A/N: I'm a hard-core Bellarke shipper who is a sucker for romance and anything that has chemistry. Ooh, is that a firefly circling a lonely caterpillar? Awe, look! The firefly is convincing the caterpillar to get wings of its own—SHIP IT! You feel me? I haven't read the books…yet, but the show had me hooked.
This took me 2 weeks to write so y'all better enjoy it! (or not, it's cheesy as hell). My flaw is gramma so I apologise if you find mistakes. I also apologise in advance if these characters are slightly OOC. Anya isn't exactly bitchy here and Bellamy is a sugar-coated candy cane I would happily get diabetes from…
Title: Unity Binds our Hearts
Rating: M
Word length: 6,041
Warning: Smut, cheesy overdoes, cliché overdoes, fluff, some angst.
Pairing: [Clarke Griffin/Bellamy Blake]
Summary: It wasn't the agreeing part he was uncomfortable with. Bellemy knew when an opportunity arises, you take it. No, it had nothing to do with the treaty the Grounders proposed with, it was their other proposal; the one given to his Princess. AU -Bellarke.
Disclaimer: The 100 does not belong to me in any shape or form. No Copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Unity Binds our Hearts
… … … … …
He was getting restless, Clarke noted. His arms were crossed over his chest in that stern way he does when time was being wasted. His charcoal strands of curly hair fell against his forehead, illuminating the shadow of his brown eyes that moved quickly to the lake before them. His mouth strummed harsh lines that indicated he was thinking. Maybe back at camp, she thought. Supplies had been a struggle to grasp lately, but contribution from camp always made up for it in the end.
Her eyes danced up to meet Bellamy's. It's been forty-five minutes since they'd received word from the Grounders, requesting their leaders to join the Grounders' leader, Anya, and discuss a treaty. It was unexpected. The camp was filled with delinquents expressing opinions of doubt and looking to their leader –Bellamy, not Clarke, never her– for guidance. Should they risk it? What if it was a trap? It only took a nod from the blonde, blue eyed princess for Bellamy to have agreed and 'risk' it.
As well as their leader, they also requested an audience. Neither Clarke nor Bellamy knew how much an audience was, and decided to take their two most trusted. Octavia flew to her brother's side instantly, followed by Jasper. Finn didn't hesitate to grab Clarke's hand once the camp had dispersed. He told her to be careful and to be aware that this was a chance to change things for the better. From what Clarke could tell, if the Grounders truly wanted peace they wouldn't do anything to jeopardise it; they weren't stupid. Clarke didn't know whether to remark on the little faith he had in her or ignore him altogether. If it weren't for Raven calling for Finn's help, she'd have done the former.
A Grounder named Myorin, offered guidance to help them find their destination, as instructed by Anya. They met up at the edge of the Concordia River down south and through a valley of wildlife no one from camp had travelled into yet. Clarke saw fresh herbs and berries sprouted by some bushes; all with ripe, strong pigments she had never seen before. It took her back to the day the dropship landed and the sun lighted the colours of mixed greens and browns, floating with oxygen that filled her lungs clean.
"Maybe they forgot," Clarke said. Octavia and Jasper were out of earshot and so was Myorin, but she didn't trust it; not with instincts a Grounder possessed.
"Do you really believe that?" Bellamy asked, his eyebrow doing its thing in a way that's both sarcastic and serious.
Clarke shook her head and faced the lake. "I don't. Something must have preoccupied them."
"And what would that be, Princess?"
She turned quickly to give him a smile that vanished in seconds. "Not like that, Bellamy."
But Bellamy had his attention elsewhere. His arms unfolded slowly, his feet finding weight in the ground as if the arrival of Anya and her tribe would knock off his balance. Jasper and Octavia had scrambled to their feet. Myorin remained as he was. Clarke took a step forward and watched as Anya and her tribe walked calmly over the shallow river. She thought there were over two hundred people following their leader, but Clarke wasn't sure. Despite the light, she couldn't identify one life from another. Clarke couldn't see any weapons on them except for Anya, who came to a stop, metres before them. Clothes made of thick fur; Anya was dressed like a tribute princess would.
She spoke something of foreign language and drew her knife out, grazing the ground before them with a straight line. Throwing her knife to the Earth's surface, Anya walked up the edge of the line and continued to speak in fluent English.
