Together as now, (forever as one).

There is something incredibly fascinating to history, and utlimately, life in its very core. Maybe it is the tendency it has to repeat itself, without ever being the same. This striking paradox that things are doomed to happen again and again, filling human kind with a sense of eternal déjà-vu, without ever granting it with actual reoccurance.

Are we fated to reproduce the same mistakes, over and over? Fate. It's a special word. It's a funny word. It holds this idea that no one is entitled to their own life. To their own choices. Maybe it means, in some ways, that whatever we do decide, whatever we do choose, all the roads and all the choices lead to the same outcome.

And if life is a cycle, if life forever comes full circle, that we are fated, destined to futures that aren't ours to decide, does that make us perpetually subjected to the grand scheme of things? Do we accept it? Do we even realize it? And if we do, do we stop it? The real question is do we want to stop it.

Let me tell you a story. It isn't often you hear a tale like this. A tale of a neverending bond, caught in the whirlwind of cycles and doomed by its destiny. This story, as of now, knows no end. It might never. And that's all the beauty and despair of it.

It's two people, two souls, that are cursed to live with repeatedly having to watch each other die. It's two friends, two lovers, that are blessed to live with the knowledge that no matter what happens next, that no matter how hard the cycle gets, it'll always start over.

My story begins the first time souls entwined, met and recognized.

And, almost as expected, it begins with a princess, and although the term will lose its sense over generations, it'll never lose its meaning. The princess' name is Lexa. If I'm being accurate, I should tell you it's Alexandria, but the young green-eyed brunette doesn't care much for it. Lexa is just fine, she will tell you, if you dare call her otherwise. She'll say it with a gentle authority. And you will comply.

Lexa is a carefree young girl, that often finds herself yearning for something unknown. She has yet to figure out what, and it's not uncommon to find her wandering the castle and its surroundings, white dress falling pliantly against her body, bare feet brushing the fresh grass in the morning.

She roams in the deep forest or in endless corridors of the castle for hours, until King Gustus orders half the guard to search the entire land to bring his missing daughter back. But she's not hiding, never, she just roams, so she's easily found.

“Loosing yourself around the castle like this is unwise, Alexandria.”

“Father.”

“Lexa,”

“I am not loosing myself on those long hours, if anything, I am trying to find it.”

“You are the future Queen of this kingdom, and it is time you start acting like it.” His voice is gentle despite the accusation behind the words. It lacks sincerity.

“So a Queen musn't be allowed time to herself?”

“A Queen you will be when you will stop disappearing on your aging father.”

“Ah, I see much clearly now.” The argument always ends in the same way. “Surely this hasn't been about my ability to fulfill my duty to the throne, but merely about my poor aging father's concerns for my safety.”

A chuckling Gustus always ends up telling her to be careful and to remember to be brave.

-

The morning of her eighteenth birthday, when the castle is fussing over planning festivities, going out of their way to attend to Lexa's every need, the young heiress feels particularly yearning. She has an emptiness inside her chest. So she starts wandering again.

She walks slowly, searching. She touches the rugged stones of the walls, and tries to find answers in their secrets. She reads past lives of countless like her, imagines other girls brushing their fingers against the same spots as her, creating connections in impossible places.

She thinks of the lives that animated the lands before her, before her father. She heard legends, she heard myths. She heard about faceless heroes that have accomplished much, or traitors that set examples. She wants to know about people, about unique and beautiful people whose stories are not written for posterity, but written in their heart, and in their eyes. Sometimes, she feels like she seeks for her own words to be written in someone else's eyes.

But duty calls, and she can't linger too long, listening to the quiet murmurs of the cold rocks.

She goes through celebratory dinner, holding her head high under the scrutiny of the lucky people attending this ceremony. She keeps her stance steady at all times, shoulders tired. She aches to let them down, run in the soft night that is falling. The hole between her ribs expands tenfold.

After the meal is over, and people dance and laugh in her name, she slips away, takes advantage of the darkening skies. She doesn't want to be found this time. She visits places she rarely went before.

The stables. The soldiers usually there are always looking at her with hunger for something she isn't willing to give. She avoids it. This time it seems empty, and the horses wouldn't dare look at her the wrong way.

However, she's surprised to find light, to hear a soft voice, gentle and soothing. It's not masculine, it's not a man's. That's the second surprise. Women are not allowed near the stables usually, and the only reason she's here is because her title grants her permission. Only members of the King's army are allowed in here.

When she rounds the corner, the voice getting clearer, nearer, there's the sight of a long haired blonde girl ever so softly brushing a horse's neck, Lexa's breath hitch.

During long minutes, hidden from view, the brunette just stares, striken. She doesn't dare breathe, or make any sound that could disturb the scene before her. There is something utterly familiar about this girl, and she aches. Her chest feels suddenly heavy. She doesn't dare acknowledge the reason, it frigthens her to no end. But you and I know: the hole between her lungs is not a hole anymore.

In its place, there is a ghost feeling. It's not filled yet. It's not substancial. But it's here. Something is, where nothing was. And that fact alone sends waves of dizziness through Lexa's body.

“Good boy, good boy,” she hears, over and over again, vocie hoarse.

So she speaks. She has to, or the world might just stop turning.

“Do you know that women are not allowed in the stables?”

The blonde doesn't even flinch. She stops her hand at the base of the animal's neck, and turns slightly.

“I must ask what you're doing here, then.”

Lexa, hidden in the shadows of a corner, takes a step forward, revealing herself. Eyes meet.

For a second, both girls believe that the Earth has, indeed, stopped turning.

The blonde, Clarke, as the universe decided to name her, is the first to break the silence.

“Princess, I'm sorry.”

She doesn't bow though, as the coutume would want it. Lexa is grateful for that. Sometimes, she just wishes she could be treated like everyone else. Sometimes, she hates the weight that comes with a title and a crown that isn't even on her head yet.

“Lexa is fine.”

“Lexa,” The blonde repeats. The name falls from her mouth effortlessly.

“I must ask again-”

“I'm a member of the King's Army.”

To say that Lexa didn't expected this would be an understatement. She stays silent, dubitative. So Clarke continues.

“My father helped yours a great deal. He repaid the favors by letting me into his army.”

“Why would he repay him like this?”

“I asked to join. The other members weren't too happy but they wouldn't go against the King's orders. As long as I keep to myself, there's no problems. Some of them are decents and worthy men.”

“You are a soldier.” Lexa still can't believe it, and now that she tears her eyes from the other girl's face, she notices the black armor. It's weirdly appealing, yet unfamiliar to see a woman in such attire. Warmth settles deep within her, pooling in her stomach, and the feeling is so new, Lexa has to take a step back.

