Together as now, (forever as one).

You may think that eternal love is a blessing. In some sense you're right. You might think that eternal love is a curse. Well, you wouldn't be wrong either. Where is the limit, where is the line? Who decides?

It's a fine theory. If given the choice, would you choose to put yourself in that place? Choosing to witness and endure the loss of the other half of yourself over and over, but cherishing the knowledge that there is never a real end to your story. That those violent tragedies are nothing but pauses in the continuation of your fidelity.

Well, there isn't a right answer. Some will choose it this way, some won't. The fact of the matter is that the choice isn't given. The reality of the situation is thrust upon you, and you have no other choice than to accept it.

Clarke and Lexa will come to accept it too. However, for it to be accepted, it has to be realized first.

The realization comes pretty quickly, if you ask me. There's no gentleness to it, it's brutal and unexpected. At first there's misunderstanding, then there's assertion, and finally, acceptance. It comes with the hope. It's laced with despair.

It happens the second time they meet. There's no time to waste, the universe will tell you.

How very ironic.

They don't remember immediately. They're oblivious, not like you and me.

It's barely a few decades later, nearing a century. There's no sense of royalty this time. Clarke and Lexa are two random citizens, as random as one would expect them to be. No burden, no sense of duty. Or so you think.

Clarke has always felt a sense of duty. Granted, it's not always as grand and purposeful as being a leader or part of an army, but it's there and she never denies it. Lexa doesn't either. It's beneath their skin, and might be the only thing equally as powerful as their love for each other.

The young blonde is quite notorious around the realm, not that she wanted it this way. But it happened. She learns to live with it.

Tonight was one of those nights, and the tavern is packed, loud men laughing and singing their lives  away. Clarke hates it, she hates the stench of beer and sweat, the crowded feeling oppressing her. She hates the dress she has to wear, she hates that she has to wear it to please customers. She hates it all, but it's necessary and it makes for a great cover.

She'd rather wear her leather pants and light shirt, but unfortunately, she can't afford anybody to see her dressed like this.

Halfway through the night, the bell of the door rings and she barely hears it over the sound of the festivities. But she does and when she lift her eyes, expecting yet another group of half drunk men, all she sees is a lonely brunette, her green eyes piercing and gentle.

She walks into the room like a gentle breeze of summer and Clarke is rather glad she's working her shift tonight. Their eyes meet briefly across the room and there's a weird feeling in both of their stomachs. They stare at each other for a moment, until the brunette is knocked over by some strangers and the contact is broken.

Clarke tries hard to ignore the shiver that ran through her whole body, tries to pretend it was just the chill air that passed through the door when it opened. For a moment, she forgets that it's the middle of july, that the nights are warm and that the air is everything but chill and cold.

She watches as the brunette takes a seat at a secluded table. She watches as Octavia goes to take her order, and her impulse, she doesn't why, makes her go after her.

“Octavia,” she all but screams as she comes from behind the counter, “will you take the bar, for a bit? I need a change, I'll get that table.”

All she gets for an answer is a knowing look and a smirk, before her friend turns around and goes to slip behind the wooden counter.

She approaches the table with unfamiliar nerves, and when she gets there, she catches the green eyes once again. For what feels like hours, but might actually be only seconds, they stare, silent. She feels like she knows her, yet she wants to discover her.

She tends not to trust strangers. She tends to be wary, and cautious. She doesn't understand why she feels drawn to this woman.

“Hi, can I get you anything?” Finally, she asks with a shaky voice.

Lexa is mute for a moment. She feels it too, the familiarity. She feels the eyes trained on her, and while it would normally make her uncomfortable to be stared at so intently, she can’t help but return it.

“Just a soup, with bread. Please,” it’s small and unsure, Clarke almost feels the need to ask again. She doesn’t, she just enjoys the politeness, nods, offers a smile and turns to the kitchen to prepare it.

She can’t help but pour just a little bit too much soup, and cut two slices of bread instead of one. She doesn’t explain it, not sure if she even wants to, she just does, and hurries  back to the table to deliver the order.