"We come before you to unite our clans. We come before you to unite lives. We see loyalty you share among your people and we wish to be part of that embrace. We Grounders relish unity that binds a life with another. It's the only slice of freedom we share; what will only make us the same."
She was aware that Anya was waiting for her–or Bellamy– to say something. She caught Bellamy's gaze and together they walked to the edge of the drawn line, both aware of the wide grin slit across Anya's face. Creepy, Bellamy thought.
"Why should we accept your truce?"
The grin on Anya's face disappeared. Bellamy took a moment to look at Clarke in interest, wondering why their stubborn princess was behaving this way. He didn't blame the accusation her tone occupied with the question. The Grounders betrayed them before, how would they know they wouldn't repeat it again? Besides, what did eighty-five Delinquents have against two-hundred Grounders? They'd be wiped out from existence if a treaty wasn't promised.
"We offer you the advantage to succeed in hunting and keep warm during winter, what else do you want?" Clarke said nothing as she watched Anya.
Bellamy knew in his gut it wasn't going to be like last time. With Anya looking as composed as ever, she raised her hand in front of Clarke. The gesture seemed out of place for a Grounder. It was the shift from Clarke that made him hold his breath. He prayed she didn't screw this up.
Clarke didn't disappoint.
The grin from Anya appeared once more, and if Bellamy was certain, which he always was, Clarke's mouth twitched and mirrored Anya.
"We are much alike, you and I," she told Clarke. "We are leaders of our tribe, doing what's best for our people no matter what."
Clarke didn't acknowledge Anya's words. "Our people need to learn your survival skills just like you do ours. Food, shelter and heat can be negotiated together. Do not be threatened if we fear your motives. You need to prove yourself as much as we do to you."
Anya nodded. "My people will be honoured."
"Then it's done." With that, Clarke scraped her foot across the line, smearing the dirt until the imprint disappeared between the two women. From the corner of his eye, Bellamy saw Octavia reach for a Grounder–Lincoln, he thought, slightly bitter to the mouth. As Clarke made to turn, Bellamy saw Anya's eyes shift to him. He didn't appreciate it, and neither did he like the way Anya called Clarke back.
"We have one more thing to talk about."
Bellamy watched as a Grounder covered in thick fur with bulging muscles stepped forward and knelt down before Clarke. Anger and fear raced in Bellamy's skin as he watched the Grounder's hand took hers and placed a kiss along her knuckles. Anya spoke up. "As tradition of uniting tribes, we offer you a husband worthy of a leader. You will live with us and repopulate the tribe."
"What?!" Bellamy and Clarke said together. Jasper and Octavia remained motionless as they watched the scene before them. Lincoln wrapped his arms around Octavia.
"Thanks but, no thanks," Bellamy said as he wrenched Clarke's hand out of the Grounders. "Clarke doesn't need to marry or make babies for anyone."
"Have I given a proposal to a couple already betrothed?" asked Anya.
Bellamy stayed silent, staring at the Grounder's princess with complete shock. Clarke and Bellamy were friends–good friends! They trust each other with their lives; they depend on one another as leaders and help the fallen people of the Ark live. Their mutual relationship was platonic. His feelings, however, were more than just a little crush, and he feared that Anya knew this.
"I don't see why I need to marry anyone. Why isn't our union enough?" Clarke glanced at Bellamy who kept his gaze on Anya.
"You are healthy and have blood of a warrior; compatible to be a leader, a wife and a child bearer."
Clarke's heart stopped. "And if I refuse to accept this proposal?"
Anya remained natural. "Our treaty will be no more and your people will die."
"I don't like this Clarke. There's no way they're making you into a baby machine."
"It's for the good of our people. They're giving us so much." She said it with little amount of emotion, with little realisation. It stung Bellamy. The Clarke he knew would try and work this out, find some other solution. And yet here she was, in her tent, staring at the ground with no ounce of hope. Bellamy decided then and there that he hated that look on her face.
"The Grounders aren't giving us anything, Clarke; a peace offering and children to train, yes; that's enough to survive. What's that compared to a life of no freewill?"
Clarks' eyes blazed to life as they darted to Bellamy's rough face. "Exactly. If I don't do this, they will take our freedom. There will be no peace between us or the Grounders. You heard what Anya said. I believe there're greater enemies more powerful than them. We need to join forces for our protection. I'm doing this for us."
