Hey there everyone!

I'd like to thank my six reviewers: 12, Guest, biscuitdestroyr, Jacob Denness, SydenyRaineOfficial, and Alicia456.

Secondly, apologies for the (way too long) hiatus. While also being quite busy, I have been suffering from the dreaded writer's block. It stinks, but I finally figured it out.

After this chapter, I may not update until Season 4 of the 100 is finished. Watching the show while simultaneously trying to write fanfics doesn't seem to work for me. After that, I'll try to update bi-weekly on Fridays. I'm not sure how the schedule will fit me, but I'll try to make it work.

Once again, apologies for the wait, and here's the next chapter!


Chapter 13

Clarke quickly sat up, and the world started to spin around her at an alarming pace. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, in and out, until the sensation of vertigo lessened its grip on her. Opening her eyes once again, she took in her surroundings, memories flooding her mind at the uncanny resemblance to her own tent in the dream.

Thick canvas walls stretched above her, and a pile of clothes was folded in the corner. Soft fur was stretched out both underneath and on top of her, and the tent flap rustled with the slight breeze, allowing sunlight to filter in through the crack. She pulled back the covers and checked her arms and chest, searching for gaping wounds yet finding pink, healing cuts with sloppy stitches threaded through them. She threw the covers off of her body and jumped up, closing her eyes as another wave of dizziness swept over her. Once it passed, she grabbed a black shirt off of the top of the pile and pulled it over her head, breathing in a familiar scent and ignoring how the hem stopped mid-thigh. She shook her hair out and pulled back the tent flap, wondering how long it had been since she had escaped the Ice Nation.

Squinting as she emerged into the sunlight, she glanced around and saw what her people had achieved under Bellamy's leadership. A smile tugged at her lips when she thought of him, before it vanished as her injured leg buckled under the weight of standing. She looked around more carefully, searching for him without any success.

Before she could search for him, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud call of "Clarke!", followed by quick footsteps as Raven approached her.

"You shouldn't be up yet, you need more rest. Lincoln said you should stay in bed for at least a week." Raven commented, worry seeping into her voice.

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but a wave of exhaustion and pain passed over her whole body, and she closed it, instead listening and ducking back into the tent. She sat down on the bed and leaned against the rough canvas wall, gazing around before her attention was drawn to Raven, who trailed after her.

"How long have I been here?" She asked, pulling the fur over her legs.

Raven smiled, pity and sympathy clear in her expression. She sat down on the floor near the entrance, stretching her legs, before replying, "About five days. Most of the time, you either slept peacefully or had nightmares." She sighed, and an unidentifable emotion flickered across her face before she quickly covered it up with another smile. "About twenty people attacked Ice Nation to come save you."

Clarke had a resigned look in her eyes when Raven talked about her healing process, but as soon as she mentioned the attack, concern as well as slight irritation flashed across her face. "Why did you guys send so many people to come for me?" She shook her head, before sighing in defeat.

"It was Bellamy's idea..." Raven trailed off, the same mysterious emotion flashing across her face. "It was working, until they realized you weren't there."

"Is everyone okay? How many died?" Clarke questioned, the irritation replaced with worry.

"Three died, one is missing, and most were injured." Raven replied quickly, hoping she wouldn't dwell on the middle of her sentence. "But most of the injuries were minor and Lincoln healed them with Octavia's help."

Clarke put her head in her hands, the thought that three lives were lost putting her in emotional pain. She ran Raven's words over and over in her head, nodding in thanks as Raven stood up to leave. At least ten kids were injured in some way, and three were dead, all because of her. At least Lincoln was here, and teaching Octavia how to heal as well. Then, as she ran the words over in her mind again, she realized one last part was unaddressed

Raven crept out to avoid confrontation, and started to walk away, but she was stopped by a call from Clarke.

"Raven, wait!"

She turned around, exhaling deeply as she ducked her head back inside the tent.

"Who's the missing person?" Clarke asked, anticipation in her eyes as she waited to hear the name of a person whom she wasn't familiar with yet whom she would agonize over for hours. She certainly wasn't prepared for someone she was friends with to be captured, especially not her closest friend.

Raven sighed, avoiding Clarke's gaze as she started at the ground. "It's Bellamy."


Ten Days Later...

"Any luck?" Clarke asked, hope lighting up her blue gray gaze.

Miller glanced at the other members of the search party before turning back to her and shaking his head. "It's been ten days Clarke, we might have to consider that he isn't going to be found."

Her gaze dulled as she received the same reply that was given multiple times a day. She had fallen in to Bellamy's role as a leader, and though some members of the group didn't trust her initially, they soon accepted her when they sensed the mutual respect others felt towards her. As her wounds healed, Clarke also helped out in the make-shift medbay when she had time, but she mostly organized preparation for the upcoming winter, as well as the building of more permanent shelters for the impending season.

