Flougada
CHAPTER ONE
Flougada
FREYA
There was a large tree, nestled just on the edge of the forest that was in direct view of Camp Jaha and its inhabitants. The Sky People went about their business, building and managing their camp in the free time which they’d garnered after their brief war with Mount Weather. No one wanted to say the word peace but there had been a lull as of late seemed to ease their demeanors. They felt safe, for the time being, and certainly did not worry about the idea of individuals lurking around in trees.
This tree, in particular, was far enough out of their view that no one noticed the young woman, perched expertly above the branches where she remained unseen from dawn until dusk on most days since arriving inland. She had spent the majority of the last few months coming and going freely and no one seemed to take any notice as she observed them each carefully, learning what she could from her observations, those of which were scribbled neatly in her notebook that sat on her lap.
In fact, it was nearly dusk when she reached for her pack with every intention to call it a night. Her bunker was barely a half mile into the forest, secluded enough that no one would find her unless she wanted to be found. But as she glanced back at the camp, as she packed away her notebook, a figure leaving the Ark’s entrance caught her eye.
Skai-heda, she thought to herself.
Bellamy Blake had been leading the Sky People for nearly six months since the defeat of the Mountain Men. She had observed his leadership for four of those months, off and on, and this was the first time in one hundred and twenty-two observations that she’d seen him without a rifle hoisted over his shoulders.
She grabbed hold of her camera and it’s telephoto lense, pulling it up to her eyes for a better view and she could see that despite his half smile as he passed by his people, there was a lack of spirit in his step. His head was drooped downwards, staring at his feet as he made his way towards the gate, avoiding eye contact where possible.
When his eyes finally did lift from their place in the mud, he looked out towards the treeline. They were deliberate despite the far off look embedded in his brown eyes and she could see instantly that he was searching. If she hadn’t seen that look nearly one hundred and twenty-two times, she might have thought he had spotted her there in her tree as his eyes then danced over her hiding spot. But she’d seen it nearly every time he emerged from the walls of the camp. Always searching.
For her.
Clarke Griffin had abandoned her place at Camp Jaha for a pursuit of her own semblance of peace. Less time had been spent observing Clarke and yet she knew more about the previous Sky Queen than she did of its current Heda. Clarke wore her heart on her sleeve. The heartbreak, the darkness, it all hung easily in her eyes, in the slump of her shoulders. Even in her tears. But for Bellamy Blake, there was mostly mystery.
It intrigued her.
Did he miss Clarke? Did he resent her? She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of those brown eyes and their searching. There was worry, that much was clear. But with responsibility came more and more worries. Worry for the sick, worry for the stability of their community for the future. It was all for good reason. With Clarke gone, he was in charge now. The people looked to him. And there would not be peace for long. Not with tensions between the Arkers and the Trigeda hanging heavier over their heads. Conflict was brewing, and soon he’d have that to worry over as well.
She cocked her head to one side, memorizing his features the way she had memorized Clarke’s. They both had something familiar, something she too felt burdening her with each passing day. But she refused to name it. Name it, she thought, and it would only hold real power over her. Name it, she thought, and she would have to face those same demons from which she spent so much time running from.
BELLAMY
There was a shooting star.
A shooting star that climbed across the night sky with such speed that he almost missed it entirely. But he’d been staring up at the stars for hours now. In fact he’d been outside the walls for hours and he was certain someone would come looking for him soon.
He had responsibilities, things that needed taking care of and he was the one the people looked at to do them, now. But sometimes, late in the night when there were less problems that needed fixing and a clear sky, he would wander out into the abyss of night, somewhere close to the treeline to think. Perhaps it was dangerous. But he liked that a idea a little more than the confinement and the accountability he was drowning under.
So he’d walked to the treeline and watch shooting stars. And he’d always try his best not to think of her.
Clarke.
She’d left him. Left him to deal with the backlash of what was done - what they’d done - at Mount Weather. He couldn’t help the bitterness that brewed within him when his mind wandered to that thought. He resented that she had left, hated that she had walked away, saddling him with all of this on his own. He would have liked to walk away, he wanted to tell her. He would have rather not had to face what he had done. No, what they had done. They had done it together. Like always.
