A/N: I kind of cheated here because this is ACTUALLY a 400-word kiss, in two parts. Forgive me?
When he found her, he forgot everything else.
He forgot the chill. Forgot his hunger, his exhaustion, even the endless grey gnawing fear that had pushed him to keep searching for her. He forgot, because she was a crumpled white doll, terrifyingly still, barely visible against the snowy backdrop of this little glade in the winter woods.
"Clarke," he called out, but the name sounded harsh in this landscape, all sharp pointy sounds, too jarring. Too cold.
"Princess," he tried instead. It was infinitely better, soft and round, constructed entirely of warm exhales and gentle whispers and hope.
"Please be alive."
He had not meant to say it aloud. Saying it gave shape to the fear, and suddenly he was not alone with her in the woods; a formless menacing shadow skulked along beside him, ready to take her from him again, this time forever.
"No!" He fell to his knees, hovering over her protectively. "Princess, stay with me." He thought of all the fairy tales: the charming prince, the magic kiss, the happy ending; and he shuddered at the realization that he was no prince, that this was no fairy tale, that he could do nothing to help her.