I don't know about you, but yesterday I was finishing my other story with a FREAKING PROPOSAL, and today I'm writing this tragedy, so yes, I'm pissed.

Not really a story, just a thing regarding 307. Do NOT read, unless you've seen 307.

Major character death.

Sad.

Lexa Kom Trikru

She comes to life with a tiny cry, the kind of sound that brings the fuel of life in her lungs, and makes her heart pumps blood strongly in her chest. She barely opens her eyes, but the emerald color is forever tattooed in her parent's eyes, as she is taken away from the safety of her mother's arms. She is wrapped in a warm fur blanket and brought near the delicate flame of a candle.

"Do it," a man's voice orders.

The knife is sharp against her pink sensible skin, and when it pierces through her vein, she struggles against the hold of the strong arms. A tiny black drop appears from her body as a gasp escapes from the man's throat. She is declared nighblood, and is fated to a life of training and perfections. She is condemned to a lifetime of violence the second her parents give her an identity.

She is Leksa kom Trikru.

She is two, barely able to speak, but fully able to walk. She doesn't crawl anymore, and as soon as she stops falling, she is brought outside. She stands on the dirty ground, looking curiously around her. She is amongst two other infants, who can hardly keep their balance compared to her. She observes quietly when a tall woman comes to meet them, bringing small wooden knives.

She has no idea yet, but this is the first and last time she will ever train with toys.

She is asked to pick one, and she does so, her small hands barely able to close solidly around the hilt. Her brain has strange ideas, and she wonders how that new toy would taste like if she put it in her mouth. She wants to try, but her motion is stopped by a gentle hand lowering hers. Her eyes meet golden ones, and she understands she cannot eat this long shaped stick.

She sees the woman holding her long stick proudly in the air, and she immediately feels the need to do the same, to command the same energy around her. She tries to raise her small sword, but the weight surprises her, and she falls forward as her balance is shattered. She tastes mud in her mouth and spits.

She doesn't like this game, but she is forced to play until her hands hurt from too many blisters and her legs trembles under her frail body.

She is eight, and her arms are strong as she blocks the attacks of her mentor. She is bleeding from her left arm, but she doesn't let the pain get to her. Anya fights with two swords, while she is practicing with only one. She is faster, and it gives her an advantage against the older woman. She doesn't fear blades anymore, doesn't wince at the sight of blood, and doesn't flinch when her own is spilled on the ground.

She has fire in her eyes and her heart is burning in her chest, full of life. She feels strong, and invincible. She feels unreachable by the world, for she is busy learning how to protect herself against the greatest enemies. She doesn't let her soul being distracted by the shadows she thinks she sees, roaming around them, hidden by the trees' shadows.

Perhaps she should have paid more attention to them.

Anya falls on her knees, an arrow grossly sticking out of her shoulder. The mentor lets a painful scream that echoes in the forest, but she keeps her head up, eyes scanning the trees. She will make the life of her young protégé comes first, even if she must pay with her own. It takes Lexa one more second to notice what the blonde woman spots first, as one of her two swords is thrown in the direction of branches. The man crashes violently to the ground as he yells in pain at the weapon piercing through his chest.

He isn't dead, and Anya can't get up anymore. The young girl watches with confused eyes as the tallest woman difficultly gestures something she doesn't quite understand. She fixes the warrior, suffering as a bright red pool slowly grows at her feet. She is quiet, waiting for her mentor to guide her, when she realizes she must decide herself, and run to get help. She takes a deep breath.

"Yu gonplei ste odon," she murmurs for the first time despite having heard this sentence already countless times.

Her tiny sword makes the giant's heart explodes in his chest, and her gaze remains steady as she tastes her first kill.

She is thirteen, and in love with a woman whose light brown hair flow graciously in the wind, and whose eyes bring happiness wherever she goes. She is speechless by the way her heart skips a beat, the way her breath catches in her throat, and the way she can't seem to do anything right when she sees Costia. It is a harsh contrast with her reality, which is defined by the constant need for improvement, the eternal quest for perfection, the endless road to defy death.

