First fan-fic. I don't own The 100 or any characters in it.

Hope you enjoy.

Bellamy P.O.V

The bushes rustle as nine year old Bellamy squirms his way through the bushes not wanting to be seen. He stops moving and all became quiet, well for a few seconds anyway.

"Found you," seven year old Clarke said smugly, puffing out her chest. Her blonde hair out, flowing all over her dress.

"No fair, you just ask the gardeners where I've hid."

Clarke had been Bell's best friend ever since he got a job as a servant boy for Queen Abigail and King Jakob, Clarke's parents. Although the pay is ok, three gold pieces a week, the work is tiring and dirty. Working in the stables, taking the manure out to the gardens, feeding the dogs, sometimes they mistake Bellamy's fingers for their dinner. He worked from day to dusk, and once home Bellamy would look after his two year old sister Octavia, ever since his dad walked out on him and his mother taken to the tavern every night seeking a distraction, he had became Octavia's new carer .

Life was hard for young Bellamy but working for royalty did have its perks, after all the big impressive feast all the servants got to take home some leftover food from the feasts, which were always a delicious. And the housing that came with working at the castle, no rent needed to be paid as long as he worked there.

It had been an ordinary day when it happened, he had just been sent to move some furniture to the guest house to make room for Clarke's Coronation, to become an official Princess. The day he dreaded for the day Clarke becomes Princess is the day their friendship ends. For it is not good form for royally to be around their subordinates.

Bellamy was having difficulty carrying this ridiculously heavy chair through the corridors and stairwells of the castle. What was this made of mahogany? Bellamy thought as a cluster of people walked by. Good lord, that is Duke Jaha and his son Wells, the boy that Clarke is already arranged to marry. He hated the concept of arranged marriage especially if it's Clarke. For who should not be able to marry out of love. He quietly place the chair down, he let out a little yelp of pain as he put the chair down on his toes. He tried to ignore the pain in his toes, he awkwardly bowed to the passing royals, it was hard to bend down because the more he moved the mor painful it got, none of them taking any notice to him. why should they he was just a mere servant?

Once he had finished his first lot of rounds, he had ten minutes off, which he usually spent with Clarke but he figured that the Coronation would fill up her schedule. He walked down to the gardens, he usually found one of the gardener's son, Monty working for a bit of extra wages. He was a nice guy, usually using his look of innocence to bypass his mischiefs, stealing bread or candles.

Monty was found behind the herb garden playing some sort of game on this weird looking board, painted in a black and white checkered pattern, moving round pieces. He was playing with his friend, well they were more like brothers, Jasper. He was an interesting boy always, with gangly limbs, skinny boy and a mop of brown hair where he would always wear these weird goggles.

He didn't make himself known, he didn't want to interrupt, knowing when his presence was not wanted. He wished for something that Jasper and Monty had, a unbreakable bond where social status didn't matter, where one was truly accepted for being themselves.

As he walked across the stone wall, barely half his height, he looked at the huge castle in front of him, with tall pointy towers, secret chambers, dark desolate dungeons, huge halls, rooms that normally would hold almost thirty peasants, libraries full of millions of books, books that no man could finish in one lifetime. He thought of the intricate political side of royalty, the royal court, discussing little petty things like stolen stock to the more important issues, movement of armies, declarations of war, managing peace. These huge thing went on around him but bellamy was just a servant here. Yet he felt he was destined for something more. Something great. But what?

The felling of loss and confusion overwhelmed his mind, why should a nine year old be a servant. Because he was born in that social hierarchy, he believed that an individual should be able to choose his life, what they want to do. Not limited by their status but by their determination. As he thought about the social injustice of the world he lived in in this day, he grew angrier and more determined to make a change.

Suddenly rustle brought him back to reality, guards became unsettled, voices rose and there was a sudden sense of urgency and panic to the atmosphere. Guards filtered into the castle. Bellamy felt agitated, what was happening in their? And then his thoughts went to Clarke, something must of happened tho her?

No one noticed Bellamy swerve through bodies in the castle. People were every where crowded in the corridors but Bellamy knew this place inside and out he knew shortcuts and secret passages. He took many turns left, right, right again until he reached it, the kitchen. There was a small passage to each of the royals rooms for meal serving purposes. The kitchen was deserted, free from its usual hurried movements trying to get food ready. The door creaked as he opened, wincing at the noise. He scurried through the complex of tunnels to the Princess's quarters. The stone floor was slippery so he had to be careful not to fall over. Dampness and the smell of mould was overwhelming and he wanted to get out. As he slipped, almost falling over, around his last corner, he noticed something terribly wrong, the door was ajar. No one knew about these tunnels except the serving girls, cooks and maid. It was a miracle that Bellamy knew about them. But why were they open the morning meal were served almost two hours ago, So why were they open?

Skidding into the room he found nothing, Clarke was not here. He looked around hoping. Wishing for a sign. A sign that she had left to meet Duke Jaha or sneak sweets. Panic slowly taking control. Her fleecy white coat still hung on the hook, she would leave her room without it. Her charcoal and parchment were scattered across her table. Her walked towards the table, praying that she was okay somewhere. There, on her desk, lay a picture of the stars part way through the drawing, with a harsh stroke coming off the side as if someone had snatched her up. Shakily, Bellamy picked up the drawing, examining it, he turned it over finding a piece of text that defiantly was not Clarke's, it read:

-Your dear Princess Clarke,we killed today, to prove to citizens of Arkanian, that to royally on girl is worth more than several low class servants.

Confusion struck Bellamy first. What was this letter talking about? But then he realised something more terrible. Clarke was dead. Pain gripped his heart. He fell to his knees and cried out, tears flowing down his cheeks.

The pain and loss became worse when two days latter, all the servants that knew about the serving tunnels were executed for treason, no one knew he was also one of the individuals who had knowledge about the tunnels. Women and girls mainly, 23 in total, probably all innocent as well. Suddenly Bellamy knew what the letter was talking about? The 'Rebels' as the guards called them killed one but the royals killed 23 all for one.

Clarke wound to of wanted that, even though she acted stuck up, she had a strong sense of justice. So the he decided what he would do next. He would gather his own group of rebels, loyal follows, seeking to bring balance to the world, where servants were no longer servants, where they had rights and weren't pushed around by was determined to become the Rebel King.

Little does he know Clarke is still alive.

Ten Years Later...