He snorted. "You really live up to your title, brave Princess."
Clarke rolled her eyes but said nothing, not wanting to aggravate Bellamy any further. Why couldn't he see the benefits of the Grounders' offer? They'd have an even greater chance uniting than living separately, fighting a pointless war that would execute lives. Opportunities don't arise like this any day.
Bellamy shifted towards Clarke. She returned her gaze to him. She saw the scars; little slits and cuts painted beside his cheek, his eye, his mouth. She wanted to know how he got them; wanted to feel the jagged rough surface against the pad of her fingers. Her mouth parted open when his figure moved closer. Her chest squeezed as his mouth lowered to her face, as if he had a secret that the air around them couldn't bear to hear. She could smell the spice of wood and pine cones off him.
"If you accept this, everything we built will fall apart," he whispered to her. She feared he wasn't talking about the hundred or the routine they had in camp.
"We'll be at War, Bellamy, all because I let my emotions get in the way. They want to have peace. Unless you can find someone else of high class willing to marry a Grounder, I'm doing this."
"They don't need to take you because of anything. Don't you get it? You're a Princess to our people; they need you. You know how to heal, you know what poison is and what to fetch. You're the rational one. No one can do what you do. You're their hope, Clarke. If you leave us, we'll have nothing."
"I don't see them looking at me as some sort of hope, Bellamy."
"Yes, they do," he stated. He made her feel ridiculous and if she were truly honest, guilty. Guilty for believing that she was doing this for them, when in fact, she was doing this for him.
And it was for him that her decision became sculptured into hard stone. Bellamy saw it in her eyes. Of course he knew, they were connected that way; kindred spirits.
"I'm not going anywhere. When you need me, I'll always be here," she said.
"Clarke." The tone of his warning sent chills down her spine. Bellamy grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up until they were standing millimetres apart. Her breath shortened as her eyes danced from his lips to the storm raging in his eyes.
Clarke wished it meant he had feelings for her. It seemed hypocritical to have claimed she knew Bellamy when she couldn't see if he felt something. She wished her affections for him weren't one sided. With the hundred merely just over eighty-five, she knew where her priorities lay. Her personal opinions—her feelings, really—would need to be pushed back.
She pried his grip off her shoulders. "Let's go tell them."
It was all a blur from that point on. Clarke stood beside Bellamy, staring blankly at the ground as his words echoed around camp.
"The Grounders have agreed upon a truce." An erupted applause sprung around camp. "Grounders and Delinquents will now and forever be united. Our crimes have been pardoned and War will no longer taint our minds anymore! They will train the guards and teach us ways to turn fur into the clothes. We in return will supply them with medicine, a fair trade."
Bellamy quieted as the people celebrated joyfully with each other. Some cried while others hugged whoever was closer to them. Bellamy turned to look at Octavia, smiling while she shifted her eyes to Clarke. Jasper and Monty spoke quietly with each other, oblivious to what became around them. His eyes shifted to Clarke's look of disappear. He had to tell them, or she will.
"As a gift," came Bellamy's loud, vibrating voice that sent children freezing in their spots. Unlike the warmth tone he displayed minutes ago, it was now slightly colder, distant and hard. Clarke raised her head as he continued, "the Grounders have proposed a marriage for Clarke. She will no longer serve as our leader as of tomorrow night and will move to live with the Grounder who has made her their wife."
Bellamy and Clarke were rewarded with murmurs and objections, but Bellamy was not surprised. He turned to look at Clarke, willing her to see his accusation was right. She stared right back. The way he said it so bluntly and straight to the point had her fighting to keep the tears at bay. Raven was the one to pull her out of the trance, and wrapped Clarke in her arms. Raven murmured something unclear in her ear, but it had to do with the Grounders and the unfairness of the situation.
Bellamy called out for them to return to their posts, before walking away and entering his tent. Little by little, the crowd disappeared with sympathy looks aimed towards Clarke. She neither acknowledged nor ignored them as she went to the dropship, readying herself to get stuck in her work.