She makes warriors bows to her, makes men twice her size fall in her arms as she takes their life, and yet, at the end of the day, she is the one falling into the softest of embrace as Costia's scent masks the one of blood. She falls asleep between stolen kisses and gentle touches.

She loves life.

It is a perfect balance between sanity and madness, between peace and violence, between love and hatred. It is magical, in the way she loses herself in Costia's presence, and brutal, in the way she saves herself from the hands of her enemies. It is mind blowing, in the way Costia's hands weaken her, and heart shattering, in the way her own hands get to take another's innocence.

She comes close to death a thousand times, but fights her way back to life just to see those eyes again.

She is sixteen and blood is dripping from her head as she stands above the body of her last known challenger. Her eyes dare anyone to defy her, and when she finds no brave spirit, she nods, sealing her fate as Heda, the new Commander. She stands tall. She has revolutionary plans that could stop the anarchy they have been surviving in. She wishes to create a real coalition that would minimize the casualties.

It is Costia's idea, and she finds her lover's eyes through the crowd, shining with a mix of fear and affection.

She finds Anya's gaze on her, and is surprised by the tiny smile she notices on her mentor's lips. The blonde woman's smiles are as rare as snow during the warmest days, and Lexa finds herself smiling back in a hidden way that only Anya can decrypt. Protector and protégé share a final nod, as they both prepare for separated lives. Anya's pride for Lexa radiates through the world, and shakes the planet with similar force to the nuclear war, all those years ago.

Lexa makes silent promises to her people, and leaves Trikru in direction of Polis with the three pillars in her head: Wisdom, compassion and strength.

She is Heda.

She is in her bed, sleeping, when she jumps and grabs her knife at the sound of a knock on her door. She has received threats from the Ice Nation recently, and she is not about to make the mistake to let them in to take her life. She tiptoes to the door and is about to ask who it is when the voice of her guard announces the arrival of a box, from Azgeda.

She glances at the empty bed behind her, and prays that Costia is at her mother's house.

She dismisses her guards as soon as she manages to get the box inside. She doesn't want to be disturbed, and she trusts her capacity to protect herself. She circles it, waiting for any sound to hint her on its content, but receives none. She opens it in a fluid, steady movement, and freezes at the sight.

She hates life.

She can't breathe anymore, and she battles with her lungs to let air in, but her body betrays her as her knees collide with the cold floor. She shakes in the darkness of her room, letting her walls come down to let madness flow through her. She manages to keep her agonizing cries inside her head as a solitary tear rolls down her cheek. She is torn apart by airborne acid, and feels her spirit being crushed to dust. She is being buried alive, but death doesn't come, it never does.

She remembers the way Costia looked at her when she left Polis the same morning, and lets out a single sob when she realizes, they never got to say goodbye.

Lexa hears the sound of Anya's voice, but has stopped listening the moment she was informed of the burnt bridge. Her rage grows and she has to stop herself from impulsivity as she thinks of all those unknown people, all those others, daring to step in her territory and decimate her army. She orders their deaths, all of them.

"Jus drein jus daun," she murmurs.

This is the way it must be. Those words were part of her first lesson as a young warrior. It was a mantra that she strongly believed in, one that she would never betray for anything in the world. It was her way of life, her definition of justice. She knows her mentor deserves justice for the loss of her people, and she will never stop her from getting it.

She exchanges glances with Anya, and remembers her younger years, when innocence hadn't been ripped from her yet, when laughs were part of her daily adventures, and when swords were used for protection, but also to trace hearts in the sand soil. She recalls the way Anya taught her to respect her people, to never take them for granted, and to never neglect their needs. She has every lesson memorized in her soul, every word scarred in her brain.

She doesn't say goodbye, and this time, when she receives the blow of Anya's death, she knows how to not fall apart.

"You're the one who burned three hundred of my warriors alive."

She has hair the color of the sun, eyes that make competition to the sky itself, and a posture that commands respect, but Lexa isn't intimidated by that stranger standing in front of her. She is the Commander, she could crush this woman simply by raising a hand. She has nothing to fear, and no one to listen to but herself. She doesn't need anyone to make a decision, and frankly, she has already made one.