“I am Clarke.” And the name, clicking in the other's mouth, forces the princess to take another step back. Eyes meet again, something shifts in the atmosphere. A buzz can almost be heard.

“Clarke, the soldier.”

“Lexa, the princess.” And there's a small smile gracing Clarke's lips. She feels warm. Being a nineteen years old soldier in the king's army has allowed her the same privileges her fellow soldiers experience. And, it's not uncommon that ladies would come and find her at night, when she's in her quarters. She recognizes a woman's beauty, she knows of desire and lust.

However, there is something essentially different. Oh, there is no denying of the beauty in front of her. Lexa's beauty is known to all. In the soft light, tired eyes, loneliless induced look, she looks celestial. The difference doesn't reside in the beauty of the girl. Clarke can't find the words to explain, nor can she understand the feeling in the first place.

“Clarke,” Lexa repeats. It's a mantra. A prayer, a soft adage. An invisible pull makes her advance again, and the two steps back she took earlier become three steps forward.

“Lexa,” Clarke murmurs, taking a step as well. Armor clings, straw creaks. They're much closer than people that have never met should be. The brunette isn't about to tell the blonde to step back though. The feeling of another's presence in her space is both refreshing and thrilling.

“Shouldn't you be celebrating yourself?” The blonde asks, quietly.

“There are enough people in the castle celebrating me.” She says, a vague melancholia rooting beneath her words. “They obviously do not need my presence to do so.” She pauses and think. “Shouldn't you be celebrating me?”

“As you so rightfully put it, princess, I don't need your presence to celebrate you. Therefore, I don't need to be where the festivities are to think of you.”

“I am not where the festivities are, therefore, your argument is highly invalid.”

“Wherever I am, know that I am always celebrating you.”

Clarke is glad that she has experienced physical desire and flirting before. The deep flush on the princess' cheeks is a nice reward.

“Surely, you weren't celebrating me before I came down here.”

“Be sure that I will constantly do as of now, then.”

There's not a trace of playfulness. The words are violent with meaning, and when the blonde extends her hand, the brunette slips hers in it almost immediately. They both do their best to ignore the spark that shocks their system. Failure hangs heavy in the air.

The kiss pressed to the soft skin of a pale hand sets an imaginary clock. Something beyond all of us gets into action. Something has begun.

Clarke's eyes never leave the brunette's as she touches with her lips silky perfection; she lingers, her fingers enjoying the warm feeling of holding such a precious thing. Lexa is entranced by that simple gesture, that has been done to her countless times before. Never before, though, it's made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Never has she felt shivers run through her entire body at the mere contact of lips on her skin. This kiss, however reverent and solemn, feels like the most intimate encounter she ever shared. She buzzes and crave for more, enjoying every everlasting seconds of Clarke's lips against her hand.

“Your hand kissing skills would put many gentlemen to shame.” Lexa says, soft, shy, eyes looking down. It is such an honour for Clarke to be witnessing such a display. Appearing vulnerable and affected is not a common occurrence amongst the royal family.

“I do not pride myself in treating a woman with the respect she deserves.”

“Why wouldn't you?”

“If you take pride in giving a lady what is rightfully hers, it is implied that you do not think she should have it.”

“I don't think I understand,”

Clarke is all smiles and tender eyes. There's sadness in there, too. It saddens her that a beautiful young woman doesn't understand the basic idea of esteem. That she can't tell the difference between respect, and obedience, submission. That she thinks the servility and docility of subjects, of people of the court, are a sign of respect and consideration.

“My respect for you is not earned. You don't have to put in an effort for me to give it. I don't have to work myself into respecting and adoring you. It is given. It is normalcy. Therefore, there is no need for me to be proud of something that comes naturally.”

“You have an honourable heart, Clarke.”

When looks cross, green meets blue, long silences fall between exchanged breaths. It takes them several minutes to realize their hands never untouched. There is a fire in the space between their fingers and it burns beautiful. Soft passions yet to be discovered.

“What are you doing in the stables at such a dark hour, Princess Lexa?”

“I came.. wandering. Searching.”

“Searching for what?”

“I don't know yet.”

“Curious.” They can't pull apart, if anything, they only come closer, arms tucked between their bodies.

“How do you know when you find it, if so?”

“I just will.” Deep down, maybe she already knows, maybe she already realized, that she found it just now.

“Let me know when you do, then.”

Lexa can only nod slightly, because when all those hours she thought she seeked solitude and peace, she was in fact searching for the opposite. In front of this stranger that doesn't feel like one, she comes to accept this truth.

“I should probably return to the castle,”

“You should.”

None of them makes a move. Clarke makes the terrible mistake of averting her eyes, letting them fall on pink, full lips. Their arms have shifted, somehow, the need for physical contact grand and consuming. Hands have slipped upon foreams, and fingers started to grip the muscles under them. It ressembles a salute, a promise.

“Goodnight, Soldier,”

“Goodnight, Princess.”

And, before the blonde can make a second mistake like tasting the tempting mouth before her, she lets go of the arm, and steps back. The young brunette grabs at her dress and wordlessly makes her way out of the stables, heart beating loud, as loud as the soldier's. It creates melodies underneath the stars and it's the only sound they hear before falling asleep tonight.

-

The following morning, when Lexa wakes, light yellow and blue eyes is the first thing she thinks about. She considers going to the stables first thing but she knows it to be unwise and she doesn't wish for anyone's company other than the blonde's.

She decides against it.

She goes to the swing, the early hours of the day still hiding most of the sun, but the light is making it's way above the mountains and forests.

She sits on the old piece of wood, hanging weakly from two ropes. She's surprised when it doesn't break under her weight. It's been a long time since she came down here. She couldn't tell what compelled her to come back.

The soft creak of the rope against the branch of the oak tree takes her back to a couple of years ago.

She almost feels the hands on her back, pushing her higher and higher. Too high sometimes, and she'd scream Anya's name with a laugh.

“Don't be so scared,” Anya would tell her. “I will protect you, you won't fall.” It never failed to reassure her.

She closes her eyes, tries to imagine her voice now. Would it sound the same? Would it have changed, slightly so, getting huskier?

She almost hears it. It says “I'm proud of you Lexa,”.

Eyes still closed, she answers without thinking and her words fall into the void of silence, never reaching anyone's ear.

“Whatever for?”

“For being the strongest, most beautiful. For being the princess we expected you to be. Mom is proud too, you know.” Anya would say.

“Is she there with you?”

“She sure is.”

“I miss you.”

And she hears the laugh this time, she opens her eyes, and she sees her, it's blurry because her eyes are filled with tears. She doesn't reach out, she doesn't try and touch for she knows the disappointment will be excruciating. Instead, she enjoys the mirage.

“I know, but don't miss me too long, the living still need you.”

She drops her head, but the silhouette doesn't disappear. It stands in front of her, a soft smile that shatters her heart.