He could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t consulted Clarke in a decision. At first, it was overwhelming and he would never admit that the thought of everyone looking to him once more, frightened him a little. Clarke had made tough decisions in their fight against their enemies, decisions that he’d only heard about second hand when everything was all said and done. He knew Mount Weather had been too much. But he was still here. And she wasn’t.
And now he was stuck looking at shooting stars wondering where they hell she was and why she’d left everything to him.
A sound behind him caught interrupted his bitter thoughts. It was the crunch of a leaf or a small twig, he was sure. He glanced over his shoulder slowly, letting his hand fall to the rifle in his arms. There hadn’t been a Trigeda spotted near Camp in weeks. Sometimes he’d see them, watching, waiting as if there was something he didn’t know. Lincoln assured him if they were going to attack, they would have already. Something else had the Trigeda’s attention as of late. He just didn’t know what.
The sound grew further away, a squirrel perhaps. He planned to ignore it, he had already decided he was going to start back towards camp, when he spotted something at the base of the large tree, a few feet away. He strained his eyes in the darkness, then shined his flashlight on the object that was wedged between the trunk of the tree and its root.
He had told himself once that curiosity was a curse of his. He could not help his wandering mind. He stood, walking slowly towards it as he glanced around him, spotting nothing and no one nearby. He crouched down, pulling the object from the mud and realizing it was a piece of paper, words smeared slightly but still legible.
It was Trigedasleng, scrawled neatly across the page despite the smudges on the edge. He’d been learning the language, with the help of his sister and Lincoln. But he still struggled with the writing. The words still looked like gibberish and despite his eagerness to learn, he simply didn’t have the time to practice.
He folded the parchment up, placing it in his pocket as he made his way through the trees, deeper into the thickest part of it until he stopped at the voice on the radio attached at his hip.
“Where are you going, Blake?” Kane’s voice asked and Bellamy paused, clutching the device in his hand as he shook his head and sighed.
“Can’t a man go for a walk in the woods without the calvary raining down on him?” he tried to joke but Kane’s tone remained unamused.
“You made the rules, not me. Remember? No one goes out alone, no one goes out at night.”
“Isn’t this is the part where I get to say that, because I make the rules, I can break them from time to time?”
Radio silence. Bellamy felt a twinge of amusement at Kane’s inner struggle. The man who had blurred more borders than he could count on the Ark had taken up a strange moral high ground since landing on Earth. He may not have been in charge any more, but he didn’t mind asserting his opinion in as he pleased.
“Twenty minutes,” the man answered finally and Bellamy smirked. “That’s all the rule breaking you get for tonight.”
“Copy that,” Bellamy laughed into the radio before hooking it back on his waist before continuing on.
Whatever element of surprise he’d held before was no longer in his favor. The darkness cloaked most of the evidence of footprints or split branches that would help him track. But luckily for him, it had rained most of the day, allowing the ground to soften. He had a general direction and in only a matter of minutes, he found footsteps clumsily hidden away from his path.
He followed them, cautiously enough that he never took his finger away from the trigger as he stepped carefully around the tracks. The footprints were relatively small for a grounder, but he’d seen women grounders before. Months ago he would might have hesitated at fighting a woman. But things were different here. And male or female, he wouldn’t hesitate to cut down a threat.
Bellamy’s footsteps paused as the prints in the mud came to a halt. There was a slight rumble above him as clouds began moving in from the North. It would rain again soon and he didn’t want to be stuck out here in bad weather overnight. Even so, he shined his flashlight around the area where the footprints disappeared and saw nothing but a boulder, a few bushes and a large tree. The bush turned up nothing and there were no mud prints on the boulder indicating that the grounder - if it was a grounder - had climbed over it.
He sighed, disappointed at the lack of answers and the dead end for his late night hunt. He turned back, reaching for his walkie to radio Kane but before he could hold down the transmit button there was a sound that caught his attention.
