Hello everyone, I hope you will join me on this fun adventure. This story is highly influenced by two other stories: This fanfiction here, posted by the Bellarke Black Lives Matter initiative titled We are all caught in the in between (of what's real and what's a dream?) Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own
I want to eventually write about several different universes in this story, similar to the story posted above. The universe that the story is currently taking place in is heavily influenced by Once Upon a Time, specifically the Enchanted Forest. You may notice the similarities between Clarke and the Evil Queen (although she is not evil in this story) and Bellamy and Robin Hood. I must give heavy credit to the two stories mentioned above, as I have been inspired by them both to write this one. I obviously do not own the characters, as they belong to show The 100 and were invented by Kass Morgan in the book series, The 100.
I am very excited about this fanfiction. I haven't written in a couple of years, so I hope you will leave me plenty of reviews to let me know how I am doing. Feedback is welcome and so very appreciated. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy this story!
"Princess!" Clarke heard her guardsmen shout behind her. "We've got him!"
She turned to see a small group of her uniformed men shoving past the others, a prisoner bound between them. They stumbled down the steep hill in the forest, where Clarke waited at the bottom, magic tingling in her fingers, ready to attack. Her heart raced as she tried to catch a glimpse of the prisoner through the crowd of men, the rumored outlaw who had been stealing food and coin from the rich travelers on Griffin Pass. His attacks had been so frequent that travel into the city had all but halted, stifling the economy but more importantly, interrupting the delivery of magical herbs to the Princess. Her stores were getting low and Clarke would not have it; her magic was everything to her, as was her power. This outlaw man had threatened both and Clarke stood ready to kill him on the spot.
The group of guards finally came to a stop in front of her and separated to show the prisoner bound between them. The first thing Clarke noticed was his attire, as she looked first at his shoes and made her way up with her eyes, inspecting every inch of him. She was expecting him to be well dressed for an outlaw, considering he had acquired quite a bit of gold over the past few weeks. However, his shoes were plain and worn thin. He wore dark, black pants made of refined animal skin. She thought they looked similar to what the infantrymen wore as fatigues when not in uniform. His shirt was loose and tattered, woven cotton dyed a deep, forest green over golden, freckled skin. Altogether, he could easily have blended into the surrounding forest.
"No wonder he is so successful," Clarke thought. "And yet, what does he spend the money on?"
The man looked down at the forest floor, his large hands bound in front of him, curled into fists that flexed the rest of his strong arms. Clarke saw a mess of dark curls and a sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks, but his eyes remained glued to the ground.
"How dare he?" She thought. "Steal from my people and then not even have the decency to look his Princess in the eyes." Magical electricity danced between her fingertips. She raised her hand, ready to send lightning through his veins and stop his heart right then and there. Clarke did not believe in unnecessary cruelty, but she did believe in sending a message. These decisions were the cost of power, and Clarke was always ready to pay that price when needed.
"Look at me, sir. I want you to look into my eyes before I kill you," She said, softly yet clearly at the same time, her voice commanding. She heard some of her guardsmen snicker. They liked to see her exercise her power.
The outlaw took a deep breath and then slowly he raised his eyes from the ground. Clarke smirked, letting the power flow from her heart to her hand, ready to send the magic from her body to his. Finally, his deep, brown eyes met her blue ones, and she gasped, frozen in place.
Clarke's breath came quicker suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears. She was stricken to her core with this feeling that she could not explain, not in that moment. The man's eyes stayed locked on to hers, the magic gathering stronger and stronger between her fingertips, shaking her entire body, and yet she could not bring herself to release it. She could only stare back at those eyes, blinking past her tears, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. What was he doing to her?
Clarke dropped her hand, letting the magical electricity fade out, the blue sparks that danced around her fading, and just like that the spell was broken. She could think clearly again and became acutely aware of the stunned silence around her. Clarke was not known for mercy, not after she had already made the decision to kill, and the people around her knew how much she had thirsted for this man's blood these past few weeks. She took a step toward him, and another, never breaking from his intense gaze, until she stood right and front of him. He looked down at her with a mixture of confusion and contempt, those impossibly dark eyes boring into her own. It was like he saw straight through her, down to her very core. "Does he have magic?" She wondered. Perhaps he had cast a spell on her, although if he had, it was magic she was not familiar with. She had never heard of a spell that could make one feel as if the entire universe had shifted with just a simple look.