“Anya, who will protect me if I fall now that you're gone?” She hates herself for asking. She hates herself for being weak, but under no prying eyes there is no pressure for greatness and she allows the walls to crumble.

“Clarke.”

Her head wipes so fast she thinks she heard bones crack. There is shock in her eyes. There is shock in her heart.

“How do you know of her?”

“I don't. But you do. She's in here with you.” She reaches a hand across her heart; Lexa still doesn't understand.

“How do you know of her?” She repeats, because really, she doesn't know what else to ask.

“I'm in here with you. If you can feel her, I can too.”

“What does it mean, Anya?”

The confusion is overwhelming, she doesn't know what to believe in anymore. Is this a mirage, is this her imagination, a lucid vision of clarity, early on-set demencia?

“Whatever you want it to.”

“That's not very helpful.”

There's this laugh again, and Lexa missed it so much, she might drop to her knees and scream at the gods above for tearing her sister from her.

“I'm not here to be helpful, Lexie,”

“Quit calling me that.”

“You know I won't.”

“Must you be so annoying even after death?”

There's silence. The assertion of the words forces the lightness of the moment to be gone. Lexa wants to claw her eyes out, to swallow the words back and choke on them. She feels like suffocating.

“I'm sorry,”

It echoes in both their mouths, but it does nothing to ease the heaviness of Lexa's heart.

“So what do I do, now?”

“You carry on, you must.”

“Please don't leave again, Anya, I'm not ready for all this. I need you.”

“No you don't. You know what you need.”

The tall figure starts to evaporate, and Lexa trembles. Not again.

“Please,”

“Look for the signs, Lexa.”

The younger brunette closes her eyes, and waits several moments. When she opens them again, Anya is gone, but she's not alone. King Gustus is here, tired eyes and sad smile.

“Father.”

He goes behind her immediately, starts rocking her gently on the swing. Lexa might break down for good, but never in company of her father, never in the company of the King.

“I wasn't expecting to find you here.” He says, deep voice soothing.

“I didn't expect to come.”

The sky is almost fully blue, now, and the day can start. Birds are chirping, weather is warm. Lexa doesn't feel like enjoying the beauty of the moment.

“Do you think about her a lot?”

“All the time.”

“I miss her too.”

It is so striking in honesty that Lexa almost does fall from the swing. The open admission is bold and sensitive.

She stops the slow rocking movement of the swing and let his hands rest on her shoulders. There's a gentle squeeze. The conversation is over, she knows it.

“There's some business that needs attending. I will be travelling out of the castle for a few days. Indra will look after you.”

“I can perfectly look after myself, father.”

“I will put Indra to the task, and you do with that what you want. It will put my mind at ease.”

“Fine, Indra can pretend to look after me.”

He chuckles, warm and tensionless.

“What is this business, father? If it is concerning enough for you to leave the castle, surely it can't mean good things.”

“You let me worry about that. Let's go back.”

No other words are said, and the trip back to the castle is full of silent questionning.

-

Lexa considers wasting her day away. She bids her father goodbye, when he leaves, and retreats to her room. Lost in her head she sits by her large window, looking out at the fields, and, in the far right corner, as clear as the light of day, she sees the stables.

She spends hours daydreaming about nothing in particular but her mind often wanders towards a certain blonde soldier.

Sometimes she sees her walking around with her horse. Her heart beats faster everytime.

When night falls, she's grateful that her father is away and Indra trusts her enough that she can roam the place more freely. She pretends like it's a coincidence that she ends back up at the stables, but she isn't fooling anyone. Especially not Clarke, who smiles knowingly when she sees her enter the large doors of the cold building.

“Princess Lexa, you're here again.”

“I am just Lexa,”

“And here again,” the blonde repeats. The brunette blushes hard.

“Father is gone and I was mildly bored.”

“Are you looking for.. entertainment?” Clarke is confused and dubitative. Surely the princess is not looking for what she thinks she's looking for.

“I am more than capable of entertaining myself.” The blonde nearly chokes at that, her cheeks crimson from the suggestion that she's sure she's mistaken, and it has nothing to do with the imagery in her mind. She tries to push them away, it's wrong and disrecpectful but one can't control their subconscious.

“I have no doubt, pri- Lexa.”

“Maybe I'm looking for.. company?” She's unsure and shy, all over again. Clarke softens, all thoughts of naked body writhing leaving her mind, for the most part anyway. She looks at the young brunette affectionately, admires her courage and honesty. She smiles softly, and it's returned almost intantly.

“I am deeply honoured that you deemed me worthy to keep you company, then,”

For a moment, it's awkward silences and flirty smiles until Clarke speaks again.

“Let me know if you are cold.” She says, resuming her activity, which consists in brushing her horse.

“What's his name?” The brunette asks, reaching a hand to pet the horse gently on his side.

“He doesn't have any.”

“How come?”

“I don't have a good enough idea, I guess. He's just Good Boy to me.” Clarke shrugs, looking at the animal with infinite affection. Lexa finds it endearing. She keeps that information to herself.

“But he needs a name,” she argues, pouting. She has taken a liking to the animal already, his white robe soft and warm under her hand, the gentleness and calm of his presence reassuring.

“Well, does Princess Lexa wish to suggest a name then?” It's teasing and playful and Lexa likes the easy banter, the way it feels natural and unforced. She rarely gets to talk this way with people, always restrained into formal discussions. People are scared to talk to her, even with her closest maid, there is still this hierarchy heaving over them. She doesn't feel that way with Clarke. She feels safe and normal.

She ponders on an idea for a moment. She thinks, long and silent, watching the majestic animal. She rounds him, standing on the opposite side of the horse from Clarke. They exchange a look, and smile; it's hard, Lexa finds, not to smile all the time while looking into blue eyes as deep as the ocean.

“David,” Lexa says, breaking the stretching silence. Clarke frowns while smiling.

“I know I'm nothing exceptionnal, but it's too early for you to forget my name already.” She knows she doesn't mean it, that she is just playing around, it doesn't stop the next words to leave her mouth from sounding serious and deep.

“I would never forget your name,” she holds the soldier's gaze, whose playfulness and humor have disappeared. The silence returns, and Lexa, afraid of the truths it might hold, adds, flustered “I meant, for him, he deserves a name that suits him,” she returns to petting the horse's fur.

Clarke's eyes never leaves her, though, she can feel the piercing gaze trying to read into her soul. “Does it have a particular meaning?”

Lexa smiles gently, looking at the horse with affection, “In several cultures, it means 'beloved',” her eyes return on the blonde. Once again, no one speaks for a few beats of excited hearts.