He thought he imagined it at first, the soft hum that rose and fell in steady beats. A melody. A song. Music, he thought, but then quickly dismissed the thought as he again brought the radio up to his mouth. Then again, the sound interrupted his thoughts, this time it was louder as he stepped closer towards the tree.
The rain started then, light at first as he stepped closer and closer to the tree. He was sure it was music, then. He thought perhaps he even recognized the piece of classical piano that he could hear ringing through his ears. With each step, he grew more and more sure, until finally he was right up against the tree, tripping over what he thought was a root and launching himself hard against the trunk.
He eyed the spot where he’d tripped, the flashlight shining on the root which he soon discovered, wasn’t a root at all. It was something hard, covered by debris lazily scattered around it. It was poorly hidden, but as soon as he crouched down he realized exactly what it was.
A hatch door.
He’d found a bunker in the woods, inexplicably filled with music. It explained the disappearing footsteps, he realized, pulling his gun closer as he lifted the hatch slowly. He was careful, listening for movement among the music though there was nothing but the sounds of smooth piano rising up through the hatch door. He was sure Kane would give him hell for it later, but he couldn’t help himself as he climbed down into it, his curiosity getting the better of him once more.
He didn’t close the hatch behind him all the way as he climbed down the ladder, taking in the view of the bunker. He tried not to be in awe of his surroundings, but he couldn’t help the way his mouth dropped at the size of it all. He’d been in a number of bunkers since reaching Earth, but nothing compared to this one. Books lined one wall, more books than Bellamy could remember seeing in most of his time on the Ark. There was a large painting taking up part of another wall and though he did not let his eyes linger too long on the embracing couple, he saw enough of it to find momentary comfort in it’s warmth and vibrance.
The room lead into a passageway that split off into several different corridors. The music grew loudest on his left and after looking down the other two darker hallways, he opted to head towards it. The music echoed loudly through the confined path but Bellamy felt engulfed in it, struggling to keep his focus on the task at hand as he walked into a larger room, this one looked like a bedroom with a spacious bed made neatly with plain grey sheets.
The room was empty, lit by only a few candles on the bedside table. But on a small hutch in the corner Bellamy spotted the source of the music. He’d seen the contraption before, something that he’d seen only once in a book and never in person. A record player was a rarity and few on the Ark had ever seen one, let alone heard one playing.
Bellamy turned back to the hall, where across from where he stood was a closed door. The space beneath it glowed red, a bright red that filled the darkness of the corridor for several moments before suddenly it went black. Bellamy tensed as the door handle wiggled slightly and he rose his gun as a figure stepped out hands occupied.
A woman, he confirmed and it was only a split moment that he watched her features before she caught sight of him and she jumped, startled as she backed into the closed door behind her, dropping the contents of her hands all over the floor around her. He glanced down, only for a moment, realizing the papers in her hand weren’t papers at all, but photographs.
Photographs of him.
His eyes locked with hers, wide and hazel and full of fear. “What is this?” he questioned her but she didn’t respond. “Who are you,” he asked next, his gun raised at her and his voice filled with more force.
Silence was once again her response and the only sound between them was the record still filling the room. Bellamy reached down, keeping his gun trained on her, and picked up several of the photos. But before he could look at the images with any comprehension, he felt her knee rise up to his chin, knocking him backwards as she sprinted down the corridor.
He lost his balance for only a brief moment, feeling a sickening ache in his nose where her knee made impact. He ran after her, ignoring the feeling of warm liquid running down his face. The corridor led back into the large sitting area, empty and showing no signs that she’d rushed through. He didn’t have the opportunity to turn around when he felt himself being knocked over. The force of the concrete floor caused him to groan as his face collided with it.
He rolled, grabbing hold of the first part of her he could find, dropping her to the ground at her side as he pulled her leg out from under her. He’d dropped his gun, but he was bigger than her, stronger even and he pinned her down under his weight. But she didn’t submit to his strength. Instead, it only seemed to incite her more as she swung at him, this time he dodged and grabbed hold of her arms. He pinned her down, both of them breathing heavily and she stared up at him this time not in fear, but animosity.
