her chin.
All morning, she thought of Lincoln; or rather, of what Bellamy had done to him. A part of her hoped that maybe the man had relaxed after she left. Perhaps Octavia had managed to talk him down, or Clarke had gotten a spare moment from helping Finn to put an end to what was happening on the floor above. It wasn't likely. When Astoria left the dropship, Bellamy was set on making her friend pay.
She was worried for Finn's health as well. He had been kind to her since the beginning, even if it had taken a little bit to warm up. Since Wells' death, he had taken time out of his day to have small conversations with her to prevent her straying from the group. But it was also Lincoln that hurt him. If Finn died, Astoria knew Lincoln would quickly follow suit.
When she returned to camp, she went straight for the dropship without greeting any of teenagers. Most of them looked her way, but no one that she was friendly with was nearby to ask questions of where she spent the night or why she left during the storm. She was grateful, because she had set her mind to seeing Lincoln and she wasn't prepared to take no for an answer.
The dropship had a few lingering teens inside, but she didn't pay them any mind. Miller was stood at the bottom of ladder, hat over his head just as it had been every day since he reached the ground. He watched Astoria closely as she moved towards him, but she didn't meet his eyes. She felt guilty for hitting him the night before, but she was sure that once she laid eyes on what they had done to Lincoln the feeling would disappear.
"I can't let you up there," he protested, stopping her by raising a hand. He made sure not to touch her, the bruise on his cheek reminding him of what happened last time, but he knew it didn't matter. From the look on the grounders face, she was going to put up a fight.
"Get out of my way," Astoria's voice sounded calm, but Miller knew better. He shuffled slightly and stood his ground, weighting out whether hers or Bellamy's wrath would be worse. "Miller—"
He shook his head, "Bellamy told me not to let you up—"
"I don't care what Bellamy told you. I'm telling you to get out of my way," Astoria's words were obviously scaring the boy—or more appropriately, her tone was. She was like a snake getting ready to swallow its prey whole.