"Take him to a cell, in my tower. I will question him myself," Clarke commanded, as she finally freed herself from the outlaw's gaze and turned to walk out of the woods. There was a brief commotion as her guards uttered their understanding and began to follow her with the prisoner in tow. Clarke hesitated for a moment, and despite herself, turned around to face the man once more. The crowd stopped again.
"What is your name, thief?" She asked. She expected him to stay silent, or maybe even spit at her feet. She didn't expect him to contemplate her for a moment before smirking, a half smile that briefly lit up the darkness in his eyes. When he answered, he spoke only one word, his deep voice resounding in the forest.
"Bellamy," he said.
"Who we are, and who we have to be to survive are two very different things," Those words settled into Clarke's very being, bouncing around in her head, her throat, her chest for hours. She couldn't keep them from repeating, mocking her with the mantra, his voice so clear in her head that it was chasing away her sanity. When she finally slept, she heard it again, only this time it was softer, kinder. A warm hand wrapped around her own. Hard brown eyes melted as they looked into hers. Now it wasn't a defense, but a comfort. Clarke's shirt was sticking to her, and with the strange knowledge of a dream she knew it was blood.
She didn't know what she had done, but he had done it with her.
She didn't know who he was, but she knew he was there to share her burden.
In the morning, Clarke felt more tired than she had when she lay down to sleep. It wasn't the first time she dreamed vividly of other worlds, other lives she had lived, but it was the first time she had seen it so clearly. Well, the second time if she included her experience in Bellamy's cell yesterday. She shook her head, not ready to reflect on the memory. Instead, she lay in bed awhile longer, trying to focus on the warm sun shining through her window, and the cool silk of her sheets against her bare skin. She closed her eyes and breathed, ridding her mind of all thoughts other than the feeling of her breath as she inhaled it through her nose. Meditation was one of the first things the Rectoress had taught her during her sorcery teachings. At the time, when Clarke was young and impulsive, she had found the practice boring and impractical. Now, as a princess that was a queen in all but name, she found herself relying on the method quite often. It cleared her mind, calmed her senses, and invigorated her magic.
Clarke didn't know how much time had passed since she had awoken but the sun was streaming strongly through her window now, and she figured it was time to start the day. A princess shouldn't spend the day in bed, she mused. She rose and reached for her silken robe, tying it tightly around her waist as she opened the door and called for one of her maids.
"Could you please bring me some morning tea?" Clarke asked kindly. "And some fruit as well," Her youngest maid, Adona, curtsied and smiled sweetly before taking off for the kitchen. When she returned with the tray, Clarke had already bathed and dressed in a simple but elegant cream dress, with a bodice made of lace so that some of her skin peeked through until it met the thin layer of tulle skirt at her hips. It was a beautiful dress, intricate yet comfortable, and more importantly to Clarke, cool to wear. As a child she was always forced to wear suffocating gowns in the summertime, stifling under layers and long sleeves of wool. Now that she was in charge of her own wardrobe, she quite enjoyed having dresses made that were both beautiful and comfortable. If her mother ever returned, she would have something to say about it no doubt, but Clarke had begun to doubt that day would ever come.
She decided not to don her crown until she was done with her breakfast. Almost as soon as she had taken her first sip of tea, a knock came from the door and Adona entered once more.
"There is a visitor here for you, Princess. Madame Raven requests an audience," she said. Clarke noticed that the young maid seemed nervous and wondered if she had to practice the formality of announcing someone to the Princess' chambers. The thought made Clarke smile, as did the arrival of her oldest friend and most trusted advisor, Raven Reyes.
"Of course," Clarke said, bestowing Adona with a kind smile. "Please let her in, and thank you, Adona." The maid seemed taken aback for a moment. Clarke knew she was uncommonly kind for a royal; It wasn't an accident. However, the young girl quickly recovered and curtsied out of the room as Raven entered unceremoniously.