“It's very suitable, indeed,” Clarke says, “He shall be named David from now on,” it's husky and delicate and Lexa feels warm all over. She carries on with the conversation, hoping to find something to talk about that will make her feel less heated and with a warmth at the pit of her stomach. Honestly, she doesn't know what it means, she isn't sure if she wishes to find out. (But you and I both know she does).

“I always wanted to ride a horse,”

“Don't you already do that? To leave the castle and everything?”

“Well, yes I have on very rare opportunities but I was very young and always with Anya or Father,” she says softly, “I can barely remember it, and after Anya's accident.. I just wish Father would let me ride a horse again.”

Clarke doesn't answer, instead, she turns and gathers what she needs to saddle David. Lexa doesn't notice at first, lost in her thoughts and sorrow, but soon, she hears the movements.

“What are you doing?”

“You father isn't here, now, is he? It appears like you and I are going on a little adventure,”

“It's dark outside!” Lexa all but cries, before adding a little stern, “Plus, you do realize that my father could have you executed for going against him?”

“I'm willing to run the risk if it means I can see that smile on your face again,” Clarke says, only half-joking. She feels it in her bones that she'd be willing to risk far worse for this girl.

“What smile?” she asks, flustered all over again, the admission that the soldier would give her life for something as simple as that leaving her with her chest aching in all the right ways. Clarke only raises her brows purposefully, and, really, Lexa doesn't mean to smile, she doesn't mean to. Except she does, it's bashful and she drops her eyes for a second before lifting them again, looking at the blonde through her lashes.

“This one,” Clarke chuckles softly, and really, it's all she can do not to go kiss the brunette right this instant, “Like I said, your father isn't here, and like you said, it's dark outside, no one will see us,” when Lexa opens her mouth to protest, she adds, “Nothing will happen to you, I will protect you,” she lets another beat pass, then, quietly, firm and purposefully, “With my life.”

Lexa has no counter argument. Well, she has. There's a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but there's only one that has enough power to make her ignore them: she wants to go. She wants to, she craves to, and the soft determination in Clarke's eyes is entirely too appealing. She also thinks briefly about Anya's words from this morning, and her heart squeeze inside her chest, but she quickly pushes the feeling away.

She nods once, barely perceptible. Clarke's eyes light up, she moves behind her, and guides her hand on the handle of the saddle, gives her soft instructions. When Lexa is ready, she lightly puts her hands on her hips, in a mere attempt to help her climb on top of the animal, but for a second, when contact is made, both freeze, and the princess turns her head slightly, eyes down, cheeks flushed.

Clarke stops breathing for a fleeting second, lost in the feeling of the other's body under her hands, so she closes her eyes, trying to be respectful, not think of other places she'd like to trail those hands in. She can hear the itch in Lexa's breathing, opens her eyes just in time to see her lick her lips, all of which doesn't help her. At all.

The moment is gone, though, when Lexa bends her knees and propels herself, helped by the strong arms of Clarke lifting her, and in one go, she's seated on the horse's back. Once she's made sure the princess is comfortable enough, Clarke tucks her foot in the stirrup, expertly climbs, sitting herself behind the other girl.

Once again, the extreme proximity makes them both pause. Lexa thinks she should be extremely cold, her dress being strapless, her arms, shoulders and collarbones exposed, but she feels overly heated, with Clarke's breath now in her ear.

The blonde snakes her arms around the brunette's body to grab the reins. Tension rises.

“Is this okay?” Lexa hears, a quiet whisper against her skin. She can only nod slightly, having lost the use of her voice completely.

She feels Clarke give the horse a nudge and soon, they're moving, exiting the stables. Before long, though, someone is calling the blonde's name. Lexa's blood turns cold.

They stop, and the princess hangs her head low, knowing it is completely useless, they've been caught.

“Clarke, taking a nice lady on a ri- Oh, Princess Lexa.” Lexa turns her head and sees a young girl, but she's wearing an armor too, seems intimidating and fierce. She bows slightly, clearly taken aback by the royal presence.

“Yes, Octavia, and I trust you to keep that to yourself?” Clarke answers. It's clear that the both of them share some kind of comradry.

“Naturally,” she goes to turn around, but adds, “If I may, your majesty, you shouldn't wander on a horse uncovered,” and it's so stupid that they haven't thought about it, that Lexa almost wants to chastise Clarke for being reckless and forgetful. But really, she's equally at fault. Octavia only laughs. It's the second time that Lexa feels like her title isn't so heavy. She hears the hushed, “Wait there,” and watches Octavia go into another wing of the stables.

“Don't worry, Octavia won't tell, trust me,”

“I do trust you, Clarke,” she says softly, glad that the brunette soldier is returning with a long cape to distract her from the heavy admission she just let past her lips. She accepts the cape with a smile.

“Thank you, soldier, I appreciate your discretion,”

The other girl just nods solemnly and takes a step back, not without sporting a light smirk. She pretends she doesn't notice the way she gives Clarke a thumbs up when they start moving again, and she doesn't feel the blonde shake her head in annoyance.

The cape, however great an idea, prevents her from feeling the warmth of Clarke, the light breath she felt on her neck. She regrets that. She deeply hopes they'll go to a more secluded area so she can take the hood off. Clarke, ever so chilvarous, seems to have the same idea, because she asks “Would you be okay going into the forest with me?” Nobody ever asked her so gently something before, so she accepts, and the ride is silence until they cross edge of the dark forest.

Somehow, advandcing into the darkness, Lexa feels safe. Clarke's arms are strong and decisive around her. The soft glow of the moon lights the wild vegetations around them, she craves to see it cast on the blonde's face.

“Octavia, she's a soldier, too..” Lexa says in the silence, taking her hood off, leaning slightly into the warmth of the other's body.

“Yes, her and Bellamy. Their mother died so Bellamy, her brother, enrolled in the army. Octavia basically trained alongside him. She was a natural, the king couldn't deny her a place in his ranks,” Clarke explains, her voice is soothing so close to her ear, Lexa is content to just listen.

“I can imagine,” she answers, distractedly. She wonders about the closeness of the two, how Octavia made a comment on Clarke taking 'a nice lady on a ride', wonders if Clarke takes a lot of ladies on horse rides. The idea doesn't please her and she questions the feeling of mild anger that settles somewhere within her.

“She's the reason I wanted to join the army. She's inspiring. I wanted to follow her example. She made me want to fight for my people.”

Hearing the blonde praise the petite soldier only fuels the feeling. She clenches her jaw, stands a little bit more straight.

“You two seem quite.. close.” She doesn't dare speak more explicitly, the subject being highly prohibited. But her words are sharp and accusatory.

“Have I made Princess Lexa jealous?” Under any other circumstances and heard by any other member of the court, Clarke would probably have her head cut off for saying those words, and she dares laughs, low and smug against the other woman. Lexa's blood boils. However she isn't angered of the audicity of the words, she is angered because she feels caught.