Going back to the table she can’t help but roam her eyes over the awaiting girl. She notices the slight hollow in her cheeks, and wishes she’d have cut a little more bread. It’s in her nature, to worry about people.

She places the order on the table gently, a sincere smile plastered on her face, and almost refuses the money the girl gives her. She accepts it anyway. She goes back to the bar and observes the silent girl eating.

She’s composed, her back straightened, her posture solid and unbent. Her clothes are worn out, it’s clear, but you’d only notice it if you’d pay attention. It’s in little details, some fixed rips here, some holes there, patched up sometimes, left uncared for when not noticeable enough. She cleans up well and would you cross her in the streets, you’d think her a regular young woman. Clarke knows to look for the signs, though. She notices. She notices because she was this girl once, too.

She was the poor girl, holding onto to the only nice clothes she owned to pass the impression that she wasn’t. To pass the impression that she was like everybody else, not willing to need the help of others. Only willing to help herself. Not willing to show weakness. Only willing to show composure and maintenance.

Clarke notices the way she eats too. She doesn’t launch herself at her food, doesn’t plunge her head in the bowl of soup, doesn’t tear at the bread with her teeth. She’s careful and calm, but she closes her eyes a little too long when she inhales the sweet scent of potatoes, looks a little too relieved at the pieces of vegetables she finds. She’s cautious not to spill a single drop, not to waste too much bread making crumbles.

So Clarke watches, fascinated, how this girl, obviously starving, manages to look so laidback and casual eating what she knows to be the best soup in the realm, (she cooked it, mind you). She’s impressed by the control showing in her every move.

She’s stopped in her studying when she realizes the girl has stopped moving, and finding her eyes, catches her looking at her with questioning eyes. She averts her gaze, embarrassed at being caught, and turns to busy herself.

“Hey, Clarke,” Octavia calls, “look at this man over there.” She says gesturing to a lonely man who seems to be a little too wealthy to be eating here. “Think he’ll make a good target?”

She thinks about it for a second, and nods.

“Maybe, definitely worth a try.” She says with a wink and goes over his table.

As fate would want it, he happens to be seated just a table over Lexa’s, his back turned to the brunette. Clarke tries not to let it distract her too much. She needs her focus if she’s going to pull this off.

She spots the man’s purse, loosely tightened to his belt, and thinks it’s going to be far too easy.

She makes a quick work of seducing him, hating every word that falls from her mouth, sitting beside him on the wooden bench and pretending to touch his back, flirting away to distract him. Soon enough, she has the purse in her hand.

Right when she’s about to get up and walk away, she notices green eyes looking at her intently, shifting between blue ones and her hands. She feels guilty, for a second. But then, the tiniest of smirks spreads on plump lips, and she smiles back before kissing the man’s cheek, oblivious to what has happened to him. He's far too drunk anyway. He'll be lucky if he even remember ever being here tomorrow.

She gets up and walks to the bar, where Octavia watches her.

“Check mate,” she whispers,

“Oy, nicely done, Clarkey,” the other waitress smiles big and stashes the purse in a wooden box behind the counter.

“Did you ever doubt me?”

“I wouldn’t dare,”

Clarke smiles and her eyes fall back on Lexa, who has now finished eating. Without thinking, she goes back to the table.

“Do you want anything else?”

“No, I’m okay, thank you.”

Clarke, who’s never one to take no for an answer, feels quite generous.

“Come on, anything, on the house,” and, it’s still lost on her to this day why she looks at the man, a few feet away from Lexa.

“You don’t have to,” the girl says, “I won’t say anything.”

“I never said you would,”

“I will still have to refuse your offer.”

Clarke doesn’t know what compels her to push, to hold the brunette’s stare defiantly, and ask “Why?” but she does anyway. There’s just something she can’t place.

“Because I won’t be able to pay for it.” It’s said quietly, laced with shame and decisiveness, but the gaze is threatening and her head is held high, like she refuses to let this truth take away her dignity.