"Good morning, your Highness," the beautiful, dark haired woman greeted with a smirk on her face. Clarke rolled her eyes but smiled brightly back at her. "Good morning, Raven,"
Raven crossed the room and sat adjacent to Clarke at the unnecessarily long breakfast table. Clarke had always thought it a bit ridiculous given that she most often dined alone or with one other person. She had no need for a grand, oak table and yet the thing stretched wide enough to seat fifteen people. Raven grabbed an apple right from Clarke's tray, taking a bite before eyeing the princess carefully.
Clarke simply returned the look, knowing exactly what her dear friend planned on talking about, and wanting to avoid it for as long as possible. She weighed her options and decided on flattery, sure to make Raven smile and maybe even stop her from her interrogation.
"How is it that you dress like a commoner every day and yet still manage to look more beautiful than all of us ladies in our fine silk?" Clarke asked with a grin. It was true. Raven never wore dresses, opting instead for tan riding pants, boots, and a simple white shirt. She did, however, almost always don her signature red cloak, an elegant piece of attire that Clarke knew was one of the only things she had left of her late husband, Finn. It had been a gift from him on their wedding day. She looked impossibly beautiful with it pulled around her long, dark hair and her glowing, caramel skin. For a brief moment, Clarke wondered if Raven would ever marry again. She knew there must be a range of suitors available to her; But she also knew the toll it had taken on her when Finn died in battle. When the news came, her screams had been heard all throughout the castle. Clarke still heard them sometimes in her nightmares.
Raven only snorted at her compliment before taking another bite of her apple. Clarke sipped her tea quietly while she waited for the inevitable. It didn't take long.
"So, are you going to tell me what's going on with you?" Raven asked bluntly.
"I don't know what you mean,"
"Oh, please," Raven scoffed. Clarke raised her eyebrow. "You are too comfortable, dear friend," She said quietly.
Raven held her gaze for a moment before looking down. "I know," She murmured, the closest she would probably ever get to an apology. "And yet, if I don't check on you, who else will?" At this, Clarke had to smile. Raven smiled back, then took a bite of her apple, giving Clarke a moment to collect her thoughts. She could hardly understand it herself, let alone explain it to someone else. Raven fixed her gaze on the princess once more.
"I've never seen you hesitate to take a life before, not if it was justified. Yet twice now, you have spared this man." She said softly. Clarke only nodded, and then gazed out the window, taking a deep breath. "I don't know how to explain it," She whispered.
Raven reached over and laid her hand over top of Clarke's. "Try me,"
Clarke smiled at her oldest, most trusted friend. She thought of all they had been through together, all the times that Clarke was so happy to have someone she could just be herself with. A person with whom she could take off her crown, pour a glass of wine, and laugh freely. She wondered if she had ever thanked Raven for that. Clarke looked back out the window and sighed again.
"It is the strangest thing," she began. "It's something I've never experienced before. When I met him in the woods, I didn't know him. And yet, when I looked into his eyes, I felt..like I had known him all my life. I had this thought that I had known him for… over a century. And not just that I knew him, but that I trusted him. With my life." Clarke looked down at her hands placed in her lap briefly before returning her gaze to the window. She couldn't bring herself to look at Raven. "I stood there, the blue magic in my hand, ready to end his life. And then he looked at me, and it was like I was home. Like I had been away all my life and I was finally where I was meant to be," Clarke continued to stare out the window, shaking her head a bit as if trying to make sense of something she saw in front of her. Raven thought her friend seemed very far away, lost in another time with this man whom she had just met.
Then, Clarke shook herself out of her reverie, and turned towards Raven with a smile. If she didn't know better, she would have thought Raven had tears in her eyes, but perhaps it was a trick of the light because they were gone before she could be sure.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" Clarke whispered and Raven did the last thing that Clarke had expected from her: she laughed. Clarke wondered what in the world could be funny. She was not used to being out of the know. Raven reached across the table and pulled Clarke's hand into her own. "That," she smiled, "is exactly how I felt when I met Finn,"
Clarke gasped. That couldn't possibly be true. She was sure whatever feeling she had when she met Bellamy was some magical concoction, some echo of a previous life, an alternate reality. It wasn't love at first sight. But Raven didn't have magic, she didn't have the dreams that Clarke did of other worlds, and yet she knew the feeling that Clarke had felt. Could it be that simple?