“I am most certainly not.” She answers, too quickly, too rushed, trembling for it to be believable. She feels the need to change the subject of the conversation. “I would appreciate you not refenrencing to my title, please.”

“Why? Aren't you proud of being princess and future Queen?”

“It's not- It should be Anya. The title wasn't mine to be in the first place. It should be Anya.” Lexa answers, not knowing why the words fall so easily from her mouth, why confessions are so simple around Clarke.

“What happened to your sister doesn't make you less deserving,” the soldier states, putting an arm on Lexa's own. It's meant to be comforting, and it's efficient. A little too much. “I think you'll make a stunning queen. Royalty suits you, Lexa.”

“Simplicity suits me best,”

“One doesn't prevent the other,” Clarke argues, and squeezes Lexa's arm once before taking ahold of the reins once again. She waits a beat before whispering, “But you're right, it does suit you.”

They're silent after that, and it's not long before they see the edge of the forest once again. It's getting late and Clarke will not deprive the princess of more sleep than she already did. The latter puts on the hood wordlessly, leaning once again into Clarke's body to enjoy the last moments of warmth before they cross the threshold of the stables.

“Thank you, for the ride,” Lexa says after climbing off the horse with Clarke's help. She smiles. It's soft and grateful.

“Anytime,” it sounds hopeful.

Lexa leans in, silently, and presses a kiss to the blonde's cheeks before taking a few steps back, turning to make her way back to the castle.

“Goodnight, Clarke,” she says over her shoulder, casting a last glance at the soldier, who's watching her, flushed and rapt.

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

They sleep deep and peaceful this night, and their hearts never slow down.

-

It becomes a habit. The following night, Lexa returns to the stables after spending the day braiding her hair with Raven, her favorite maid, and, sometimes she likes to think, her friend.

They laugh and talk, enjoying the little bit of freedom that comes when the King is away. Titus is in charge of the castle, but really, he has a soft spot for the girl, him and Indra always covering for her when King Gustus is looking everywhere to find her.

On multiple occasions, Lexa finds herself wanting to tell Raven about Clarke, about how she makes her stomach flutter, how she feels constantly warm and flushed when she's with her, and how her voice sends shivers down her spine. How her heart beats faster when she thinks about her.

She doesn't say anything. She wants Clarke's head attached to that strong body of hers, and she doesn't know to what extents she can trust Raven.

She'll tell her eventually, whatever there is to tell, because, for now, Lexa isn't even sure what it means. She's a princess, she has heard of the tales. Of stories of love and passion, of the prince and princess getting married and having children and a castle, living in peace. Her heart aches when she thinks that she'll soon be married, that it surely won't be to Clarke. She's surprised she isn't already.

Maybe her father is more understanding than she'd think.

When she makes her way to the stables feeling giddy and impatient, when she sees the blonde waiting for her, David saddled already, heart squeezing, she knows: she's infatuated.

They ride to the forest everynight for a week, Octavia on the look out, and each time, Lexa presses a little closer, turns her head a little bit more. They ride a little longer.

-

On the eighth night, Lexa enters the stables light hearted. She smiles softly at the idea of seeing Clarke. The blonde never leaves her thoughts.

However, she's surprised to find her in company of Octavia, they're both saddling horses, seeming in a hurry.

“Clarke?”

The blonde turns to her, eyes appologetic and sad. Lexa doesn't like it one bit.

“Princess,” Octavia greets, makes to leave immediately, taking her horse by his reins to guide him out of the stables. Before she's out, she says, “I'll wait for you outside,”

This sentence alone makes Lexa's hands tremble and fear. The most unsettling feeling bubbles up in her chest. She searches the blonde's eyes for clarification.

“Lexa..”

“Is something wrong?” She asks tentatively, not sure she wants an answer.

“We heard from King Gustus,” Clarke says, careful, “he sent a messenger. War is brewing. That's why he hasn't returned.” She adds, somber and serious. “Our army is not big enough, though, so I am leaving now with Octavia and others to recruit more soldiers around the realm.”

“You're leaving?” She hates the tremors in her voice, she hates the lump in her throat.

“I am,” eyes find the ground, almost ashamed, mostly sorrowful.

“We are to come back here to give them basic training,”

“So you're coming back?” She repeats Clarke's words like she didn't just hear them. She doesn't know how to grasp the reality that she won't be pressed against Clarke's warmth tonight. That the blonde won't tell her she's beautiful under the soft light of the moon, and she won't get to kiss her flushed cheek.

She takes the long steps separating her from the soldier, she hears Octavia calling her, saying they need to go, now. She doesn't want to. Please, stay, she wants to beg. She can't. Because Clarke has a duty to her king, and to their people, like Lexa has a duty to her future throne, to her people too. Their people.

“Yes,” But it's not joyful, it's not hopeful. It's defeated. She's coming back only to go again after. Once the training is done, she'll go fight alongside her father. She'll be in the battle field, her life at risk.

Lexa doesn't say anything else, she breathes in, long, hard, prays the tears away. She makes up her mind in a second, the fear didacting her movements.

She leans in, gently, presses her lips the soldier's.

Clarke is surprised, only for a second, before she returns the kiss eagerly, pressing her gloved hands to Lexa's cheeks, wiping the tears she finds there.

The kiss doesn't have the time to deepen, to even last, as Octavia is grabbing Clarke's arm, her horse in the other hand, and all but drags the blonde away from her.

“Be safe,” Lexa watches the wide eyed look on Clarke's face, disbelieving and sorry.

“Wait, wait for me,” she hears as she retreats, turning her back to the blonde, not capable of witnessing the sight of a departing Clarke.

When she goes back to the castle, she yells. At Titus, for not letting her know of her father's situation, for not telling her of his endangered life. She yells at Indra, for no reason at all.

She doesn't yell at Raven. She lets her unbraid her hair in silence, willing the tears to stay hidden.

It fails.

If Raven notices, she doesn't say.

She goes to bed, eyes opened wide, and sleep never finds her.

-

Another week pass, the days drag endlessly. She tries to keep herself occupied, tries to force informations out of Titus, begging to help somehow. He doesn't relent, she's frustrated, desperate, and she misses Clarke.

She roams the castle like she used to before her nightly escapades. She doesn't touch the stones of the cold walls anymore. Instead, the tips of her fingers often finds her lips, as she tries to hold onto the feeling of the soldier's lips on her own.

-

When she hears of Clarke's return, it's all she can do not to run and fling herself at her, begging to hear her voice, to hear that she's okay. She manages to control herself enough to wait hours, perched on her windowsill, eyes fixed on the stables. She sees her in the distance, heart beating faster, and she seems well. Still, she can see the tiredness in her body from here.