“Who...are you?” he demanded, trying to catch his breath as he spoke. Her fingers curled into fists as she struggled against his hands wrapped tightly around her wrists. “Chon yu bilaik!?” he tried again, this time in Trigedasleng and the words only registered slightly in her eyes as she moved her gaze from his and let her wrists go limp.
They sat that way for many moments, long enough that Bellamy finally got a proper look at her and realized she didn’t look like any of the grounders he’d seen before. She didn’t wear war paint, her clothes were simple, no armor like most of the Trigeda warriors he’d met before. Her dark hair was sprawled about her against the floor looking clean and groomed and her simple grey tank was now covered in blood. It took him only a moment to realize the blood was his own and he pulled his hand back to wipe his nose, trying not to flinch at the pain.
It was a mistake.
The second he released his hand she managed to maneuver herself so that he was flipped on his back and their positions were now reversed. Her legs were straddled on either side of his hips, her small arms deceivingly strong as she held him there. She didn’t waste a moment or allow him an opportunity to gain back the upper hand as she grabbed something from her leg, a dagger, and held it to his throat.
“Set daun, Skai-Heda,” she whispered and he had no choice but to abide her command to stay down with her blade so precariously placed against his flesh.
Her hair fell down around him, her face close to his as she too caught her breath. She didn’t seem to falter as her eyes glanced towards the rifle, not far from where they were entangled. Two strangers, intertwined in such an intimacy that rivaled between danger and curiosity. He couldn’t help the intrigue that crawled within him. Who was this woman, this grounder who so easily overpowered him?
“Blake, what’s your status?” his radio hissed, Kane interrupting the tension hanging over the two of them.
She stared down at the radio for only a moment before her head cocked to the side. Her hand reached down to his hip, moving his jacket away only slowly, her eyes trained on his as she lifted the hem of his tshirt. She pulled the radio off of his hip and placed it on her own. She seemed to notice the questions in his eyes as she stood quickly, pulling the rifle up and aiming it at him with ease. His brow furrowed at her stance, at the way her finger lightly hovered over the trigger with no intentions of actually pulling it.
“Blake?” the radio spat again. “I repeat, what’s your status?”
She left him, then. Leaving him alone with only questions and piles of photographs with his face on them. He thought about running after her, but she had his gun and the unforeseen knowledge of how to use it. She had his radio too and would likely not be answering Kane with his status. Kane would send someone after him and he’d have to explain how he ended up overpowered by a woman half his size. And he’d have to address the gun thing. He wasn’t looking forward to either conversation.
He tore off a piece of his frayed shirt and held it to his nose. He was still bleeding, and he felt angry again once he started wondering if she’d broken it. His steps echoed now of the bunker walls, now void of any music. He found the stack of photos, the pictures that tracked him for what looked like days at Camp Jaha. Sometimes they were taken while he was outside the walls, sometimes on a hunt. Wherever she’d hidden, no one had noticed her presence.
He glanced up at the room where the red light had once been and he turned the knob. He searched in the darkness for the switch, flipping on the light once more so that it was engulfed in the same dull red light and his eyes widened. They weren’t just pictures of a few days, they were pictures spanning weeks, months even. She’d been watching him mostly, but he saw pictures of others. Octavia, Raven, Kane and Abby. Lincoln. But there was something else that gave him pause as his eyes grazed through hundreds of pictures lining the walls. He stepped closer, sure he was seeing wrong until he pulled the picture down and viewed it closer. Her clothes were different, her face painted and her hair pulled up in intricate braids of warrior fashion. But it was her.
It was Clarke.
BELLAMY
“You still think she won’t be back?”
“Not for a couple of days most likely, she knows we’ve found this place. She’ll probably be watching,” Lincoln told Bellamy as they rummaged through a few items on the neatly organized desk.