Raven saw the wheels turning in Clarke's mind and simply smiled. "Do you think that could be what you felt?"
Clarke looked at her friend, tears forming in her eyes. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, then opened it again. "Well, maybe...but then there was yesterday.."
"Ah, yes, I wanted to ask about that, too. What happened yesterday?"
Clarke closed her eyes, remembering all the details, and then took a deep breath. "Well, it started with.."
Clarke returned home from the forest, dazed and confused after the encounter with the outlaw in the woods. She couldn't make sense of what she felt. It must be magic, she kept telling herself. But a voice in the back of her head, a voice that sounded almost like the Rectoress that taught her, told her that wasn't it. A whirl of emotions flowed through Clarke, as strong as the magic that coursed through her veins. Confusion, fear, wonder, happiness, anger, (love?)- no. She shook her head. That's just insane. You are a powerful sorceress, a capable healer, and a wise Princess. You are not a fool subject to the whims of your heart. Once again, that voice murmured in the back of her mind, "This is not a whim. This is something real. Whatever it was that you felt, it was powerful."
The Princess sighed and decided that sleep would make matters better. She would wake refreshed, with a clear mind (and heart) and know what to do. So she called for a dream tea, a drink full of powerful herbs that were meant to invoke a deep, dreamless sleep, despite its name. It didn't work. Clarke dreamt endlessly, the night full of vivid dreams, dreams full of freckles and strong arms and the scent of a forest that she had never visited. She awoke feeling more confused than she had been when she went to sleep. She knew that she had to go see him, to make sense of whatever it was that she was experiencing because of him.
Clarke dressed purposefully, taking care to present herself as regal and powerful. Image was just as important as skill and demeanor in her opinion, especially when dealing with enemies; and no matter how this man made her feel, he was still an enemy. She chose a silk navy dress with silver trim to match the silver and sapphire circlet that she wore atop her golden curls. The dress was more modest than most of her clothes, the only revealing aspect was the deep slit that reached up to her thigh, where she had wrapped her knife. The silk of the dress flowed around her body like water and would conceal her weapon perfectly. If she couldn't kill him with magic, she would resort to slitting his throat. The Princess did not leave such matters to chance; she always had a plan.
As soon as she left her chambers, two guards slipped behind her seamlessly to escort her to the prisoner's cell. Clarke often wondered how the guards had gotten so good at falling into step with her without a sound. She was grateful for their skill.
"I will go in alone to talk to the prisoner," Clarke commanded.
"Your Highness-" Miller, Master of her guards began to argue, but a simple raised hand from Clarke silenced him immediately. She continued to walk purposefully towards the cell, arriving in front of two guards stationed outside the entrance. Through the small window of the door, she could see dark curls and her heartbeat quickened.
"Wait here," She instructed, then took a deep breath and walked into Bellamy's cell.
Bellamy had been quietly planning his last words, hoping he could slip in a message to his sister, when the door to his cell opened. He snapped his head up and immediately locked eyes with the Princess of Phoenix, Clarke Griffin. Just like in the woods the previous afternoon, a strange feeling captured his entire being the moment her blue eyes met his. It felt like every nerve in his body was shocking inside of him and for a brief moment he wondered if she had finally sent the blue sparks of magic from her fingertips to his heart, so extreme was the feeling he was experiencing. He realized that she must have felt something strange as well because her eyes were shining once again and she seemed nearly out of breath, just as she had the day before.
Bellamy dropped his eyes back to the ground. He couldn't stand whatever connection they had between them. She was the princess of the privileged, the very people who had ruined his family, killed his mother, sat comfortably in their castles while he and those around him starved and died. He didn't care if she was rumored to be kind, or that she always insisted on leading her warriors into battle when even the strongest princes and kings never graced the battlefield after they reached the throne. He didn't care that everyone said she had learned to heal from her mother before the Queen abandoned them, or that it was said she used her powers for good. She was still privileged, and she had almost killed him yesterday. She would probably kill him today.
She was silent for a moment, and he wondered if he should meet her gaze again. But before he had to decide, she seemed to compose herself and asked, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Was she serious? Talking to him like he's a toddler being put in time out? The privileged just had to make sure everyone knew that they were beneath them. He only responded with a mirthless laugh.