Miller sighed as the rest of his group went off to their respective tents, and he looked at Clarke. "We have to focus solely on hunting, the search is taking its toll on all of us."

Clarke simply shook her head in response, refusing to acknowledge the possibility. She fixated her stare on Miller's retreating form, and an idea slowly entered her mind. "Octavia!" She called out, starting towards her.

The younger girl glanced over her shoulder when she heard her name, and jogged over when Clarke beckoned her. Dark circles were clearly visible under her eyes, and she possessed a worn, ragged look. "What is it?"

"I need your help."


Clarke peered through the thick brambles, waiting for Octavia to walk into the camp. Seconds later, a dark form slowly strolled in, pulling back her hood and looking around as if she didn't have a care in the world. A moment passed, and then a child pointed to her with an outstretched hand and she was surrounded by warriors, the child whisked out of sight.

"I would like to speak to your queen about a diplomatic matter." She requested in Trigedalsleng, fingers hovering near the blade tucked by her hip.

A broad shouldered man briskly walked into a cabin, and returned with the queen. She approached Octavia, a sneer planting itself upon her face. "What do you want, Skaikru?" She spat the last word as if it were some disease, and Octavia clenched her fist.

"You have one of my people in captivity, and I would like to make a trade for his return."

A genuinely confused look passed across the monarch's face. "What does he look like?" She questioned in return, the venom temporarily vanishing from her voice.

Anger flashed in Octavia's dark irises as she gazed at the queen who forgot about her brother. "Olive skin, dark brown eyes, thick, black, curly hair."

The queen thought for a moment, before the sneer returned upon her face. "Ah, yes. I remember him. He was a quiet one, refused to talk no matter what we did to him. I sent him away to be disposed of about 10 days ago. He is dead now, I am sorry." With that she turned around and began to walk away, stopped only when Octavia let out a screech of anger and leapt towards her, sword in the air. Before a blow could be made, warriors tackled her and pinned her to the ground, ripping her blade out of her hands.

The queen glanced over her shoulder at the struggle, and shook her head. "Let her go. Consider this a lesson, Skaikru scum." A few warriors then dragged her by her arms and legs to the entrance, before ungracefully dumping her on the forest floor. As soon as they were gone, Clarke ran up to her.

"What happened?" She asked frantically, checking her body for wounds. Octavia let a sob escape as tears began to streamed down her face, muttering something unintelligible under her breath. "He's dead." She repeated softly, standing up and looking at Clarke with desperation.

Clarke wrapped her arm over her shoulder before murmuring "We have to go now, get away from this place."

When they arrived home, Octavia had explained everything, and her tears had dried up. She smiled bravely. "I'm okay." She stated proudly, rolling her shoulders back and holding her head high.

Clarke nodded, not even attempting to put on a brave face as she prepared herself for what she had to do. She closed her eyes tight, pushing her own emotions back, before she opened them again and started towards the center of camp.

She stepped onto the raised slab of rock that Bellamy had used for announcements and called out "Can I have everyone's attention?"

The majority of people stopped what they were doing to look at her, and a few gathered around.

Clarke began to explain the mission that she went on with Octavia, and then everything that she had been told. She paused at the end, before she finished, her voice thick with emotion "Bellamy is dead." She stepped down and raced to his tent that had she slept in since she returned, and laid down in the fur, squeezing her eyes shut and holding back tears. Though a small part of her yearned to hope, she pushed it back, knowing that the Grounders would never keep their prisoner alive for too long. "How do I lead them without you?" She murmured softly, curling up under the covers and drifting into an uneasy sleep.


Three masked Grounders each sat upon horses, pulling their Skaikru hostage behind them. Bellamy's wrists were bound by ropes, which were tied tightly to the saddle of one of the horses. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, and he stumbled, knees scraped raw from previous falls.

Clarke watched, knowing that this was yet another dream. Hope coursed through her as she realized that this may be what was occuring right now, and she almost dared to grin, believing that he was somehow okay.

They approached a camp surrounded by thick brambles, and a gate opened at their arrival. Upon arriving in the middle of camp, they stopped, and waited as the queen exited her stone quarters.

"I have Skaikru's trade for the prisoner." A familiar voice spoke in Trigedasleng, gesturing towards Bellamy.

"Who is he?" She asked in return, giving him a quick once over.

Before the familiar sounding Grounder could reply, a yell echoed from the edge of camp.

Clarke watched as Bellamy tipped his head to the Grounder, who ripped his mask off and screamed "Now!"

Miller, who was posing as a Grounder, quickly cut off Bellamy's ties, and attacked the queen as roughly twenty kids rushed into the camp.

