Lost Love Found [ #Wattys2015 ] {Bellarke}

Finding Light

Clarke's POV

Consciousness came and went in an almost hypnotic rhythm, like the steady cycle of waves hitting a shoreline. Clarke knew she was lying in a large bed with thick sheets and a soft mattress. She knew she was in a very exquisite room, not the room that she had spent last night in, but a nicer one, a grander one. It was bright, so incredibly bright with high windows bringing in the light of dawn.

She closed her eyes against it and the darkness - once more - consumed her.

.    .    .

Clarke woke to whispering voices and unfamiliar faces. There were at least three of them hovering around her bed, one male and two female. Their features were blurry and no matter how hard Clarke squinted, they wouldn't come into focus.

"Why is she still like this? She's delirious." Asked one of the girls, her voice was young and heavily accented.

"The mechanical tracers came back with positive results. They show no sign of brain damage," replied the male as he pulled out a light blue tablet. He sounded familiar - foreign. "The skin graph went on seamlessly."

Clarke tried to lift her head, but it felt as heavy as an iron block. And, try as she might, coherent words would not leave her lips. She felt drugged. They must have drugged her.

In this state, she felt helpless - completely helpless.

"Darling," the other woman said, laying a hand on the man's arm. "I had the servants put something in her tea. Emilia said she was crying out in her sleep."

"It was the worst," the younger girl replied. "She kept screaming and sweating in the sheets. She must have called out for that boy about a million times."

Bellamy.

Clarke needed to find him before something happened to him. The last thing she remembered was him bleeding out on the pavement, his back bloodied with stone and metal. She couldn't lose him. She couldn't lose another person she cared deeply for.

"I can only imagine the horrors she has seen, armes kleines Ding..." the woman murmured, touching Clarke's face lightly. Her hands smelled of sandalwood.

"Emilia," said the man. "I want you here when she wakes up. I'll send someone up to help you."

"But, father -"

"Nein," he said, his voice firm and authoritative. "Tu was ich dir gesagt habe."

Slowly, the darkness returned and Clarke fell into it, imagining Bellamy, imagining how she was going to rescue him. She was grateful for the respite from thought and light. Like a warm and comforting blanket, Clarke wrapped herself in the blackness.

.    .    .

The next time Clarke awoke, she was much more coherent, the world finally coming into focus. She sat up against mounds of pillows and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was no longer day time. She must've been asleep all day.

Clarke swung her legs out of bed just as the lights in the room turned on. She barely had time to stifle a scream as she turned around and noticed a girl standing in the corner. Her hands immediately went to her gun, only, Clarke didn't have one with her.

"It's alright, Clarke," the girl said. She was probably around fourteen or fifteen years old with braided blonde hair. "I'm here to help you."

She was the same girl from before. Clarke recognized her voice.

"How do you know my name?" She demanded, taking a few steps back, studying the girl in silk pajamas.

"My father brought you in. He told us your name," she replied. "You and your friend were badly wounded."