The Sky People are not welcome on her territory. It doesn't matter what the girl will say, Lexa has already sealed their fate. She has brought twelve clans together, she can definitely stands for herself in front of this disorganized group that pretends to belong to a land that isn't theirs.

"You're the one who sent them there to kill us."

Lexa's eyes widen for a millimeter, and she curses mentally when she realizes the Sky Leader probably noticed it. The knife she's twirling stops its movement. The air she's breathing smells differently. The way she's sitting in her imposing throne doesn't feel as comfortable as it used to be. For the first time, she feels like an imposter, a child pretending to know how to play war. She feels her inner force wavers in the presence of Clarke of the Sky People, and she hopes she is mistaken in its meaning.

She wonders if Clarke of the Sky People is so different from her, or if they are both leaders improvising to cheat death.

She hears the way their hearts beat strongly, synchronizing their rhythm. She feels Clarke's lip moving against her, not moving away, and she slowly pulls her closer. She can't fully realize this is happening. She is overwhelmed by affection, because the woman she has fallen with, the woman who is the same as her, yet the complete opposite at the same time, is kissing her back, and even if it's just for a second, it blurs the hard reality she's always been living in.

She has hope.

In the middle of a fight, in the midst of a battle, she has found hope, and she never wants to let it go. Uncertainties and impossibilities ravage the inside of her soul, and leave her feeling as alive as she used to be, when Heda wasn't a title she had on her shoulders yet.

She knows Clarke is wrong, but a tiny part of her, one she thought was long gone, has come back to life. She has hope that someday, they won't be define by their responsibilities, but rather by who they truly are. She tilts her head, ever so slightly, and bumps her nose with Clarke's. She wants to believe that someday, they will look back at this kiss, and realize this means something bigger.

It's a simple gesture, but on the edge of war, it's all she needs to remind herself they still have humanity.

Wanheda, the mountain slayer.

This name is on every lips, including hers. She had nightmares of that fateful night, the one she had to turn her back to Clarke to save her people. She dreamed about betrayals and massacres, blood and fluids of all sorts escaping dead bodies. She knew, the moment she left, that Clarke would be fine, because it is what the deal included.

The safety of Clarke of the Sky people.

She made this choice with her head, but the fact that Clarke would be fine played huge on the balance. She knew she was going to be hated. She knew Clarke would most likely want her dead She would rather have Clarke alive, and cursing her existence, spitting on her shadow and imagining her dead body as a relief, than dead. She will bear the other woman's animosity, because she is powerless to do anything else.

She doesn't fall apart when she thinks of the legend. She doesn't cry, doesn't smile, doesn't let her feelings take over, for she is Heda, and she can't afford to appear weak when Azgeda is gaining strength again. She has learned, from her young age, that being a leader came with sacrifice. Victory stands on the back of sacrifice, and it had taken many years for her to fully understand what it meant. She doesn't want to seek Clarke, but she needs to.

Only Clarke can stop this war, and only Clarke can bring them peace.

She tries to ignore the ache in her heart when she thinks of the way Clarke will react to her presence. She wishes she could make Clarke understand, but she knows the blonde woman already knows her reasons, and refuses to hear them. Lexa won't ask for forgiveness, because there is nothing to forgive. There is only acceptance, and it takes time, time they both aren't able to get.

The voice of Roan of Azgeda reaches her ears and she braces herself for their ultimate meeting.

She smiles widely, something she had stopped believing in when Costia died, and started hoping for when Clarke's voice stopped accusing her of crimes she didn't directly commit. Her eyes are lost in a pool of the bluest tones, and she thinks she sees something change in the way Clarke looks at her, in the way the blonde's eyes glance toward her lips.

When they kiss for the second time, she is not Heda, she is Leksa kim Trikru, a young woman who has been introduced too soon to the cruelty of this world.

She finds refuge in Clarke's embrace and kisses. It is different than the other time. It doesn't feel like a mere island of affection, but rather a continent of blooming love. She is surprised. She doesn't feel weak, not even a little. She feels strong, and protected, and the way Clarke's body falls further onto hers creates sensations she had never thought she'd feel again.