Lincoln pulled several papers out of a drawer, glanced over them and shook his head. They’d found nothing so far, only pictures and the camera they’d been taken with. There were two hundred and twelve pictures in total, most of them of Camp Jaha but the few of Clarke were the only ones Bellamy was curious about. Lincoln said they’d been taken in Polis but neither could tell how recently.
“And besides, she won’t come near here with our people up there on watch. We’ve got four guns scouting the area. And she doesn’t look like she has much back here to risk being captured for,” he ventured a guess.
Bellamy had returned to camp to several concerned faces, namely his sister who looked ready to hunt down his assailant and put them at the mercy of her sword. But he explained the situation, in as little humiliating detail as he could manage, before he was sent to Abby for an evaluation of his injuries.
They set out with a small group at dawn. Lincoln, Octavia, Kane, Nathan and David Miller joined him and they’d spent most of the day going through the bunker’s things. The four others stood watch while Bellamy brought Lincoln down into the bunker. This time, Bellamy didn’t let down his guard, holding his rifle firm as they searched the place for any signs of the grounder girl. But it was empty, just as he’d left it the night before. A mess was still in the living area from where they’d struggled and Bellamy ignored Lincoln’s attempt to suppress his smile when he saw the damage.
They searched the place, every inch of it, for clues as to who she was. The hand-written notes stowed in her desk were of little use. Lincoln’s translations deducted that they weren’t even pertaining to their camp or Clarke’s whereabouts. This frustrated Bellamy, making him wonder if he’d have been able to fight a little harder, if he could have brought her back to camp for answers. He didn’t mention this frustration to Lincoln. Both knew what happened when grounders didn’t want to give answers. Bellamy swore he’d never be a part of that again.
“What’s this?” he asked then, lifting the pillow of the spacious bed to find a small leather-bound book nestled underneath and Lincoln grabbed it in his hands.
“Observation notebook,” Lincoln murmured, leafing through the pages until he paused.
“What’s it say?” Bellamy asked, glancing over Lincoln’s shoulder and noticed the handwriting was the same familiar script from the letter he’d found at the base of the tree.
“Coordinates, lists, notes about the camp. Notes about...us,” explained Lincoln. “She’s detailed, but strangely vague. There’s nothing in here that says why she’s been watching us. Or who she is even. I can’t imagine the Commander would send her for these. If those photos are any proof, she’s with Clarke and Clarke knows everything there is to know about camp.”
“But what if Clarke doesn’t know she’s sent this girl?” Bellamy questioned and Lincoln shook his head, his brow furrowed.
“I don’t know, this isn’t like our people,” he thought aloud. “Something’s different. Even her text, dialect changes are hard to catch in text, but some of these…” he trailed off, glancing back up at Bellamy with a curious expression. “What did she look like?”
“I told you, she didn’t look like a warrior.”
“No, I know that. But what did she look like? Her eyes, her stature...did she have any tattoos?” Lincoln questioned, still flipping the pages as he read over her notes.
Bellamy shook his head. He’d described her already. And bringing up the fact that she was small was only more embarrassing each time it came up.
“Dark hair, light eyes I guess. She was maybe a head shorter than me, about Octavia’s size if I had to guess. I didn’t see much of…” he paused, remembering her arms pinned above her head. He’d held her wrists, stared down at her and he remembered there were markings. He hadn’t paid much attention to them at the time but he could make them out in his head. “She had something on her arm, here,” he motioned, his fingers on the underside of his bicep. “Some sort of spiral,” he tried to explain, pulling a sheet of paper from the desk and grabbing a pencil so small it barely fit across his hand.
He tried drawing it from memory as Lincoln glanced again around the room. He stopped around the spot where Bellamy had been knocked to the ground. When Bellamy finished the poorly drawn sketch he held it up for Lincoln to see but his eyes were trained on something else. He crouched down, picking up something that looked like debris from the fight with the grounder, but Lincoln’s eyes grew more concerned as he turned the object in his hand. Bellamy could barely make out that it was a bracelet. Lincoln glanced up to Bellamy’s drawing and his eyes widened.