Night fell upon them. Dinner was served and the camp was quieter than usual. No one had given Clarke any trouble, except for a few younger ones didn't seem like they could hold back their opinions. Finn asked her at one stage if there was a way to get out of the proposal, and when she said no, she knew what she was saying goodbye to. No more watching Finn get himself in heaps of trouble, or Raven whose inventions always kept her on her toes. No more Monty and Jasper and their friendship that fuelled Clarke no matter how many times she caught them arguing like an old married couple. She wouldn't get to develop her friendship with Octavia (or even Raven for that matter). The younger teens would grow and mature and fit themselves comfortably while she would take care of her own children and a husband she didn't know.
The thought made her want to cry. She was too young to be anyone's wife, let alone a mother. Heck, the closet thing she had to a relationship was Finn, and even then the Universe told her she couldn't have that, not when she had an occupation to fill. She wondered if Bellamy would be able to handle the pressure. Would he find someone to replace her? Knowing his stubborn ass, it was unlikely.
It was the little glance he gave to her when the camp had gone quiet and the guards were put to sleep. Clarke followed Bellamy into his tent without a word. Once the shutters were closed around them and the room engulfed them with heat, Bellamy took hold on Clarke's neck and brought her mouth to his.
Startled, the blonde pushed away and a puckered noise echoed in their wake. It taunted her; that little sound against the silence. It was one of those things where action spoke louder than words. She glanced at him: brown eyes filled with emotion and skin just waiting to be touched. She was compelled to him. Her emotions couldn't prevent the tiny restraint she had. Within seconds, her arms came around his neck and they presumed with their kiss.
Hands flew to their hair, waist and shoulders. Clothes were scrunched from the chest, pulling the other closer as their breath mingled with one another. In a quiet whimper that only Bellamy could hear, he bent by the knee and raised Clarke's legs around his hip, hiking her up so his mouth could feast on her without straining his neck. Clarke groaned when Bellamy slipped his hand under her backside, massaging the shape through the rough material of her jeans. Her hands could do as little, as if they were bound together. She let herself go fluent while his touches scorched through her clothes, making her arch her back and rock her hips in time.
They stood still among the room, lips taunting one another; perusing the other to worship what they had got to offer. Clarke moaned as Bellamy traced his lips down her chin and onto her pale neck. He nipped her playfully before his teeth pulled and sucked. One of Clarke's hands snuck its way to his skull; massaging him while pushing him further into her. It was the most delicious excuse she had to grab his hair; thick locks that the wind selfishly took pleasure in. But now she was here, and she intended to be greedy.
"Oh, Bellamy." The blonde was coming undone as Bellamy further danced along her slender neck. She tugged his hair backwards until his face raised to hers. She admired the lust in his eyes and the way his tongue licked his bottom lip in seduction. Her breath fanned his face. He jostled her up steadily before lowering her to his made bed. His gaze refused to look anywhere but her face, while his hands took pleasure in slipping underneath her shirt. Another whimper left her. His hands were as gentle as they were when he held her. If it weren't for the ache between her thighs, she'd easily fall into slumber.
There was no time for sleep.
Her jacket and shirt disappeared the moment his fingers touched the edge of her bra. That was thrown carelessly. While he knelt to suck and kiss her nipples, Clarke made work to get rid of his shirt and feel the hard abs she had always saw but never felt. Her back arched as he bit one and caressed the other. What is with him and being gentle? She barely had time to answer her own thoughts when his shirt disappeared, and all she saw was brown skin.
Their chests pressed together as Bellamy made to turn them over. Clarke stranded his waste, unconsciously rocking her throbbing area to his hard and pulsing, covered cock. Her head tilted as her fingers got to touch the abs. She bent down and licked them. Bellamy groaned as a shiver danced down to his waist. He grabbed the small of her back and slid his lower area in the centre of her thighs. They opened happily.
"Clarke, I need you out of those pants."
"I'm surprised you haven't done so…ah!"
He swallowed her gasp with a kiss as his hand trailed down to her jeans, sliding under until his skin felt the heat of her core. With a gentle flick, Clarke bucked and rolled her hips to get friction.
"Shh! Easy there, Princess," Bellamy husked out. His free hand slid the jeans over her bottom until her underwear came with it. She was naked under his eyes, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
He stripped his jeans and underwear off and pressed his cock against her pussy lips, covering the head with her juices before he pushed into her tunnel of heat. Their bodies responded in harmony.