She falls back on the bed, body trembling from anticipation, asking a thousand questions through a simple look, and receiving a single answer from Clarke's eyes.

Their kiss grows deeper, and she wants to cry from the heaviness leaving her shoulders, even just for a few seconds. She had been so afraid to even touch the other woman. She had been waiting, patiently, for any sign of remembrance for their affection from the other leader, but she had never thought she would ever be kissed in this enchanting way again. Clarke brings her peace, and if this is what it feels like, she is ready to change every rule to reach their common goal. She will shatter boundaries and hunt whoever opposes them.

They are both women, juggling with the weight of the future threatening them like a guillotine ready to be unlocked. They both need to focus on themselves, on healing their past and preserving their present. They both want what is best for their people, at the sacrifice of their own happiness, of their own lives, but this moment, this single night, is theirs.

She isn't sure if she is forgiven, but she is sure she is loved.

She is happy.

It awfully reminds her of a goodbye.

She hears the bullet before she feels it. She has never have a bullet tearing her apart before, but it takes her by surprise, how quick her body reacts, pumping adrenaline and endorphins, saving her from the imminent pain she is sure to feel. She barely has time to register the hurt in Clarke's eyes before she falls to the ground, dark blood running out of her body.

Where is the air she needs to live? It doesn't seem to enter her lungs anymore, and when it does, the pain shoots through her body. She doesn't know where to put her hands, what to look at. Of all the ways she had imagined her death, dying from a stray bullet never crossed her mind. This is a gun from the Sky, and she belongs to the ground, and this is tragic, the way she was finally ready to trust some of Clarke's people, only to die from their weapon.

"Lexa!"

She hears Clarke's voice, but it sounds distant. Where is Clarke, is she safe? She refuses to die if without knowing what is happening. She sees Titus's petrified face, panic, shame, guilt, and despair painting every line of his face. She notices Murphy in the back, staring at them silently. She feels Clarke's hands pressing on her stomach, and she wishes she could tell her to stop, tell her that she is ready to die, but for once, she isn't sure she is.

She is ready, but she doesn't want to die.

She was building something. She was building a new life, a new way to not simply survive, but live truly through every minute. She was starting to believe in love again, in somedays and maybe's, and kisses and warm embraces. She was hoping to receive Clarke's affection, without the pressure of their duties above them. She was finally going toward a different ending, one that didn't conclude in violence and terror, but rather comprehension and peace.

She hears the way Clarke's voice struggles to stay steady, the way the blonde woman fights to remember everything she knows that could serve to help Lexa survives. Behind this, she hears the way the voice she has grown to love breaks, panics, cracks under the ache. She feels the way Clarke's fingers shakes violently while trying to control the escape of her life, and the way Clarke's eyes are haunted by tenderness and misery at the same time.

She wants to say so much, but she cannot.

She wants to tell Clarke that she will save them. She wants to tell her she will live, and that she will be by her side to bring peace back where it belongs, but she knows, deep inside, that her time has come. She knows despite Clarke's abilities, she will close her eyes, and not open them again. She wants to tell Clarke that everything will be fine, that the blonde has nothing to worry about, but she isn't sure her lover from the sky is ready to hear those words. Clarke would probably not believe her.

She wants Clarke to smile.

She doesn't want to leave with the image of Clarke's beautiful face tainted by distress in her mind. She wants to see Clarke, the woman, and not the leader. She wants to see the human behind this fortress, the soul behind this body. She wants to kiss her, and make love to her, and she is devastated when she realizes it won't happen. Her mere attempts to calm the other woman ends with refutation, with deny of the final outcome, and she wishes she had Clarke's optimism. She wishes she had Clarke's ability to see the beauty of the world despite its pervert hideousness.

There are so many things she wants, so many things she thought she could have, but she is Heda, and a long life is not something she is familiar with.