“You don’t have to,” Clarke presses, and watches as the girl hesitates. She doesn’t leave her the time to argue again and grabs the bowl for a refill. She chastises herself for being so insistent. She knows why the girl refused, like she refused pity and charity when she was in her place.

Still she can’t help herself. She pours some still hot soup, carefully picking extra pieces of veggies, and cuts two more slices of bread. When she returns to the table, the girl already has her mouth opened to protest, so she leans in close, and whispers in her ear.

“Consider it a treat from the lovely gentleman over there,” she smirks when she leans back, and turns, once again, relieved when the man in question gets up and leaves, still oblivious that he’s missing something. She lets out a sigh.

When she looks back to see if the brunette is eating, she finds her frozen in place, not having moved an inch, mouth slightly opened and eyes wide. What Clarke didn’t realize, was that when she was leaning over Lexa, she gave her a front view of her extensive cleavage, and well, it’s not like Lexa could have stopped herself from looking. It’s not like she wanted to stop herself. However, she didn’t expect to be so affected by the sight and found herself awestruck by the beauty of it all. It didn’t help that the dress Clarke is wearing is designed to compliment those particular assets.

When Lexa shakes herself out of her reverie and finally accepts the extra meal before her, Clarke turns, satisfied, deciding to focus on her work.

“Pretty girl paid for the extra soup?”

Clarke shrugs, “No,” she avoids the pointed look, “But the rich man did.” when her friend laughs she adds, “Too bad he doesn't know how generous he is.”

“Alright, I'll let it pass, because she really is pretty. But don't let Bell know, or I'm dead.”

“As if Bellamy could ever hurt you,”

“I know. But he doesn't know that I know that.” She smirks, serving a beer. “Alright, it's calming down a bit, you can end your shift. Costia and I can manage without you,”

“You're sure? I can stay, I don't mind.”

Octavia frowns, turning to Clarke with a weird look. Then she looks at the seated brunette carefully finishing her bread, and it clicks. She laughs entirely too loud for Clarke's liking. In all the years she worked at the tavern, she has never said she didn't mind working. Sure, she has stayed even when she didn't have to, but she was sure to complain about it. She was upfront with her dislike for the job, even if she loved the family that came with it.

“Oh Lord, that's the first time I’ve heard you say that, what has that girl done to you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” She ignores the laughter, “Fine, my shift is done then.”

Octavia continues laughing, as Clarke goes up her room to change. The great advantage of working here was the home she could call her own. She considers going to sleep right away, but changes into a more chaste dress and goes back downstairs to see if the mysterious brunette is still here.

She is. Of course she is.

Clarke sits across from her, smiling as she says, “I finished my shift, I wanted to know if you.. liked the soup.” She wants to hit herself for sounding so.. not herself.

“Yes, thank you, you didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” She admits, smiling softly. “I'm Clarke.”

“Lexa,” The brunette says, returning the smile. “That was very impressive, what you did tonight.”

“It was nothing,” Clarke mutters, “Comes with the experience,”

“Experience?” The blonde curses herself, knows she told too much, the mere fact that she got caught stealing so deftly, and now the admission, is enough. Lexa is a smart girl, and Clarke's reputation precedes her.

“You're him.” The brunette speaks again, eyes narrowing.

“I'm a girl, thank you very much.”

“Clearly,” Lexa answers dryly. Clarke doesn't miss the way her eyes drift to her cleavage briefly. “You're the thief. What is it they call you? The Shadow?”

“You're delirious. And wrong.”

“Well, you're not really convincing. It's okay, we've all got secrets to hide,” Lexa says looking down at the empty bowl of soup on the table. She tries not to let her shame show.

Clarke doesn't know for the life of her why she risks saying what she says next, but she does.

“I'll keep yours if you keep mine,”

All she gets in return is a gentle smirk that quickly becomes a genuine smile. She doesn't know what to think of the flutter in her chest at the sight of the green eyed beauty smiling in front of her, so she adds, “And I don't know where you've heard anyone calling me that. I don't have a name. I'm mysterious that way.”

