Stronger Together | The 100 [Bellarke one-shots]

Lost & Found

Clarke stumbled along behind the bounty hunter and his companions that had captured her so easily two days ago. Her sides ached, and her hair hung in her face in a sweaty, berry-red mess. The sides of her mouth were raw from the tight gag they'd put on her, and her wrists chafed under the equally tighter strips of rawhide that bound them together.

She'd gotten herself into this mess; ignored her head and let her emotions get the best of her... again.

It was late afternoon when her captors stopped by a stream, and the tall one with crusted black face-paint trailing down his face shoved her to her knees at the bank.

"Wash up," he ordered.

Clarke glared at him, and he kicked her into the water. As the cold of the stream hit her skin, she gasped and the tall Grounder laughed, splashing in after her.

"No more hiding," he said, pushing her head under the swiftly flowing water and scrubbing at her hair.

Clarke flailed wildly as her lungs screamed for air. Water crawled up her nose and trickled down her throat. She screamed, helpless.

Just when she thought she was going to drown, up she came. She gasped and blinked, spinning uselessly in the Grounder's grasp.

He grinned at her and lifted a piece of her wet hair that was now back to its natural blonde color. The berry juice she'd used to disguise her bright, recognizable hair was washed out; only random bits remained a dull maroon color.

Suddenly, the Grounder's smile disappeared and he leaned in, flicking a knife out of his belt and pressing it against her throat. Clarke stiffened at the touch of the cold metal against her pulse.

"Hello, Wanheda," he said.

****

Wanheda, they called her: Commander of Death.

But if Clarke was the leader of death, then Bellamy was her second. Hers wasn't the only hand to pull the lever that killed Mount Weather.

Bellamy had tried to move on – past the mountain, past Clarke – and had even found a girl, Gena, who had become something to him.

And then he heard about Wanheda, and Clarke came bursting into his life, shattering it apart like she always did, damn her.

Now here he was, in the middle of hostile Grounder territory because Clarke was in danger and he couldn't rest until he knew she was safe. He didn't have to think about rescuing her: it had become more than second nature. It was instinctual, something he couldn't explain, only act upon.

The four of them – Bellamy, Indra, Kane, Monty – had barely escaped one Ice Nation trap three days ago when the Grounders had cut down trees across their vehicle's path. There had been six against their four, and while Kane had tried the path of negotiation, this Grounder clan didn't want peace.

They wanted war.

After the brief, frenetic fight, Monty earning the only serious injury with a cut to his shoulder, it took the four of them a day to move the large tree out of their way.

They'd been driving straight ever since.

There weren't any more traps or ambushes, but Bellamy didn't drop his guard. If anything, the silence made him extra wary. Grounders were never silent for long.

"We should stop for the night," Kane said from the back of their vehicle. It was almost evening, that dim, misty time before darkness truly set in. "We won't be any good against an attack if we can't keep our eyes open."