"Is something funny?" Clarke asked incredulously. Bellamy smiled again, and finally looked up. Her eyes were electric, the same vibrant blue that he had seen radiating from her hands in the woods. He ignored the way his pulse skipped around in his veins and answered,
"Only that you think I have to answer to you,"
"I am your Princess!" She responded harshly. "You do answer to me, or you will answer to death!" Bellamy would have laughed at her theatrics if he didn't completely believe that she was serious. He swallowed thickly before responding.
"My Princess? What have you ever done for loyal subjects like me? Watched us starve from your castle? Execute my mother for the crime of having a child?!" He snapped. Bellamy tried to reign in his temper but it was close to the surface. It was threatening to boil over. Something about the way the Princess looked at him with a mixture of shock and sympathy made him want to scream.
"Your mother was executed because of the Gaia doctrine?" she whispered.
Bellamy snorted. "'Executed' is just a fancy term for 'murdered by your mother,"
Clarke's face hardened but her eyes were still glistening. "The Gaia doctrine was harsh indeed, but necessary. The famine was too great, the resources too little. The Que- my mother," Clarke corrected. In her opinion, Abby had lost the right to her title when she abandoned her people. "She was only trying to do what was best for everyone,"
Bellamy only glared at her in return. Clarke found herself unsure of what to say, a feeling in which she was not accustomed. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself why she was there.
"What did you do with the money that you stole?" She asked, in a voice barely above a whisper. At this, Bellamy smirked once again, surprising her. She was quickly growing tired of his inappropriate smiles.
"I gave it to the people," he said. Clarke raised an eyebrow.
"How generous of you," she replied dryly.
"They were dying!" he snapped.
"It still does not give you the right to attack innocent people as they travel on my roads, roads I have promised will be safe! You may think you have been doing good, but you have hurt many people," Clarke said. Bellamy watched her carefully for a moment and Clarke could hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears. His gaze was so intense she could hardly stand it. Finally, his eyes softened. The hatred eased from his features. When he spoke, his voice was soft and warm, so unlike the roughness it held earlier.
"Who we are and who we have to be to survive are two very different things,"
Those words lit a fire inside of Clarke, burning away her anger. They echoed inside of her mind and deja vu threatened to overpower her, as she was sure she had heard those words uttered before. She looked back into Bellamy's warm, brown eyes for a moment, and her heart dropped with the strangest mingle of sadness and safety. She shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts, and made herself push through with her interrogation.
"So, help me to understand. You blame the rich for the poverty of your people, which is fair. It is hard not to be resentful of those more fortunate than yourself, I imagine. You looked around you and saw starvation and struggle but you did not learn to farm. You did not grow your own crops. You didn't come to court and ask for help, or advocate yourself for a position that would allow you to fight for your community. Instead, you stole from wealthy travelers that were coming to trade with your neighbors, effectively stopping our economy in its tracks," Clarke leveled as she laced her fingers together in front of her and cocked her head to the side slightly, making a show of listening to Bellamy's response. He seemed taken aback for a moment but to his credit, he recovered quickly, to Clarke's amusement.
"Are you trying to say that if I had come to court and asked for your help, you would have given it?" He mocked. There was a glint in his eyes that Clarke could not decipher. Was he being playful or spiteful? She decided that her best course of action was raw honesty as she sensed that the thief was too astute to be distracted by pretty political remarks. Besides, Clarke still could not shake the odd sensation that he knew her better than anyone ever had; that he would see through any lie she tried to tell.
"Yes," she replied, nodding. "I would have. You see, thief, I have every intention of being a much different ruler than my mother. That's why I rid our land of the Gaia doctrine almost immediately after I came to power. That's why I have stopped the mandatory executions for all crimes. I have increased the taxes on the wealthy so that I could acquire new land to farm, an important and lucrative job I have already given to several families from your community down in Walden. I have ordered the cooks to install a rationing system here in the castle so that there will be plenty of food for the weekly community feed that begins next week. I have no intention of letting my people starve to death, Bellamy," Clarke finished, saying his name for the first time. She couldn't tell if it was a trick of the lantern flickering on the damp stone wall, but she thought she saw him shudder. He had been looking at the floor as she spoke but finally, he looked up at her with those eyes as dark as night and this time, Clarke was the one who shuddered.
