Work Text:
France, 1560
She could feel his hands snaking their way around her waist, squeezing at her hips playfully. She couldn’t help the giggle that left her mouth, a sound of pure and undying happiness and joy.
Clarke never giggled, it was in her nature, wasn’t the way she was raised.
“ Princesses do not squirm, scoff or laugh, Clarke ” She remembers her mother's lessons like they were yesterday, the constant drill of her voice practically burnt into her head, “ Princesses especially do not giggle, or joke, or make any sound with a humorous intention. A queen will politely smile at a joke made by a lord or a king, she will never giggle.”
And yet here she was, laying half naked on a blanket in the middle of the woods, nothing but her and her love for miles. Her love of her people, her love of her friends, her love of him. Yeah, it was definitely her love of him that got her into this situation.
He had practically begged for the trip, words like silk slipping from his lips, it was intoxicating. And how could she say no? He had survived death twice over, their love the only constant throughout. She thought she owed him this, and if she was being completely honest with herself, she wanted it to. To dance under the stars Clarke, he had whispered into her hair not two nights ago. We are going to Paris to dance under the stars. You and me princess, you and me.
And it was, in that moment, just them. Clarke and Bellamy, Bellamy and Clarke. Not the fierce rulers everyone knew them as, not the ones having to make all of the difficult choices. No, it was just them, just Clarke and Bellamy under the canopy of the trees, just Clarke and Bellamy.
In that moment they were not the King and Queen, they were everything more and everything less all at once.
If not for the guards she knew were waiting patiently at the carriage she could have believed it, could have easily gotten lost in the knowledge that they were alone. In that moment they were just two normal people, two normal people in love. And that was more than enough.
Clarke was still giggling as she tried to pry herself from his grip, kissing providing as a good enough distraction as any. But he was relentless in his quest to keep her there, a muscular arm wrapping even tighter around her middle as she struggled. He was laughing too, the deep, earnest laugh he only let Clarke and Octavia see, a laugh that made her fill with happiness. Because he was there, and because, even after everything they’d faced, he was alive. And if that wasn’t a good enough cause for the happiness that was radiating all around them, then what was?
The sound that interrupted their endless laughter just made her laugh even more, the growling sound coming from his stomach a clear identifier that they probably shouldn’t have come for this little detour without some form of sustenance. They had left the basket of baked goods and fruits that the kitchens so quickly prepared, in the carriage. And so without another thought on the matter Clarke quickly rose from their makeshift bed and began to redress into her fine silk dress. The light pink coloured one she had worn the day Bellamy had officially proposed, just the two of them, and so naturally it was her favourite. Well, second favourite after the beautiful lace she’d worn on their wedding day, so ungraciously torn from her body the second they had left the party.
The walk back from the carriage was peaceful, the afternoon air warm, perfect for another swim if they should have the time. She loved it when the weather was like this, perfectly warm, no use for coats or hand warmers, but not overly warm like the everlasting french summers she’d spent wishing to rid herself of her stupid corset and throw herself into the moat. It was perfect.
As was the man she had left sleeping by the river.
Bellamy Blake
King of france. King consort of scotland. Brother. Husband. Father. Son. Soulmate.
She never would’ve guessed that she could live the life she lives, not stuck in a loveless marriage for the sake of a country, spending her days being a wife in nothing but name. The thought terrified her, sent shivers down her spine.
And her and Bellamy weren’t like that. They had real love, true, honest love. Since the day she had returned to court it had been obvious, she never forgot him, he never forgot her. And seeing lord Roan's daughter Echo leave his room that day had been like a knife to the chest, the bitter realisation that he had obviously had a life while she had been sent away to live with nuns.
But it had meant nothing, he had promised her, nothing mattered compared to his undying love for her.
“I love you, Clarke Elizabeth Griffin, and I shall love you till the day that I die.”
And she believed every word.
She couldn't help the memories from coming as she walked, their wedding day, the coronation, the day she’d told him she was having their baby, the day they watched Octavia get married.
It was all so perfect. Their life together was perfect.
And since Lincoln's healer friend had managed to rid Bellamy of whatever illness had spent the last year consuming his life, she was enjoying every moment, every moment with him.
She loved their life. Well, not including when the outer lords decided to play up and Bellamy had to placate them with land or ale. But most days were spent the same, lounging in bed for too long, spending time with Rosa, visiting Octavia and Lincoln-who had just welcomed a baby girl into their family, Arielle, or lion of god, as Lincoln had translated the day she was born.
Her life couldn't be any more perfect.
.
It took her a lot longer than she realised to admit that she was lost, the path back to the river hidden beneath the forest. She was starting to panic, just as she knew Bellamy would when he woke up without her, and it was this panic that made her start turning in circles about the forest, hoping to see something that would lead her back into her husband's arms, the safest place she knew.