She whimpered as he moved. He groaned when she raised her hips to meet his thrusts. Bellamy's arms caged around her head, his face millimetres from hers as he pounded his way in her; neither going gentle or hard, feeling the tightness of her walls around him.
"Oh, oh yes; Bellamy!"
"Clark—ah, fuck!"
He raised one of her thighs over his shoulder, creating a new angle; one Clarke found enjoyable. He covered her mouth to minimise her groan and proceeded to ravish her.
"Beautiful." He worshiped her as he felt her walls clenched around him. "Almost there, Clarke. Come for me, my princess."
"Bellamy," she barely whispered as their rocking increased. He flicked his thumb over her clit, watching her come undone as her orgasm washed over him. She milked him from his release that earned his tongue invading her mouth. She returned it; letting her tongue glide over his in a gentle yet, fierce battle that left her breathless when they parted.
"Mm." Bellamy sighed, and separated their bodies once more. He covered her naked body with a blanket before she had any thoughts of leaving. The thought of her leaving left a damp mark from the afterglow.
And of course she knew when his mood changed. Her hand tugged his face until their lips brushed over each other. "Cuddle me?"
"As you wish," he said, and entwined their legs together. She splayed open mouth kisses to his chest, his biceps, until her lips sought out his scars on his face. Clarke kissed his scar lip and the one on his cheek. She kissed his brow and lingered near the eye. Bellamy responded kindly with gentle strokes on her back, and fingers that pulled gently in her hair. He sighed in relief.
Clarke pressed her lips to Bellamy's once more. His eagerly opened mouth engulfed her passionately, sucking on her two separate lips before his tongue soothed them. There was something about kissing Clarke with his tongue that had Bellamy press her against the sheets again. Instead, he raised her thigh to his waist and switched their positions. Her blonde, wavy hair made a curtain, concealing Bellamy's emotions to only Clarke and himself. He rocked gently against her bare skin, and groaned when she applied pressure. She rode him into ecstasy as he admired her like he had always admired her.
When Clarke released, she lied on Bellamy's chest and fell into slumber. He pressed a kiss to her crown as sleep emerged from the corner of his eye, beckoning him to join his brave, stubborn princess.
"Stay," he said when he found her looking at him the next morning. The camp was awake, all working a new day's job. Bellamy could hear the rustle beside his tent and watched as shadows carried wood and other equipment's he couldn't see. His fingers never stilled on her back, not even when her eyelids pealed open to Bellamy looking over her shoulder. "We'll find a way out of this, just…stay."
She smiled sadly and pried her body from his. Bellamy watched as Clarke began to dress. His blanket was gone and he joined her; the silence hovering between them. Their moment was short lived; she'd be gone tonight.
As they both dressed and cleaned themselves, Clarke took a moment to play with Bellamy's hair. He grabbed her hand and moved it to his lips, pressing down a kiss in the centre of her palm before his lips came down on hers.
"You go first," Bellamy said once they broke free.
"Okay." She wanted to cry when she left his warm tent and was smacked by the cold that pinched her cheeks from heat.
"Clarke?" said Octavia. Clarke took a deep breath before she came to stand in front of Octavia. "There're Grounders asking for you by the front gate." She heard him coming out of his tent. "They said something about preparations for tonight." She felt him behind her.
Clarke nodded and smiled, despite the frown on Octavia's face. "Thanks, Octavia."
Octavia glanced behind her for a moment and nodded herself, and walked away to prepare her morning task.
Clarke looked behind her. "Walk me out, Bellamy?"
Bellamy's face hardened and turned to examine two delinquents organising a pile of weapons to store for hunting. "Just go, Clarke."
Disappointment poured in her veins but she smiled and stepped closer; her fingers itched to grab his sleeve. "Is that going to be the last thing you say," she teased, "just go?"
"What else do you want me to say, Princess?" It was nothing like the soft whisper he shared with her last night. It was bitter, harsher and sarcastic. She should be used to the sarcasm. "Make sure your new husband sex's you up."
Clarke frowned. "Don't get yourself killed would have been fine."
Bellamy leaned forward. "Don't get yourself killed."
She bit back rudely, "Don't worry; you won't know if I'll still be breathing."