Bellamy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He seemed to be weighing his words very carefully, a trait that Clarke had to admit she admired. Finally, he spoke quietly, his voice rough as sandpaper "I'll believe that when I see that." Clarke smiled in return.
"And you will," she said. "I have decided not to execute you." Bellamy exhaled deeply and Clarke got the sense that he didn't even realize he had been holding his breath. This made her smile even more. "No sir, it is clear to be that your intentions were honorable, even if your actions were not. I think you will prove valuable to us all still. However, you will remain here until I decide what exactly to do with you,"
With this, Clarke began to turn away from him, heading towards the cell door. She saw a flicker of confusion cross his face, and then his voice was booming between the stone walls. "Wait!" he cried, and grabbed her wrist. A flash of a bright clearing within a forest flashed before her eyes. Before she had a chance to see any more of it, Clarke had pulled her knife from beneath her dress and pressed it upon his neck. Her other hand landed on his shoulder and she pushed him back until he hit the wall. Bellamy grunted beneath her, fury rolling off the both of them in waves.
"You dare touch your Princess," Clarke whispered angrily, the knife in her hand pressed against the outlaw's throat. Bellamy looked back at her, and his eyes were dark yet bright, full of passion and anger. Clarke wondered for a moment if he was always so intense, but she quickly shook the thought away from her as she raised an eyebrow at him, commanding him to answer her.
"I'm sorry," he said roughly. "I only wanted to ask about my sister," Clarke looked into his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the feeling of comfort and safety she felt when she looked into them, and see if he was telling the truth. It seemed to her that he was. She began to lean back away from him, her hands slowly relaxing from his throat and his shoulder. She was just about to walk away again when her fingers around the knife made contact with his skin. Goosebumps erupted from the spot where she touched him, and she gasped as a vision of another life came to her, the first time she saw one when she wasn't dreaming.
Clarke finally looked back at Raven, who had been watching her intently as she told the story of what had happened in Bellamy's cell. "What did you see?" she whispered. "When you touched him?"
Clarke took a deep breath, remembering the vision that had come as soon as her hand had brushed Bellamy's skin.
"I saw a clearing in a field, and around it a large iron gate. It was buzzing. I think it was imbued with magic but I'm-I'm not sure," Clarke began. "And across it, he was there. He was hurt, he looked like he had been beaten. And I was running to him. I could feel this, this desperation to be in his arms. I kept saying to myself he's alive, he's alive and I was so happy. It felt like it was the first time I'd breathed in days. Then suddenly I was hugging him and we were holding on to one another so tightly..," Clarke trailed off. She was staring out the window again and Raven thought for the second time that morning that her friend seemed very far away. Suddenly Clarke turned to her with a bright smile on her face.
"You were there!"
"Me?" Raven asked, stunned.
"Yes!" Clarke said excitedly. Then the smile began to fade from her face. "You were hurt, your leg..I don't- I don't know. I could only see glimpses. I don't know what these visions mean. I always assumed they were past lives but this one felt different. Like it was where I was supposed to be,"
Raven only watched her for a moment and then a small smile crept across her face. "It sounds like you're in love with him,"
"Don't be ridiculous," Clarke scoffed. "I hardly know him,"
"You said so yourself. You've known him for over a century,"
Clarke was standing out on her balcony when she felt him appear behind her. The wind blew gently across her skin, moving wisps of her hair in front of her face. She didn't bother to push them away, or to turn when he moved beside her. She only continued to stare out into the night, closing her eyes when the wind blew the silk of her skirt against her legs. It felt good to breathe in the air, to contemplate her dreams and her visions, to finally accept the truth.
"He is the one. The key to everything," she said as she continued to watch the stars. She felt the man next to her turn to face her.
"How can you be sure?" Murphy asked. "You've just met the man." He wasn't criticizing her. He knew about her dreams, and about the curse. His question was honest, as was her answer.
"I've known him for a hundred and thirty one years," she said. Finally she turned to look her confidant in the eyes. "And I've loved him just as long,"