Lexa laughs, a full open-mouthed laugh, and Clarke thinks it's the best sound she’s ever heard. She can't help it, she laughs too, if only to cover the sound of her heart beating.

“Why do you do it?” She asks and the laughter is gone, just like that.

“So I can give it to the people who need it most.” She says truthfully. It's not like she needs it, she has a home and a job and it's really enough for her.

She can't handle the look of reverence in Lexa's eyes, she can't handle the feeling of her throat drying and closing.

“Come back tomorrow,” Clarke finally says, standing up. “There'll be food,” She rounds the table and kisses a flushed cheek, lingering far too long. “Goodnight, Lexa,” she whispers, and leaves.

Lexa stops breathing when lips press against her skin. She doesn't move for a full minute and when she turns to catch a final glimpse of the blonde, it's too late. She touches her cheek and whispers words that fall in no one's ears. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

Upstairs, leaning against the door of her room, Clarke finally breathes out, releasing the sweet smell she's been holding inside her lungs to keep the brunette close to her a moment longer.

-

Lexa goes back the next day. She comes in early, sits at the same table and orders only a glass of water.

Clarke comes back with a plate of food and a glass of juice. She offers a smile and doesn't stay to hear Lexa's protest.

She stays until Clarke finishes her shift and they talk until the tavern closes.

Clarke kisses Lexa's cheek and watches the blush creep up the other girl's cheek.

She falls asleep smiling and content.

-

Fate works in mysterious ways. The next night, Lexa comes back but Clarke isn't here. So she doesn't stay.

She roams in the surroundings. It's not like she has anywhere else to go. When she nears the forest, she hears a carriage. It looks royal. It takes her a second to see the silhouette in the trees, in the dark. It takes her less than that to recognize that it's Clarke.

When she sees her jump into the night, landing directly on top of the carriage, she gasps, and her heart leaps in her throat.  

It all happens so fast, and she looks around to see if there are any witnesses but there aren’t. The night is dark, she can't see anything that's happening, and, she knows she shouldn't, but she goes closer, her heart beating.

She hears groans and shuffling, men's voices, but she really can't understand what's happening, and she's scared, she fears for Clarke's life. Really, she should have trusted her more. Hundreds of years laters, Lexa still hasn't forgiven herself for what she does next.

In the confusion, in the unknown, she lets a loud “Clarke,” out of her mouth, and it's all it takes. A second, a distraction. Blue eyes turn to her, and even in the darkness, Lexa can see them, bright and clear and pleading. It's all it takes for her to make a mistake, and she barely has time to catch a bag, punch the man when she normally makes them pass out so they don't follow and run, brushing past Lexa and grabbing her hand on the way.

“Run!” She hears, and so she does, she does run into the forest, Clarke's hand securely in hers while she feels herself being dragged. She runs until her lungs threaten to give out, until her legs scream in agony, and even then she doesn't stop. She feels like crying but she doesn't have the time. It's her fault. It's all her fault. She prays, she prays they'll make it out okay.

She hears men shouting in the distance, they're on their track. They're followed. She knows that if they get caught, it'll be over.

They run for what feels like hours, when it's barely been five minutes, and before she has time to process what's happening, they've stopped.

They've stopped because there's no ground to run on anymore. She looks ahead and what she sees is nothing. They've reached the edge of a small cliff, and when Lexa looks over, she thinks that it's not that high.

“We can make it, let's jump.”

But Clarke doesn't move, she turns Lexa so she has her back to the cliff.

“They'll come after us. They'll jump if they have to. They want me. I'm too big of a prize, they won't let me go.”

Lexa doesn't understand, and Clarke wants to cry. It's over, she's been caught. She can't let them catch Lexa too.

She thrusts the bag full of gold into Lexa's hand and looks at her. There are apologies in her eyes.