"I doubt that; you'll have kids to feed and people to congratulate you."
"Please, don't get emotional for mysake."
"Thinking of you in every waking hour of my life will sure to hurt me more than you'll know."
"You'll have another girl filling your bed just as quickly," she said before her words disappeared from her mind. What did she say? She didn't even think about it.
Bellamy was close enough to snapping. "Don't worry; you won't be here to know anything."
"Then we're done."
"Good! The sooner you leave, the sooner I can get back to my job as a leader."
Clarke rolled her eyes. "You won't last a day without me."
He smiled—not a smile, just a way to cover the pain inside, because she's right and he loved her and the only way to make it easier is if they walked away with bitter feelings—and nodded towards the gates. "You have a wedding to get to, Princess." He mocked her further by bowing, and it was enough to send Clarke on her way to the gate. People watched her go by while others danced between Bellamy and Clarke. Bellamy couldn't blame them; their voices were loud.
Bellamy watched as Clarke was escorted away. Like a princess. He swallowed as the gates closed. She was gone.
Bellamy wanted to throw something and then punch it until his skin was raw and bloody, and then he'd have to drag Clarke back to fix him. She was the only good healer here. Her touch was medicine of its own, while everyone else had thorns sharp enough to slice open the wound. He didn't act on his emotions. Instead, he fisted his hands and barked order around camp.
Lincoln took the Delinquents to the lake that night, where the treaty was agreed upon. Bellamy stayed behind and sat by the small fire, alone. All he could think about was his Princess; the goody-two-shoed, blonde high class; the girl who had been annoying since day one. She was his badass healer; his passionate lover; the one girl who filled his mind.
Bellamy pressed his palm to his forehead. Being in love really sucked, he thought.
Clarke was cleaned. She hadn't felt cleaned since her days on the Ark. Her hair was washed from sweat and dirt while her skin glowed with fragrance she didn't really like. She was still dressed in the same clothes except, she was cleaned. She was cleaned. Clarke decided there and then; she hated being clean.
Anya stood before her while the Grounder, the one she was going to marry for the sake of her people; Comoskil was his name—who the hell carries a name like Comoskil?—stood beside her. Anya waited until silence surrounded the lake. The moon glowed on the silverly blue, enchanting the place with a mystical blue glow. She could see fireflies and butterflies and other glowing species. Marriage never crossed her mind. Standing before the magic, she wished her marriage day would have felt the same way as what she saw.
"Your leader isn't here," Anya speculated as she looked off to the left side, scanning the Delinquents. "Who is to pass you on to our tribe?"
Octavia stepped forward. "I will." With the glance Anya shot her, Octavia announced, "I'm the leader's sister."
"You don't have to," Clarke said as she stood next to her when Anya gave her the permission. "I can do this myself."
"I want to," was all Octavia replied with.
Anya began the ceremony. Clarke stilled as Octavia was instructed to guide her to the glowing, shallow lake. Octavia told her she could walk away now, let someone else take her place. Clarke remained silent as their feat splashed in the calming waves. It was too late; she made up her mind. Comoskil entered the lake beside her. Octavia moved back to the hundred as both were instructed to turn around. Grounders placed rocks and gems around them, creating a circle that entwined with the sea. Clarke kept their focus on their people, watching with slight amusement as the littler ones gaped while others scowled. A few looked bored and Clarke couldn't blame them. Despite the view, she was bored and unenthusiastic. She wished the ceremony to be over and done with.
Anya came before them. "Hold hands and lift them before you as a symbol of uniting bodies." Anya held out a cloth and bound their hands together. She could feel Comoskil stare at her, but Clarke refused to look back as she watched Anya perform.
Anya took a small, sharp knife from her sleeves and poked tip of Clarke and Comoskil's finger, smearing their blood along their joined hands. "Blood binds the heart, and so will your hearts be bound." With the smeared blood, she traced a sign that looked like a circle inside another large circle, and a swirl coming out of the centre onto Comoskil's forehead. Clarke itched for her pencil, to draw the symbol and learn its meaning. In an instant the thought zapped from her mind when Anya reached out to her forehead…
A laugh sliced its way in Clarke's skin, and quite frankly, the two-hundred Grounders. Clarke's heart sprung from its cage. She'd have known that sarcastic laugh anywhere.