She wonders what will drive Clarke's soul once she is gone. She hopes her lover won't spiral her way through madness. She wishes she could stay, just to protect Clarke's spirit. It reminds her so much of herself, before she lost her way through her obligations. She prays for Clarke to remain herself, to not give in to the pain the way she did, because life is so much more than surviving, and she only now fully comes to that realization.

Clarke.

Lexa fights to remain alive, because Clarke is not safe. The bullet was not meant for her. Had things be different, the blonde woman would be the one lying on the floor right now, while Lexa would be looking over her with destruction in her eyes and anarchy in her soul, ready to kill Titus with her own bare hands. Instead, she can put her trust in his hands, and it tears her apart.

"You will never attempt to harm Clarke," she barks through gritted teeth.

She is not dying until she knows Clarke is safe. She has lived a hundred times, and this is the legacy she wants to pass, Clarke's safety. She wants peace in Clarke's heart. Lexa wants to find the right words to convince Clarke that death really is not the end, that she should not sell her soul to grief.

"I don't want the next commander. I want you."

She winces as Clarke's voice reaches her, begging and comforting at the same time. She feels attacked by the message sent to her by these simple sentences, but her mind is gone. She recalls the way Costia's head was sent to her in the middle of the night, and the way her spear brought the Ice Queen as a gift on a silver plate to death. She remembers the way Clarke's fingers brushed against her skin in the purest way, and smiles through the pain.

She had justice, and she is loved. She feels complete for the first time in forever.

She looks at the bluest eyes for an eternity, and she is sure now, convinced through every atom of her body, that this woman is the physical representation of beauty. Her heart throbs, pumping torments through her body rather than the source of life, as she realizes the depth of these words, the meaning that is conveyed to her.

Clarke wants her. The blonde leader didn't simply fall for the Commander's spirit. She didn't fall for the young woman because they were so similar in their fates. She fell for the five years old who spent her free time climbing trees, tasting liberty at extreme heights. She fell for the six years old who pouted when she was told she couldn't do something because she was too young yet. She fell for the seven years old whose hands hadn't spilled blood yet. She fell for the dreamer, looking up at the sky, searching for answers when she doubted herself, unaware that she was looking straight at her personal savior. She fell for the visionary, the freshness of all that is Lexa.

But Clarke also fell for Heda, the ruthless leader whose mantra used to be "jun drein jus daun." She fell for someone who has never lived past her mid twenties, and who will never have the chance to. She fell for someone whose childhood was filled with training and battle cries. She fell for a nightblood. She fell for someone whose anthem shares tales of nightmarish futures and haunting melancholia. She fell for someone whose sword has stolen thousands of lives without mercy.

What is it again, the thing Skaikru say? She needs to offer Clarke something. She needs to offer Clarke hope, the way the blonde brought her some, weeks ago. She wants her words to be remembered, because they are true, and Clarke might not believe her unless she says them out loud. She needs Clarke to remain strong, but she has no guarantee to make sure her lover won't fall apart.

"May we meet again."

She finds the Skaikru traditions just as beautiful as hers. She wishes she knew more about them, more about what made Clarke, Clarke.

She feels Clarke pushing on her stomach, the stubbornness in her eyes throwing arrows at her. She knows Clarke won't let go. She understands. It isn't easy to let go. It took her way too long to let go of Costia's ghost, and she can only implore mentally that Clarke won't go through the same things she did. She doesn't want Clarke to be tortured by a loss that isn't hers to bear, that wasn't for her to witness.

She always thought the only road to follow was hers, until Clarke had showed her another possibility, a miracle hidden behind rotten bodies.

Death welcomes her, the way it always has. It isn't dark, it isn't light. She doesn't feel physical pain, but her spirit is tortured by the departure. She had prayed to feel again despite repeating that love was weakness, and now that she feels in the deepest part of her soul, she isn't ready to forget, to stop feeling.

"You were right, Clarke, life is about more than just surviving."

She gets lost in Clarke's kiss.

She believes in a forever.

She believes that they are more than just Heda and Wanheda.

She believes they weren't simply meteorites passing by each other.

She believes they are greater than this, than life and death.

She believes that they will find each other again.

Her fight is over.

May we meet again.