Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

Battered Hands and Hearts

A/N: Let me start off by saying that I had so much fun writing this chapter! I know that it's a little longer than previous ones, but I hope you don't mind. As always, you guys are a true inspiration and I love hearing from you. If you have any ideas for the story or suggestions plot wise, I would love your input!

On a side note, reading back through LLF, I realize just how sarcastic my Bellamy is. Honestly though, I love it. I think a sardonic Bellamy complements Clarke perfectly.

Clarke's POV

Clarke awoke from a terrible nightmare drenched in sweat and fear. Hot, sticky steam could be seen evaporating off her skin and into the air. Her chest, desperate for oxygen, was heaving as she lay there on satin sheets - paralyzed. However, try as she might, Clarke could not recall what the nightmare had been about. All she knew was that it had been the worst, most terrifying, most realistic dream she had ever dreamt. She felt it in her bones, her soul. It clung to her, refusing to be suppressed.

Rolling over onto her stomach, Clarke retched all over the wooden floors before stumbling out of bed to open the windows. She threw them open and gripped the sill until her knuckles drained themselves of blood. Weak - she felt so incredibly weak. Clarke could not even remember the last time she'd eaten or drank real water. Pressing her forehead to the window frame, she attempted to steady herself, to regain her strength.

Several floors below, in the streets of Polis, Grounders were marching and shouting in unfamiliar languages, waving foreign banners. These Grounders weren't of the Forest Nation - they were strange and exotic looking. Some didn't even look human. They looked like sea monsters with reeds and water ferns hanging from their armor. Many of the women had even woven green moss through their hair.

"Water people..." Clarke muttered to herself as she observed the aquatic silhouettes pass by beneath her.

They were more slender than the forest Grounders, more languid, built for - what had that woman said last night about the water people? Did she say they were healers?

Bellamy.

"Shit," Clarke cursed, turning around. "Shit, shit..."

The dark and sour images from the other night came pouring back, accompanied by voracious amounts of anxiety. Bellamy passing out on his horse, the toothless owner of the house, the Grounders dragging her away from her best friend - it all came rushing back.

Clarke began to panic.

She darted into the adjoining bathroom, rinsing her face and mouth of sleep. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin burned red. Eventually, and with great reluctance, Clarke looked at herself in the mirror. She was a frightening sight with dark bags under her eyes, hair coated in grim and clothes stained with blood. Had she always looked like this? Is this how Bellamy had always seen her? Quickly, she tore her gaze away and sprinted into the bedroom.

Right now Clarke had to focus on finding Bellamy. Dwelling on appearances while he was out there suffering... it was selfish of her. She had to find him - and hopefully alive.

She scrambled to the door and gripped the handle.

Please, please be unlocked.

Clarke shook and jiggled the lock to no avail. It was still locked. She let out a cry of frustration and slammed her fist into the wooden door. This couldn't be happening. The Grounders would kill him, Clarke was almost certain. Bellamy was nothing to them. They hated him. She turned around and slumped against the door, her eyes searching desperately for anything to help break her free.