"It's bad karma to interrupt," Anya hissed.
Bellamy's crossed arms released as he walked closer to the lake and—if Clarke was seriously thinking of writing a sap story—her heart. "This is ridiculous. Look, no one needs to be forced to get married."
"This is a truce. We take this very seriously. You're lucky I haven't enacted anything that might break our deal for your interruption."
Bellamy stood like a leader against the twilight sea; his shadow heavily contrasting sections where the pale moon brought its warmth to. It was mesmerising.
"What you're doing now is going against the faith of your tribe; 'unity that binds a life with another', remember? Isn't that what you said? Don't take the only slice of freedom away from her."
Anya paused and glanced between Clarke and Bellamy. Clarke held her breath, not wanting to search Bellamy's eyes when Anya was quiet. Clarke couldn't find her voice; everything in her stilled. What is he doing? Bellamy, no, go away! I can handle it…
"It is customary that one of each tribe unites. Who would be willing in their own freewill this pair won't do?"
"I will," came Octavia. "I might not be of high status but I'm just as respected like Clarke and Bellamy.
Bellamy started. "Octavia…"
"Bellamy, it's of my own freewill." She smiled in encouragement. "I want to do this."
Lincoln stepped forward and sought out Octavia's gaze. "I, too, will accept with freewill."
Octavia bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. She let a little laugh go as Lincoln wrapped his arms around her. "Let's be united, my love."
Clarke spoke up then. "Is this okay?" Anya turned to her and gingerly, nodded. She unbound Clarke and Comoskil, who then turned and wrapped Clarke in a small embrace. Startled, Clarke returned the hug. He said something foreign for her understanding and returned to his tribe. Clarke did the same, missing the warmth of the water as soon as her feet stepped over the rocks.
"Clarke?" Octavia held out her hand. "Walk with us?"
Clarke glanced to Octavia's left side and watched Bellamy looking at her. Swallowing, she nodded in kindness. "Of course, Octavia."
The ceremony begun in a new atmosphere, one where two different people smiled at one another as Anya re-enacted the tradition. Clarke stood beside Bellamy among the hundred and said nothing while they watched Octavia and Lincoln happily.
With a final flick of blood that marred onto Octavia's olive skin, Anya announced, "It's done". The truce was completed.
Back at the camp, for the first time since their landing, the Delinquents slept soundlessly. It was only in Bellamy's tent, where two leaders relished their own kind of unity, reverberated with sound.
Bellamy kissed Clarke as she came down from her high, his name repeatedly forming in her throat. It was enough. They don't need to profound their love directly; their movements told them all there was to know.
"Do you think Octavia will be alright?"
"I may not trust Lincoln, but I do with Octavia. She'll be safe, Bellamy. One day, we'll see her again."
Bellamy sighed and kissed Clarke's hairline. "I didn't think I'd see you again, not after what I told you."
"You're forgiven, Bellamy." She reached up to kiss his lips. Bellamy ran his fingers through her soft curls. "I'm sorry, too. I don't mean anything…"
Bellamy hushed her. "You're forgiven, my Princess," and kissed her jaw.
Clarke mumbled back, teasingly, "Thank you, my Rebel King."
While she fell asleep in his arms, Bellamy's mind shifted to tomorrow. Everything had changed the moment the truce happened and Bellamy, for once, was too eager to see the outcome.
Bellamy pressed his nose against her neck, breathing in her fresh, berry scent. "I can't wait to make you happy; to see you laugh and grow with the others. It will happen, you'll see. I promise, Clarke."
He promised again when he placed a gentle kiss on her temple and another as he pulled her closer. Because his promises meant something to him, and only a King would make those kinds of promises to his future Queen.
TO BE CONTINUED.
… … … … …
Concordia* [River]: Latin; agreement, unity. Symbolism of unity.
'Unity that binds a life with another'*: an act of love/affection; kissing, sex, cuddling. The body is what unites two people into one. The blood is what unites a life. 'The unity' = body. 'binds a life' = blood. Join the two and you create a new life.
I'll be working on a sequel called, 'Unity Binds our Soul', staring Clarke and Bellamy's life with the treaty and, of course, a baby! I don't know if it's worth doing if no one likes it though.
Review to see if you're on board with this AU Bellarke journey!