Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

Welcome to Polis

Clarke's POV

After a long, hard day of riding, they finally arrived at Polis - the Grounder capital located on this side of the continent. Clarke had been expecting a large encampment of tents and huts, a makeshift metropolis that the Grounders had built out of a ruined town. After all, it had long been assumed that the bombs had destroyed all major cities, leveling every building from east to west. But, in truth, Polis was unlike anything Clarke had ever seen before. Buildings and brick houses stood proud in the starlight. It was in a dilapidated and saddening state of disrepair, yes, but it had remained resilient against the tide of war.

The Commander halted the riding party with a closed fist, coming to a stop on top a hill overlooking the city. Clarke edged her horse closer to the slope, careful not to draw attention to herself.

The city, she noted, was not simply a city, but a harbor full of war canoes and rusted ships. And beyond the harbor lay the open ocean, so vast, that it was hard for Clarke to comprehend the enormity of it. Torchlight, too, doused the harbor city in a soft, golden glow. And, for a moment, she told herself it was electricity and not manmade flame. The simple beauty of it all enamored and captivated Clarke's imagination.

So this was what the Old World was like.

"My people!" Lexa began, interrupting Clarke's thoughts and trotting her horse back and forth in front of the enormous party. "Tonight marks the first night of peace and stability. Tonight marks the first night of our coalition. With the help of the Skypeople, we will finally be able to settle old debts, bad blood and archaic alliances."

There was an uproar of united agreement. Grounders pounded their chests and raised their weapons to the air - a completely ironic gesture.

"Lay down your arms, my brothers and sisters, for we cannot foster peace with brute force. We will not hide behind crude weapons, closed fists - the accords strictly forbid such cowardly actions in times of commune. Violence in the capital will not be tolerated!"

Clarke's mare was prancing beneath her, unsettled by the noise and energy. From behind, Bellamy approached on his shaggy gelding, his face pale and posture slouched. She looked at him with concern. The long ride had weakened him greatly. With his sensitive wound still far from healed, Clarke feared that all this movement had only enflamed it. Bellamy moaned in pain, attempting to form coherent words, but none would come.

If Clarke did not treat the injury soon, she feared it would be too late.

"Have courage," Lexa went on, her voice ringing with passion. "Do not let old wounds fester, there is strength in peace. Dispose of your weapons and rally your resolve. Tonight, we ride onwards!"

The Grounders hooted and hollered, chanting ancient chants. They repeated Lexa's name like a rallying war cry before galloping down and upon Polis. The Commander remained where she was, staring off after her people. A rare smile tugged at her lips as she sat calmly atop her black horse.

When Clarke approached with Bellamy's horse in hand, Lexa swiveled her head and gazed at them with distaste.

"Yes, Clarke?" She snapped.

"I need to redress his wounds," Clarke replied, her voice dripping with ice. "Bellamy needs to recover somewhere safe and away from the chaos."

Lexa waited several seconds before replying. "There is a brick house next to the capital building where all the leaders will be residing for the next few days. You should be able to find it, it's marked clearly enough."

Then, she dug her heels into her horse's sides and rode off into the night without another word. Clarke stared after her for a moment, watching her disappear into the illuminated city, before turning her attention back to Bellamy.