They're beginning the training of the hundreds of men they've recruited. They don't have time so everything is rushed.

Lexa slowly makes her way across the castle with Titus in toe, doing her best to feign disinterest, feigning boredom.

When she arrives in the training field, when all eyes are turned on her, she nods her head authoritatively, as best as she can.

“Your princess and I wish to witness the training of the soldier, assuring that everything runs smoothly,” Titus says from next to her. It was his idea but she was too happy to accompany him.

She crosses Clarke's gaze, from across the field, relief washing all over her, yearning to feel her arms again. Lexa watches as everyone bows slightly, reverent and silent. All except for Clarke.

Lexa smiles her way, and the training begins.

Really, Lexa should be worried for Clarke, fighting men twice her size. She should be feeling sad, and worried that Clarke will be going back soon. But watching her move, a sword in hand, armor clad body swifting through the air deftly and graciously, Lexa can't help but notice the appeal. The warm feeling she so greatly missed returns, expanding, and she burns with what she now knows to be desire.

She feels impatient to have the chance to be in Clarke's sole company again, if she even can. When she does, she promises herself, she will make the most of it.

After hours of training, Titus giving orders,surpervising, and annoying Lexa, Bellamy finally sends the soldiers to rest for the night. Sun is beginning to set, and the trip adding to the day of training have them drained. They can't push themselves too much, they need to be in the best of shape to fight in the battle that is upon them.

Bellamy, who seems to be the head of their rank, approaches Titus, Clarke and Octavia on each side of him, as well as a tall, dark and quite handsome man. Lexa's eyes find Clarke's immediately and she watches her with desperation.

“When are you planning on joining King's Gustus' ranks?” Titus asks, looking more at Bellamy than any others.

“Day after tomorrow at the latest,” the taller man answers, and Lexa's heart drops, “sooner if the soldiers are good enough,”

“Very well, no later than this, the King needs you.”

Clarke's eyes never leaves Lexa's, she's barely aware of Titus leaving after that. They stand there, watching each other. Bellamy and the others excuse themselves, leaving them both standing in the middle of the field, seemingly alone.

“Clarke,” Lexa speaks first, soft and awed.

The blonde just smiles, sincere, happy.

“Come to the castle tonight,”

“Lexa-” Clarke cuts, eyes wide.

“Please. Raven will sneak you in. There are too many soldiers now for me to be roaming around.”

The blonde seems to think about it, but Lexa pleads with her eyes and tries to show her how much she wants Clarke to come. There is no denying what her intentions are, Clarke knows that.

Finally, she nods, small and unconvinced, but it's there, and Lexa knows that if the soldier gives her her words, she'll be there.

The corner of her mouth lifts. She wants to kiss her again, but not yet. She will wait just a little longer.

-

The night has just fallen when the door to her room opens and she sees Clarke. She looks clean and prepared. She's standing by the door, waiting for Raven to give Lexa a nod before closing the door.

There's heavy silence, and Lexa approaches Clarke, but doesn't stop in front of her, instead, she passes her and goes to the wooden door, locking it. The sound of the lock is loud in the impending silence. Most of all, it's eloquent.

Lexa doesn't turn around, rests her hands against that damn door, traces lightly the creaks in it, trying to distract herself from her fastening beating heart. She can feel the thumping in her ears, she can feel the bloop pump in her fingers, and in others parts of her that she doesn't dare think aloud.

They stay like this for long moments, nerves settling, back to back, until Lexa hears footsteps approach. They're slow, and deliberate. When she feels Clarke hover over her, almost pressing into her back but not quite, breathing down her neck, purposefully, more purposefully than all those nights lost in the deep forest, she trembles.

Lexa thinks she will go mad, both from apprehension and yearning. She tries to pace her breathing, taking in big gulfs of air, hoping it'll calm her nerves. But then, Clarke whispers “I missed you,” in her ear, and she sighs, long and relieved.

She turns around, and looks into the almost completely black eyes in front of her. She wastes no more time, and leans in, unraveling at the feeling of the soldier meeting her halfway in a slow kiss. It's hard and gentle at the same time, passionate, and they both inhale sharply at the feeling that is so familiar yet still so new.

They haven't had the time to know each other's mouth, and now, in the privacy of her room, with the night young and theirs, nothing can stop them. It starts soft, firm, until Clarke opens her mouth and Lexa, having certainly no experience in kissing another person, follows the movement, gasping in surprise at the feeling of Clarke's tongue tentatively but expertly licking into her.

She's sure she's supposed to find it weird, but she doesn't. She finds it appealing and she wants more of it. When her tongue finally presses against Clarke's, there's a small whimper that escapes her throat, the action powerful and new, setting her on fire. She grows confident despite her lack of knowledge, but she figures she'll let Clarke guide her, and rely onher instincts, because this feels incredible and their kisses are vibrant and colorful.

Confidence means that Lexa's hands find the back of Clarke's neck, her shoulders, presses her closer, until their bodies are flush, every parts touching and there's no more space between them. Hands find hips and still in deliberately slow exploring movements, they roam the body underneath them.

If you were there, you would hear the long sighs of contentment, the gasps of shock and arousal, and occasionally the moans of pleasure when tongues meet passionately. You'd see Clarke's body pressing Lexa's against the door gently but firmly, the kiss growing, deepening, neither of them ever caring of breaking it for air. You'd see one of Lexa's leg raise and one of Clarke's hand grab it, only to grind her hips into the brunette's, the kiss only breaking then, allowing Lexa's head to drop against the hard surface of the door, allowing, in turn, Clarke's kisses to trail down a pale neck, across a quickening pulse point.

Clarke isn't fooled, though. And before she's in too deep, before she goes too far, she pulls back slightly, drops Lexa's leg, and waits for the princess to look at her. When she does, she speaks quietly but clearly.

“I assume that you haven't been with anyone. Yet.”

Lexa's heart flutters at the yet and she has to compose herself from all the emotions she's been having in order to answer.

“No, as a princess, I mustn't be bedded before marriage,” she notices the way Clarke's face seems to fall at that, “but I have no intention of waiting.”

“Lex-”

“Have you? Been with anyone?” She cuts to avoid the argument.

“Yes,” the argument would have been better.

She does nothing to hide the jealousy in her eyes as they avert, looks at the floor, anywhere but Clarke.

“None of them matter like you do,” she adds softly, and the admission rips through Lexa violently, so much that she can't stop the words forming on her lips. They stumble out of her mouth, humble and confident.

“Bed me,” she states, aloud, staring once again into the bluest eyes.

