Chapter Text
It'd been three days since Clarke Griffin woke up in this hell hole chained next to not-Bellamy. Not-Bellamy looked almost exactly like her Bellamy. That's what made him so unsettling to her. He had Bellamy's hair, his intense eyes, his height, he even had Bellamy's facial expressions. But small things about him were just slightly off.
This Bellamy was skinner than her's. He had scars that her Bellamy didn't. His wounds seeped black blood like her wounds. Most of all, he stared at Clarke with a mixed expression of worship and horror, like he was seeing a ghost.
Everything about him put Clarke on edge.
Maybe she had gone mad, Clarke thought to herself. Maybe her mind had finally broken into pieces. It would be fair, wouldn't it? After having Ali and Josephine and the flame in her head, maybe her mind was too damaged to save. Maybe she was having a breakdown and this was just what her mind had conjured up for her to live in. It made sense, at least to Clarke, that if this was all a grand delusion that her mind would choose to imagine her in a holding cell chained next to not-quite Bellamy. She'd spent so much of her life in one form of a prison or another, that maybe this felt comforting to her. And Bellamy - well Bellamy was everything. It made sense for him to be here too.
But even as Clarke thought of this possibility she dismissed it. Why would she conjure up this Not-Bellamy and not her own? And everything felt too realistic to just be a fantasy. The rocks stabbing into her legs felt too real to be imagined. The wounds coating her back from where she had been dragged into this room stung too much to be an added on detail. This was real.
"Am I dead?" for the first time in three days, Not-Bellamy spoke.
Clarke just looked at him.
"Am I dead?" he repeated.
"How the hell am I suppose to know?" Clarke demanded, her temper flaring. She was cold and hungry and chained to a fucking wall so excuse her if she didn't have the patience for stupid questions.
Not-Bellamy continued to stare at her. "If you're here, then I must be dead. There's no other explanation."
Clarke looked away, she didn't have time for this. She had to figure out how to escape.
"How did I die?" Not-Bellamy asked. "The last thing I remember was this flare of light and then I was being dragged in here."
Clarke's head jerked back to look at him. "You saw a flash of light too?" She demanded.
Not-Bellamy nodded.
That was the last thing Clarke remembered too. Bellamy, Echo, Gabriel, and Octavia had left for the anomaly a few hours before and she had been walking back to the tavern to see Madi and this blinding light flew over sanctum burning her eyes. She had felt this rush of wind all around her and when she could finally see again a group of men had surrounded her and dragged her kicking and screaming down a long hallway into this room with him.
"Is this hell?" Not-Bellamy asked, "After everything you and I've done have we been sent to hell?"
"You're not dead!" Clarke snapped, "And this isn't hell. We're in some sort of prison."
Not-Bellamy shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. You're dead. How could you be here if I'm not dead."
Clarke was opening her mouth to demand to know what it was he was talking about when the door to the cell opened for the first time in days. Standing in the doorway was a tall thin woman with some sort of spear-like weapon, except where the tip should be a small crackling ball of energy hovered in between three prongs. From Clarke's best guess she figure it had to act like some sort of taser.
"Stand up." The woman commanded.
Clarke and Not-Bellamy traded a glance. Even though he wasn't her Bellamy, she could still read his facial expressions. They both knew that whatever this was, it was trouble.
"Stand up!" The woman commanded again.
Reluctantly, both Not-Bellamy and Clarke did. The woman strode closer and, keeping her spear pointed at them, uncuffed them from the wall.
"The General wishes to see you now," the woman said as way of explanation.
Clarke and Not-Bellamy exchanged another look and, at threat of spear, slowly walked through the doorway. After sitting in a dark room for three days their eyes took a second to adjust to the light of the hallway. Tears welled up in Clarke's eyes as she glanced around. Lining the hall on each side were rows upon rows of doors with names written on them. Clarke glanced behind her at the door of her own cell as the woman closed it behind her. Written in block letters on a erase board were the words "Clarke Griffin/Bellamy Blake". Ice ran through her veins. This wasn't random. Whoever had taken her had specifically wanted her. She glanced at Not-Bellamy and saw him realizing the same thing. They both traded a sizing-up look. Not-Bellamy, it seems, had finally realized this was real and was trying to figure out if he could trust her. She was doing the same to him.
The woman jabbed the spear into the small of Clarke's back causing a burst of electricity to shoot into Clarke's body, forcing Clarke to scream. Clarke stumbled forward and was about to fall onto her face when Not-Bellamy caught her in his arms and pulled her closer into his side away from the weapon. He shot the woman a dirty look but she just gestured down the hall with her chin.
"Keep moving," the woman demanded.
Aware of how disadvantaged they were, they complied. Clarke glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the woman erase their names off the door. Clarke swallowed. For better or worse, they wouldn't be returning to their cell.
Clarke and Not-Bellamy walked down the never ending hallway, taking more twist and turns than they could keep track of. Whoever had designed this place had done a good job, escaping would be next to impossible without a map.
Finally the hallway started to change. As they got further away from their cell the rooms started to widen and get more ornate. Instead of the blank grey walls near their cell, these halls were lined with wine colored carpets and artwork. It reminded Clarke a little too much of Mount Weather.
Next to her she heard Not-Bellamy mutter, "It's the fucking mountain all over again."
Clarke sensed they were getting close as the scenery kept getting fancier and fancier. The stone walls were replaced with huge arch-way windows and light - natural light - flooded in. For the first time, Clarke realized that she had been underground. Clarke threw a passing glance out the window as she walked by and almost froze in her tracks. Outside the sky - the sky was purple! She didn't have time to see anything else as the woman hurried them along, but Clarke began to panic. Wherever she was, she wasn't on Sanctum anymore.
Finally, they arrived at a set of great, big doors carved with pictures of animals. Some Clarke recognized and some Clarke didn't. Next to her, Not-Bellamy grabbed her hand and squeezed. She was scared enough that she let him.
"Go in," the woman commanded.
Glancing at each other, Clarke and Not-Bellamy slowly moved forward. Not-Bellamy's hand hovered over the door before pushing it open. It creaked as it swung. Together, they stepped into the room and stared around in awe. Plants the color of the ocean grew up the walls and had white berried hanging from their vine. Above them a huge skylight showed off the lilac sky. Beneath them was a carpet wove of gold thread that glittered in the light.
They suddenly heard a throat clear and their heads snapped forward. Sitting behind a desk in an oversized chair that almost resembled a throne was a middle-aged man with graying blond hair and light blue eyes. His hands were weighed down by the jewel rings he wore and he was dressed in a velvet suit. His face had laughing lines haloing his eyes giving him the perpetual air of happiness. Flanking him were two beefy guards holding the same spear as the woman who had guided them here.
The man peered at them with a pleased expression and didn't say anything for the longest moment until finally, "Clarke - Bellamy, welcome. I've been expecting you."