“There's no other way, Clarke, we have to jump,”

“You jump, they won't look for you. If they catch me, they won't look for you,”

This is not happening, Lexa thinks, she doesn't want to. With Clarke walking into her life two days ago, she found solace and she's not ready to let that go. Because of her own stupidity.

“I am not leaving you here,”

But Clarke doesn't answer. She just looks at her and grabs the collar of Lexa's jacket. Were you to ask Clarke, she'd tell you that what she does next is to distract the brunette, or  to prevent her from convincing her to go with her. When her lips meets Lexa's, though, she knows that she just couldn't let the girl go without telling her. She has to know, Clarke thinks.

Fate works in mysterious ways, it's true. Who decided that Lexa were to walk in on Clarke thieving? Who decided that it was a good idea to distract her? Who decided that lips on lips was the trigger of their memories? Will we ever know? I don't have all the answers, but what I can tell you is that in this moment, in this brief, single moment, time stopped and past lives connected with new ones.

Clarke, stunned, almost forgot to push against Lexa's shoulders, but an approaching scream reminded her what was happening and she pushed a disbelieving Lexa over the edge, watching her eyes as they remembered at the same time.

The blonde barely registered, a few seconds later, arms around her, dragging her, tying her, gagging her. She can barely hear the guards screaming, people talking. All she can focus on, all she can hear, is a farewell whispered a hundred years ago, carrying through the ages to her ears again.

All she can see behind her eyelids as she closes her eyes, is a white dressed princess holding her hand, kissing her cheek.

She pays little mind to the tears on her face. All she can think about is Lexa.

Lexa, falling over the cliff. She did what she had to do. She did what she had to do.

Lexa, too, doesn't realize she is falling.

She doesn't realize she is falling because as her body floats into the air, she remembers the feeling of Clarke's arm around her body, strong and decisive.

As her body hits the water, hard and cold, she remembers the nights of loving passion, the way the bodies moved together and the softness of Clarke's lips on her own.

When she finally comes up for air, she swims, with all her strength, with all her might. She has to find Clarke.

When she comes out of the water, she screams and screams and screams until her voice is lost in the depth of the void inside her chest.

She hates fate with every fiber of her soul.

-

Lexa goes back to the tavern the next day, in broad daylight, when there's nobody and she's alone with Octavia.

She throws the bag of gold on the counter without one care in the world, and she feels like she'd rather die right now to test out the theory that she might get to see Clarke again.

“Where did you get that?” says Octavia, serious and threatening.

“Clarke gave it to me,” she answers, dry and emotionless, “I don't want it.”

“Clarke is imprisoned because of it,” she pauses, “Because of you,”

“I don't need you to tell me that,” She turns to walk out, she turns because she can't handle to see this place without Clarke.

“They're going to execute her. In two days.”

Lexa freezes. She falls on her knees and feels like taking her own heart out of her chest. She'd scream some more if she had the strength.

She doesn't.

She stays there, clothes still somehow wet and clinging to her body like a prison of her own. She can't close her eyes, because every time she does, she sees the image of Clarke leaving, sorrow in her eyes, on the back of a brown horse. Every time she does, she sees reverent blue eyes looking at her like she's the light that shines upon all of us.

How is it fair? It's not.

“I have a way for you to see her.”

Lexa doesn't answer, she just listens.“Lincoln, he's my.. anyway. He's a guard at the castle. He'll sneak you where they keep her. I was supposed to go, but..”

She doesn't finish her sentence, and Lexa doesn't know how long she stays there, kneeling on the floor trying to process the idea that she got another chance. She got another chance. And it is over already.

-

Clarke lies in her cell that night, she's quiet and accepting. She closes her eyes, she spends all her wasted hours eyes closed to see again. She focuses, trying to recreate the feelings on her skin, trying to engrave green eyes and shy smiles into her brain. She doesn't want to forget this time. If this was to happen again, she wants to remember right away. Please, let her remember right away. Let her keep the memories of a young princess, let her keep her memories of a lost child.