“I will not get you in trouble. If someone were to find out-”

“I have no concerns for who finds out. Bed me,” she repeats, grabbing the collar of the leathery armor and pulling to get the soldier closer, impossibly closer. “Chances are- This might-” she doesn't find the strength to finish her words, to voice those thoughts, those realities. She pushes them away, and tries to remember the feeling of Clarke's lips on her neck, how good if felt, tries to forget the idea that Clarke might be dead soon. “I am offering myself to you,” she whispers against the other's lips, low and husky and convincing, “Show me what love feels like.”

Clarke has no willpower to argue with that.

They kiss again, hungry and determined. Clarke doesn't waste any time after that, gentle hands grab the back of thighs, and lift. Lexa is in her arms in seconds, easily, her weight light and feathery. There's a gasp, or perhaps two. If there are, they're so synchronized and similar that it'd impossible to tell them apart.

Lexa's hands don't go around Clarke's neck, she's far too fascinated by the feeling of the strong muscles of the biceps she feels through the leather. It makes her burn, thrive, she wants to feel skin, and she's lost on how to ask. She's clueless, and she wants to know so much more about the way Clarke's body would move against hers.

Clarke walks them to the bed, until the back of her knees collide with it, and she sits down, effectively bringing the younger girl with her, until she's straddling her legs. She breaks the kiss and looks up, into green, green eyes, shining with desire, a little fear too.

She drags her hands up a slender back, it's arching underneath her touch, and she reaches for the laces of the dress.

“May I?” It's soft and not too demanding. More for reassurance. Also, Clarke would never undress a girl without asking first.

“Please, indulge me,”

Once again, Clarke is a little unsettled by the confidence in Lexa's voice that contradicts the way the girl is shaking in her hands. But those words, uttered, eyes unwavering, just set her fingers in motion and the laces are delicately pulled. Soon, the white dress opens, Lexa gets up letting it pool at her feet.

Lexa has never been for fancy corsages and complex attires. She'd rather wear a simple white simple dress, tonight, while waiting for the soldier, she thought it would be a good idea to be prepared, not wear anything underneath but a simple white underwear. Looking back now, she feels exposed and ridiculous standing there.

The look in Clarke's eyes, though, is nothing but admirative and awed. Lexa looks so virginal, and ethereal, Clarke can barely believe this girl is hers to have tonight. Of all her affairs, she has never seen something look so purely inviting, innocent but tempting, while so reverently beautiful.

The only thing Clarke can think of doing is taking off the big jacket of her armor, slip to the edge of the bed until she's no longer seated, and press her knee to the floor, looking up with honesty and love.

“You entrance me,” Clarke says, solemn and hoarse. Lexa find truth in her words, and she feels beautiful, only for Clarke. Not like she feels when men praises her beauty, like they have to.

When she tugs at the blonde's hand to get her up, she nearly doesn't feel nervous at all anymore, for she knows Clarke will be gentle and caring. And that she is, as she kisses her carefully. The hunger resumes. Clothes are shed from the soldier's body, fumbling and meaningful.

Once nothing remains, Lexa traces with her fingertips the defined lines of Clarke's body, sharp muscles, generous chest, and she's fascinated by it. She spends long minutes exploring, paying particular attention to the reactions it ellicits. The closing of eyes, deep inhaling, long sighs, muffled groans. She doesn't realize right away that her touches are teasing and torturous, but when she does, she makes a point of remembering exactly what she's doing and stores it for future use.

Clarke, after what feels like hours, finally lays Lexa on the bed, hovering over her, proctective. She kisses away all remning traces of nervourness, discovering every part of her body before settling with her head between her legs. Lexa has clearly no idea what she is going to do, panicked, so she leans on her elbow to look, to ask, but when her mouth opens only a high-pitched sound escapes her, and she's mewling, because she realizes: Clarke's tongue just touched her there. And it felt heavenly. She's grateful she listened to Raven's advice and took a bath before the soldier's arrival.

“Is this okay?” She hears Clarke ask, always gentle. Lexa just nods, closes her eyes, begging in her mind to feel that again, because if this is what love feels like, she wants to be loved for the rest of her life. The feeling returns and it's more insistant, warm and wet and strong. Her mouth falls in a silent scream, disbelieving, her eyes fly open. The sight on blonde hair between her legs attached to a toned and strong body is enough for Lexa to feel overwhelmed.

She feels things she has never imagined she could be feeling, it's euphoric, maddening. Her arms tense, her hips buck, she grabs what she can, somehow it ends up being Clarke's head. She lives in another world completely, only one word on her lips, as she closes her eyes again, a tightening feeling in the pit of her stomach that she has no idea what it means, but it's building towards something appealing and she wants to know what it is.

She pleads, as she repeats, “Clarke, Clarke, Clarke,” needing to feel grounded for what is about to happen. When it does, her hips lift completely off the bed and she stills, feeling something snap inside of her and immediately release, reaching some kind of peak. There are waves of pleasure rushing throughout her body and no sound comes out of her, she's stopped breathing, stopped moving, waiting for the tremors to pass.

She collapse on the bed after a few silent moments, Clarke returning to kissing every places she can, until she can hear Lexa's breathing calming.

“How are you feeling, love?” The term of endearment makes her want to cry and laugh at the same time but she's too far hazed to do any of it. She's trapped in pure bliss. Now that she has discovered the love between two bodies, she never wants to let it go.

“Can you- Would you.. do that again?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Clarke husks against the other's lips, and she shudders.

“Can I, maybe, if you're willing.. Will you let me do it too?” And she means it, she wants Clarke to experience what she just experienced and even if she's nervous she doesn't know how, she's willing to try her hardest. That'd have to be enough.

“You can do anything you want to me,” Clarke watches the green eyes blacken a little more, she smiles adoringly, “but first, let me take care of you some more.”

And so she does, she doesn't stop loving on Lexa for hours, if only because she can't: she's addicted, she's fascinated, she's hers.

When Lexa reciprocates, she's shaking at first, she's clumsy, but under Clarke's soft gaze and reassuring smiles, she learns the way the blonde's body reacts and responds. She comes to appreciate all the ways it makes her buzz to watch Clarke tumble into blissful pleasure. Especially knowing her hands created the sounds she hears, muffled by the soldiers firm thighs around her head.

They doesn't stop until the sun rises and part when absolutely necessary. Their hearts are heavy and Clarke promises she won't leave today. She promises she'll come back at night to share more passion under the midnight hour.

-

Lexa assists at the training once again, and they must leave at dawn, she hears. She tries to ignore the sound of her heart shattering.

She fails.

That evening, when she takes another bath to wait for Clarke, she finally gathers the courage to talk to Raven.

“Do you know of love, Raven?” She asks, quiet, lost in thoughts.

“I think I do, Miss Lexa,”

“Quit calling me miss, please.” She hopes a heart ot heart will make her realize how fondly she thinks of her maid, how she thinks of her as more of a friend. “I think I do too,”

“Miss Clarke is a very good looking soldier,” the maid answers, voice low and fearful, but also understanding.