“Skrish!” Lincoln muttered, the expletive he’d heard Octavia use more frequently as of late and jumped to his feet. “This is a trap!”
Bellamy, alerted now by Lincoln’s sudden outburst, ran after him, pulling his rifle into his hands as they rushed out of the bunker. Lincoln saw them first, but Bellamy heard the Trigedasleng before he even made it up to the surface. He immediately saw several rifles pointed down at him, Lincoln already disarmed and on the ground.
“Fayagon ona graun, Skayon,” an unmasked grounder hissed at him. He didn’t budge as they’d instructed, training his rifle up, instead, as he attempted to stay balanced on the steps. “Ona graun!” they shouted again and Bellamy took only a split second to glance around.
His people were all disarmed, guns trained on them that he did not recognize. Lincoln did not look nearly as concerned as Bellamy but his eyes were narrowed, watching the man with the gun pointed at Octavia.
“They were waiting for us,” Kane announced but was nudged, gently enough that it caused Bellamy to furrow his brow in confusion.
“Shof op,” Kane’s grounder muttered half-heartedly.
“I’m not putting this gun down until I know what the hell is going on here,” he growled out.
No one spoke, none of them even moved at first as Bellamy climbed out of the bunker, watching the grounders carefully, glancing occasionally at Octavia who was on her knees with the rest of his people.
“I want answers,” he muttered again. “I know you understand me. So start talking.”
There was a large grounder, one that was standing nearest to Lincoln moved first. Bellamy trained his sights towards him as he moved quickly. He grabbed hold of Octavia but the arm before Bellamy could even register what was happening and he felt his blood begin to boil. He saw Lincoln wriggling wildly in the grasp of the two men who had him by his arms.
“Dison laik yu sis, Skayon?” the man asked and his eyes were as dark as the tone with which he spoke.
He knew Octavia was his sister. Which meant they knew other things, things that might put everyone else here at risk. The man’s hands moved to her neck, so large that his fingers could nearly wrap all the way around as they gripped her throat lightly. Bellamy didn’t waste another moment before raising his arms.
“Okay!” he shouted. “Pleni,” he announced because it was enough. It was enough for him and he knew even before the grounder had Octavia that he wasn’t going to win this stand-off.
He had barely placed his rifle on the ground before another grounder gathered it up, slinging it over his own shoulder while another helped him roughly to the ground. The larger grounder removed his hands from Octavia but Bellamy did not relax as she was put back on her knees.
“You have my gun, now what do you want?” he asked, his tone short, his words loud and forceful. But no one moved.
If anything he saw the grounders relax slightly, their hands moved from the triggers of their guns, their stances shifting as they waited. Bellamy wanted to know what they were waiting for but no one seemed to oblige his request for information. In fact, now that he was unarmed, they seemed entirely uninterested in all of them. Almost as if they were all bored.
“What the hell happened up here,” he muttered to Kane. Kane who looked up to see if the grounders would silence them, had a small fresh cut over his right eye.
“They ambushed us. They were waiting. Not long after you two went down into the bunker they surprised us. There were more of them than us. And they all had guns,” he added, motioning around at their guards.
“Since when do grounders use guns anyway? And where’d they even get them, these aren’t ours?” David Miller asked and one of the grounders tried to conceal an amused snort.
It was clue enough that they did in fact understand what they were saying, despite the fact that they refused to acknowledge his questions.
“These aren’t Trigeda,” Lincoln answered and Bellamy’s head snapped towards him. He’d seen the symbol, seen the object on the ground in the bunker and known this was a trap. “These are the Floudon Kru. And they do use guns.”
“Wait, Floudon?” Bellamy asked, confused. “These are Boat Nation?”
“I recognized the bracelet in the bunker. But I wasn’t sure until you showed me the symbol, on the paper. It’s their clan’s flag,” he replied and the sudden knowledge seemed to clear several questions lingering in the back of Bellamy’s mind. “And I’ve seen that tattoo before.”
“Osa na hit choda op nodotaim, Lincoln,” a voice greeted from the shadows.