Clarke sighed and watched, knowing that this was simply a replay of past events. She shook her head as a group rushed out of the prisons with news that she wasn't there, as people were injured and died for her, and as Bellamy let out a call of retreat. Against her will, she was somehow forced to race alongside Bellamy as everyone sprinted away from their pursuers.

The Grounders threw weapons in their direction, and a few kids fell, only to be helped back up again. She slowed as Bellamy received a knife in the leg, and watched as he stumbled, falling to the forest floor as his own people leapt across the border, and he was surrounded by hostile warriors. They roughly grabbed his arms and dragged him to his feet as they pulled him back to their home, accepting him as their new Skaikru prisoner.

Once he was presented to the queen, she sent him to the dungeon to be tortured for information. Every day, in the morning, afternoon, and evening, as well as whenever any warrior was in the mood to inflict pain upon someone, he was tortured. Bellamy never spoke, nor gave them the information they seeked, instead suffering quietly, only letting the occasional yell of pain escape him. Whip lacerations, blade cuts, and burn marks covered his back, and dried blood decorated his injured body, and pain usually prevented him from being able to sleep.

Unlike when Clarke was there, no healer came in to fix him from the beatings. He received far more torture than Clarke had, yet he never submitted to their will, not even to share his own name.

Clarke watched as if were on time-lapse, each day feeling like no more than ten minutes, yet simultaneously slowing down so that each second was an eternity. Indescribable sorrow, remorse, and pain filled her as she watched the agony she had indirectly inflicted upon her best friend.

On the eleventh day, the queen walked in as the torturer raised his whip and brought it down with a sharp crack upon his blood crusted skin.

"Stop." She commanded, waiting for the blood thirsty savage to step away. "I'm having my son take him away to be killed when the sun reaches the middle of the sky. See that the prisoner is alive until then." She walked out, and the torturer left Bellamy with water and a chunk of bread, which he was too weak to eat.

At noon, Roan walked in and unlocked the chain that held his wrists and ankles together. He bent down and rumaged through his pack to find some rope when Bellamy mustered up all of his remaining strength and leapt on his back, wrapping the chain around his neck.

Roan pulled at the chain as his airway was cut off, before he threw Bellamy off of him, who sunk to the floor unconcious.

Roan picked him up, brought him outside, and put him on his horse before he left in order to do his job. He rode the horse throughout the day, stopping on a mountain as the fiery red sun touched the tips of the trees. He set Bellamy's body down on the ground and sighed, shaking his head as he pulled out a sword. He placed the sword lightly against his chest before he shook him awake.

Bellamy opened his left eye, the right too swollen due to multiple blows. He saw the blade, and the typical fight and spirit that he possessed left his dark brown gaze.

Clarke sunk to her knees from where she was frozen, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Please, I'll do anything, just don't kill him." She called out desperately, even though she knew that she wouldn't be heard.

Roan shook his head, clearly remorseful at what he had to do, before he raised the blade a few inches and stabbed it into the younger man's chest. He ripped it out and left, murmuring "Yu gonplei stei de odon." as he mounted his horse and it gallopped away.

Clarke sprinted over to him, finally able to move, and knelt down by his side as a dark, red stain spread across his chest. His breaths slowed down, and he began to cough, blood dribbling out of his lips. Short, painful gasps escaped him before he took in one last breath of air and fell silent. Bellamy Blake was dead.

A hitched sob escaped Clarke's throat as she laid over his body, running a hand through his hair as she felt the undeniable pull back towards reality. She grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly, before she leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "May we meet again." She murmured before blackness surrounded her and she was pulled away from the dream.


She opened her eyes to darkness, and realized that she had slept through the whole day. Tears streamed down her face, and the whole dream hit her with the force of a train. She breathed in the smell of the shirt she had taken to wearing at night, and closed her eyes, holding back a sob. She ignored the urge to push back her emotions, knowing it was the only time that she could acknowledge them, every other minute was devoted to being strong for everyone else.

She cried softly into her pillow, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and pine and Bellamy with a sigh, thinking back to all of their memories.

On the dropship, their early days of leadership and all of the times they fought, when they lost Charlotte and shared their grief, when they found the guns, when Dax died, Unity Day, their partnership and eventual friendship. When she thought he died from the dropship, when she told him she couldn't lose him, when he went into Mount Weather, and when they pulled the lever together. Their time on the Ark, their reunion, all of the lunches they spent together. All of the times he teased her, ridiculed her, called her Princess, brightened up her day, was there for her, saved her life, and was the one person whom she could vulnerable with.

She thought all of this, smiling slightly through her tears before she bit her lip. Sleep began to overcome her as she laid there in the late hours of night, and just before she succumbed to its affects, she had one last thought.

Dammit Bellamy, why'd you have to die on me?

And then she fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.


So, what do you guys think?

This chapter was painful to write for many reasons, but I think I'm proud of it nonetheless.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed, and please review.

Thanks!