“That she is,” Lexa says, sorrow laced in her words, “That she is,” She pauses again, getting out of the bath. “She leaves tomorrow.”

She hates the weakness in her voice, she hates she truth in her words.

“I know, Miss Lexa,” Lexa thinks she sees a shared feeling, and she wonders if Raven too, has fallen in love with misfortune. “If I could, I would tell you that all will be right,” she says, “Unfortunately, I can't.”

“Isn't it a tragedy?”

“It is, Miss Lexa, it really is.” If Lexa sees the tears streaming down Raven's face, she doesn't say. She lets Raven quietly dress her in a simple night gown, because there is no more reason to pretend now, and watches as she slips away to retrieve the blonde soldier.

-

When she enters, they don't speak, they only fall in each other's arms in silence and there is no need for pretense. They undress fairly quickly and fall into bed holding each others.

There are moans and screams at times, the will of making the most of their last night strong. Sometimes they stop to kiss gently, talk briefly, about anything.

“Does Raven know what we are?”

“And what are we?” Lexa asks smiling, leaning back from her straddling position on Clarke's body, naked as the day she was born, watching the soldier lie on the furs. There are hands on her thighs and hips and it makes it hard to focus on how to speak.

The blonde, to answer, follows the brunette in her sitting position and kisses her, pressing close.

“In love,” she says. It sounds like a prayer and Lexa could cry. In fact she does, and the admission is so powerful that she can do nothing but kiss the other girl until the tears subside and she's left with a hunger to show just how much in love she is.

She pushes Clarke back against the bed, and starts a slow grinding motion, loving the way she's being watched.

“Raven does know, and she knows better than to speak about this. I trust her,” Lexa says, breathing laboured and unfocused. “Does Octavia know you are here?”

“Yes,” Clarke laughs, never taking her eyes away from the goddess on top of her, “In fact, I think she is having an affair with Raven. I wasn't the only one sneaking into the castle”

She doesn't answer, because that would explain a lot, and she just feels for the other girl, knowing that soon, they will share more than laughter and a few secrets. She whises they didn't though, she wishes they wouldn't have to share that.

-

They don't sleep once again, and Clarke feels exhausted. She has a long journey, maybe she'll be able to sneak some hours of sleep on her horse.

They whisper words of love and embrace each others at the door when Clarke has to leave. Lexa almost doesn't let go, she grips and clutches at the armor, she pleads with lips against lips but she knows it: duty comes first.

She lets her go, finally, watches the other slips through the door, her hand holding on until the very last moment.

They don't say anything. They don't speak.

Lexa doesn't hear Clarke's voice one last time.

-

It feels wrong. It feels wrong and so, Lexa runs to the stables in hopes to find the soldiers departing.

She does, Clarke is ready to climb on her horse, ready to go, just outside the stables, surrounded by the all the soldiers ready to go to war. There are breaths of relief in Lexa's lungs.

“Soldier!” The blonde turns to her, stands by her horse, waits. Lexa is careful not to come too close, not to show affection with anything other than her voice and her eyes. The only person close enough to hear is Octavia, but she doesn't care much if she hears.

“I needed to hear you,”

“Be safe while I'm not here,” Clarke says, “Don't go on midnight rides with anybody else,”

Lexa laughs. It's not even close to sounding joyful.

“I'll wait for you.” She takes only a step forward, craving to feel the warmth, craving to touch again. Again. Please.

“Wish me a good trip?” The blonde asks, as the soldiers surrounding them start to follow Bellamy. Time is running out, it'll be over soon. She prays that the seconds would last longer, that the minutes would expand, that time would stop altogether.

She closes her eyes and thinks of all the things she could wish for Clarke if they can't be together.

“In peace, may you leave the shore,” she starts, softly, there are images of a safe soldier on gentle seas behind her eyelids.

“In love, may you find the next,” there's a wistful hope of a young princess waiting by the docks.

“Safe passage on your travels,” she's crying now, like it's all she can do, the soldiers around her almost all gone, “until our final journey on the ground,”

They're alone now, the other soldiers marching in the direction of the horizon, backs turned to the scenery of pure agony unraveling. Oblivious to the tearing sound that two souls make when they part.

“May we meet again,” Lexa finishes, her ultimate utopic wish voicing itself before she can stop it.

Clarke, taking one final risk, and because she is mostly hidden by her horse, closes the small gap between them, kisses Lexa's lips, hard, lingering. It feels like a farewell.

It is.

“Clarke,” Octavia calls, “It's time,”

They part. Clarke climbs on a brown horse that Lexa doesn't recognize. She reaches for the princess' hand, and when she Lexa gives it, Clarke kisses it with the same gentleness she has shown the first time she tasted her skin.

“I'll come back to you,” she says, as she urges the horse to advance, never letting go of the brunette's hands.

Eventually the contact is lost and Lexa is forced to watch Clarke departing again, knowing full well that this time, she might never return.

-

Lexa, when she goes back to the castle, discovers that David, their white companion, never left for war and she cries all over again, knowing that Clarke left her friend behind so the princess would have something to remember her by. Someone to keep her company.

She makes Titus teach her how to saddle him and ride him. She spends her days roaming the lost forest on his back.

-

It's three weeks later, when she hears news from the war. They won, of course they did. King Gustus is strategic and merciless.

She all but runs to meet the returning army, looking for blonde hair and blue perfection.

All she finds is Octavia, limping and beaten down. She doesn't need to say anything to understand, to break.

She can't grasp at the reality, she can't believe it's true.

Clarke is dead.

Octavia slips something in her hand, there, in the middle of the field, and Lexa doesn't have the strength to look at it, merely because she can't get up from the ground.

Her father carries her to her room and she pleads and begs for him to hold her. He does. She thinks he must've known, because he doesn't question the tears, the screams of agony that breaks her body.

In the middle of the night, she unfolds the piece of paper tucked safely in her hand. It's crumpled and dirty, blood stained.

Death is not the end, may we meet again.

It's shaky. She imagines Clarke writing it while knowing her time has come. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she did. Maybe the blood stains are hers.

She cries for a week. She starts to pray. She prays every night.

-

She ends up marrying some prince she doesn't care much for. He's respectful and gentle and good. When she closes her eyes at night though, there's golden hair and blue eyes, always.

She still prays.

-

Every morning, before starting her day, she takes David to the swing and cries at the gaping hole. The one where her heart used to be.

Still she prays, for years. She prays for death not to be the end.

Maybe, when her time will come, she can hope to meet her soldier again.

She prays until she gives her dying breath.

-

And thus ends the first tale of my neverending story. Undying love and answered prayers are the first steps of every great tragedy.