The darkness of dusk’s shadows did not conceal her for long as she stepped out into the clearing and Bellamy was faced yet again with the mysterious grounder who had left him beaten in the bunker. She wore the same simple tank and trousers she’d been wearing the night before. Even from where she stood he could see his bloodstains still soiling the fabric.
She greeted Lincoln with a small smile as she spoke, the words Bellamy recognized meaning this was not the first time the two grounders had crossed paths. Bellamy’s eyes shot to Lincoln, in question.
“You know her?” Bellamy asked and Lincoln’s eyes did not leave hers as she stepped closer.
“She’s Luna’s daughter, Freya. She’s the peacekeeper of Floukru,” Lincoln explained and Freya grinned at the introduction.
She glanced then at Bellamy, intent on stepping his direction next when her steps were interrupted by another voice.
“This is keeping the peace?” Octavia scoffed and Freya paused, turning on her heel as she then made her way towards his sister.
Bellamy felt himself tense again, but this time, Lincoln did not budge. Freya smiled fondly down at Octavia as she looked over her, placing her hand first on the younger girl’s shoulder then grazing her face with the back of her fingertips. Octavia answered her touch by jerking away. Freya only seemed to find it amusing.
“Dison yu skaigada?” she asked, looking to Lincoln to confirm that she was in fact, his Sky girl. She grabbed Octavia’s chin gently in her hand as if inspecting her. “Nou foto. En’s--”
“En na sen yu in,” Octavia ground out, interrupting whatever praise Freya was about to bestow on Lincoln’s woman.
Octavia’s grasp of Trigedsleng was much more advanced than Bellamy’s. He understood most of what was being said. But even not understanding the language it was clear by Octavia’s impatient outburst that she was done being talked about as if she wasn’t there.
Freya chuckled as she answered, “I like her.” Her fingers toyed with the tips of Octavia’s long hair as she laughed.
“Enough with this, Freya. What do you want?” Lincoln interrupted. “You lured us out here, why?”
“Lured? That’s quite an accusation. It was your heda who attacked me in my bunker. I only came back here for what was mine. I am here for peace.”
“You planned this,” he replied, his scowl deepening. “You aren’t lazy enough to get caught. You knew he’d follow you. You wanted him to. I know your tricks”
“It’s not a trick,” she insisted, dropping the strands of Octavia’s hair and walking casually over towards them. “I really do come her with every intention of peace between our clans.”
“You say that with guns pointed at our heads,” Kane growled and she shot him a look of contempt.
“Just because I come in peace doesn’t mean I have faith that you’ll offer me the same pleasantries. I’ve watched you for months and you bring those guns everywhere. You expect me allow my people anywhere near you without assurances for their safety?”
“Then how about we dispense with the hostility?” Bellamy suggested, finally speaking and her eyes darted towards him for the first time since she’d entered the clearing.
She looked at him for many moments, observing his features in the light of the dying sun, setting over the eastern skyline.
“Fair enough,” she conceded, almost boredly as she shrugged and called out to her men. “Chil daun.”
Her eyes never moved from Bellamy’s as her men abided her order. Their guns moved from their targets to their sides and each man offered an arm to lift their captives to their feet. Bellamy declined.
“Give them their guns,” she instructed next, this time in English.
Her orders were once again answered with swift obedience and the dozen of her men began redistributing the weapons they’d previously collected. The larger man, the one who had threatened his sister with his hands around her neck, stepped nearest towards Freya. The man towered over her, his eyes still dark and cautious. He whispered something in her ear and she nodded.
“You’ve been watching us,” Bellamy stated.
“Yes, you mostly. But I’m sure you noticed that already from my pictures,” she answered and suddenly the airy off-handedness in her demeanor seemed to shift. Even her stance held more solemnity than her previous attitude.
“Why?” he asked then. “For how long?”
“I’ve been making important observations under my mother’s orders. My whole reason for being her was at her behest,” Freya answered and there was a sincerity in her voice that Bellamy considered briefly.