She wants it all. She wants to keep it all.

She doesn't sleep that night, she doesn't sleep at all, too occupied reminiscing.

In the soft hour of the dawn, she hears footsteps, and Lincoln's voice. She hopes, oh, she hopes.

Answered prayers, you all remember, and those of Clarke are. Because when she opens her eyes, she sees green ,and it's not a memory. In seconds she's at the bars of her cell, stretching her arms to reach for the goddess on the other side.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” the brunette all but cries, she presses against the metal and they both curse it, because it's the only thing separating their bodies.

“Don't be,” Clarke says, and grabs Lexa's face through the bars. She pulls, and pulls, until they can steal a kiss. Another, and then another. They kiss until they can't breathe. “I'd do it all over again,”

“What happened to us?” Lexa asks, tight throat and short breath.

“I came back to you,” Clarke smiles, she has to. She can barely believe that she's graced with the sight of her love again.

“You did,” the brunette whispers, voice cracking against Clarke's lips. “You did,”

“I'll find you again, love, I told you once, death is not the end.” The blonde pulls her harder, trying to feel all she can despite the iron prison restraining her. “Feel it, believe it, nothing in this world could keep you away from me. Not even death. You remember that while you wait for me to come back again.”

Lexa doesn't know how to answer to that, she doesn't know how to voice that she doesn't want her to find her again, she wants her now.

She kisses Clarke, long, hard and slow, and she kisses her like it's the last time. It is, it is the last time. So she feels the way lips move delicately against hers, the way Clarke's tongue moves in sync with her own, how it feels like everything she's tasted until now is sour and dull. She enjoys the way Clarke breathes into her mouth, deep. The way she gives her the air that's been inside of her, like she wants to share her deepest secrets. She tries to touch her face, memorize its shape and the way her jaw moves as they kiss. It is the last time. At least for now.

She screams in agony when she feels Lincoln's arms pull her away, hates the way his hand against her mouth is erasing the remnants of Clarke on her lips. So what if she's loud, so what if they hear her. Let them take her, let them put her in that cell with Clarke.

Let them have her.

And as Clarke watches her go, when she returns to wait for her certain death, she allows herself to cry. She allows herself to crumble.

She accepts the fate that is thrust upon her, it doesn't mean she has to enjoy every excruciating second of it. This memory, she tells herself, the image of a devastated Lexa, is not something she wishes to remember the next time they meet.

-

She waits for her death, peaceful and calm. When she closes her eyes for the last time, before they take her life, she smiles.

-

Lexa doesn't go to the execution, she doesn't think she's strong enough to witness that.

She goes back to the edge of the cliff, sits with her legs in the emptiness, and wonders. She wonders and wonders and doesn't pray. She never prays.

-

She takes Clarke's job at the tavern. Octavia is nice enough, and Lincoln understands the pain there is inside of her. He's seen it. She's astounded how Clarke saved her once again, gave her a home and food every night, at the expense of her own life. She remembers the words she said a lifetime ago. I will protect you with my life.

She wonders if maybe someday, she'll be the one protecting Clarke. She vows, she asks, she demands, to let her protect Clarke next time.

She meets Costia. She's nice, and pretty, and not Clarke. But she's nice. And pretty. Gentle, and caring. She's understanding. When she lays with her at night, she hates herself for thinking of blue eyes and blonde hair but there's nothing she can do to prevent it.

She cares deeply for the woman; they both know they will never love each other like that though. They're content to take comfort in each other's arms, and it seems to be enough for the both of them.

Still, she never recovers from the gaping hole inside of her. The emptiness that took over, and now, she misses Clarke twice. She misses her soldier, she misses her thief. She misses her in both lifetimes, and the hollows that were once in her cheeks are now in her eyes. She spends the rest of her life wondering.

She wonders, and wonders.

Lexa wonders what she has done in her past lives to deserve a curse like this.

-
To every story it’s own agony. You will learn that it's not always the most happy that make for the greatest love story.