He did not know her, did not know if she would lie or trick him into believing an elaborate story. She’d tricked him to come here, to capture his people. But there was something quiet about it, patient even and she herself had no visible weapons at hand. She did not seem to want to hurt them. But that assumption alone did nothing to loosen Bellamy’s hold on his gun.
“Luna doesn’t sanction kidnapping,” Lincoln countered and Freya rolled her eyes.
“Oh stop exaggerating, Lincoln. I’ve simply called this meeting on my terms. I couldn’t waltz up to the gates after your war with Trigeda. They’ve got people watching your camp as well. You’re lucky we got to you first.”
The thought wasn’t surprising to Bellamy, but he did feel strangely more on edge at hearing it confirmed. He assumed that the Trigeda would check up on them. But he had hoped that their presence would be more obvious than it apparently was.
“No,” Lincoln disagreed. “That’s not what this is. Luna didn’t send you here to talk to us. Otherwise why lure us all out here at all. You knew I was here. You could have waited until I was on a hunt. I would have gotten you a meeting. So what’s all this really about?”
“You always were smarter than you looked,” muttered Freya, shifting slightly as her eyes glanced downwards. She didn’t think anyone saw this slight change in demeanor, but Bellamy caught it easily as he observed her movements. “Fine, you’re right. She didn’t want me making contact. I was to observe and report my findings. I was planning on returning back to the village today. Obviously the plan changed.”
“Is Clarke there? At your village?” Bellamy couldn’t help but ask and this time it was her eyes observing him. Her eyes crawled over him and he shifted slightly at her unyielding stare.
“No,” she answered finally. “I took those pictures outside of Polis, Skai-Heda. She has been there with the Trigeda for months.”
This revelation unnerved Bellamy, the idea that Clarke would crawl to Lexa’s heed after such a betrayal. Clarke left her people for the decisions she made at Mount Weather, decisions that were only necessary because of Lexa’s betrayal to the Arkers.
“What is she doing in Polis?” Lincoln asked and Freya shrugged, impatiently.
“Your Clarke has struggled for months since the defeat of Mount Weather. When I left her there, she was changed. I don’t know much, but I can tell you she has no interesting in being found right now.”
“And you know this because you asked her?” Bellamy interrupted, his tone thick with the frustration he felt at the news of Clarke’s location.
“I don’t usually interact with my targets. You’re the exception, it would seem.”
“She means she is not welcome in Polis,” Lincoln corrected. The announcement caused a frown to appear across Freya’s pink lips. “You wouldn’t have been able to follow Clarke much inside the capitol. Not with Lexa there.”
“Why?” Kane questioned before Bellamy could.
“My cousin and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, as you might say,” Freya interjected before Lincoln could speak. “It is not that I am not welcome, but my presence would only cause unnecessary strife. But that is my business.”
“So you followed Clarke for a few months, why come here?” Octavia spoke up, her curiosity burning like Bellamy’s. “What do you want from us.”
Freya’s answer came, her eyes dancing from Octavia, to her brother and she nodded her head once in his direction. “Him,” she replied. “My people are in trouble. Skai-heda, and I need your help.”
A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading my first chapter. I hope I caused a little bit of intrigue and mystery. I also, of course, hope you will continue to follow my story as I continue to delve into the story of Freya, my Floudon OC and Bellamy and his crew. Thoughts and comments are always appreciated! Thank you again for taking the time to check this out!
Translations:
Floudon Kru/Floukru = Boat People/Boat Nation
Heda = Leader/Commander/All around person in charge
Chon yu bilaik!? = who are you!?
Set daun, Skai-Heda = Stay down, Sky Commander
Skrish = Shit (expletive)
Fayagon ona graun, Skayon = Put your weapons on the ground, Sky One
Shof op = Quiet!
Dison laik yu sis, Skayon? = This your sister, Sky One?
Pleni = Enough
Osa na hit choda op nodotaim, Lincoln = We meet again, Lincoln
Dison yu skaigada? = This your Sky Girl?
Nou foto. En’s-- = Not bad. She’s--
En na sen yu in = She can hear you
Chil daun. = Stand down