She was so caught up in trying to find her path that she hadn’t noticed she was being followed, but their loud breathing and heavy footsteps were too close to ignore, too close to not be a danger. She began to panic, knowing the guards wouldn't be this close, she had directly told them to stay at the carriage and wait for them.
She counted the footfalls as she began to quicken her pace, guessing that there were either six or seven people following her. Her panic was rising, she needed to find Bellamy, and she needed to find him now. They were further from the castle than any of her walks or hunting parties had gone, she doesn’t know these woods. She doesn’t know if she could find her way back to Bellamy, be heard screaming for help if whoever was following her decided to try anything.
Everything happens at once.
One minute there's an arm grabbing her, another coming up to cover her scream. The wind is knocked out of her, the arm pressing so tight against her lungs, suffocating. She can't breathe.
Managing to pull her face away from her captors hands, all she can do is scream, louder than she ever thought she could. It barely passes her lips when another follows, this time barely a scream, more of a cry.
“Bellamy!”
Almost immediately, Clarke could hear the sound of hooves in the distance, getting closer and closer every second. She could feel her chest grow heavy, dread pooling as she realised it was most likely another captor. She closed her eyes, unable to bear what would surely be her fate.
What of Bellamy?
Would he ever discover what was going to happen to her?
She shuddered at the sound of a sword being unsheathed, praying to whatever god would listen for a painless death.
But maybe death was not to be her fate, her body was thrown aside and her eyes crept opened against her will. Relief washed over her in a tidal wave, there he was.
Bellamy
She watched his fluid movements as he blocked the blades of the attackers, forcing them back, further away from Clarke. It was almost amorous, the way his curls blew in the air as he came to her rescue.
“Bellamy, look out!” Clarke called, panicked, as she noticed one of the men slice his blade across the horse’s front leg.
The horse whinnied as it reared sending Bellamy faltering to the ground. Clarke’s horror increased as she watched one of the captors strike before he had a moment to collect himself. She covered her mouth, muffling a scream.
Bellamy was going to die, she was sure of it. But then..Bellamy’s hand shot up, catching the blade just inches from his face, thick red blood falling from his palm.
“Ahh!” His cry was one of pure agony, pain lacing the sound.
The man before him had barely reacted before Bellamy’s sword was shoved hard between his ribs.
Bellamy kicked the man off his sword, rolling himself up to regain his footing.
And if looks could kill, the glare he shot the man stood in front of him would have been enough to end the fight.
The man sneered before letting out a strained battle cry and slashing forward at Bellamy. The sloppy blows easily blocked by her husband's fighting talent. The man smirked, sweeping Bellamy’s feet causing his head to hit the boulders behind him. Still, he pushed forward, parried the man’s next attack, his sword, barreling into the man’s gut.
Clarke allowed herself to smile as Bellamy stood victorious, bodies laying in his wake.
“Bellamy!” She called, causing him to turn his head, giving her the same smile she had fallen in love with.
But it wouldn't last, not when the glint of a dagger caught Clarke’s eye.
“No!” She screamed as the dagger found its way to Bellamy’s chest. She felt her world begin to crumble around her as Bellamy staggered back.
And then there is blood.
So much blood.
His blood, their blood.
And it's everywhere.
And then he falls, crumples to the ground.
There one second,
Gone the next.
It’s like a dream,
But this is a nightmare.
Because she hears the crack when his head meets rock,
Sees the blood pooling.
She thinks she shouts,
No, she screams.
“Bellamy No!”
Tears
Blood
So much blood.
It’s like he’s there,
But not really.
And she’s by his side in a heartbeat,
Hand clasped to his.
So much blood
“Clarke…. Clarke im sorry”
“Bell… you have nothing to be sorry for”
He shook his head, wincing at the movement, “They killed the guards, I… I found the horse and i didnt know what-”
She shakes as she strokes the hair from his eyes, watching her tears land on his cheek, “Bellamy it’s ok, you saved me..”
She can feel blood on her hands, his blood, and she can see him slipping out of consciousness, “Please, please don't leave me. I need you Bell, please. Please don't go…”
“I’m sorry princess,” his words are barely audible over her cries, but he continues all the same. “I wanted to give you everything, lay the world at your feet, love you for eternity.”
She wanted that too.
“You have to tell Rose about me, Clarke please make sure she knows how much i love her, tell her everyday.”
Their daughter, back at court, awaiting her parents return.
His gaze falls on something above her head, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, a dam about to burst, “Such beauty,” He mutters to himself, lost in thought.
Memories of Octavia and Arielle, of Clarke holding Rose. Memories of his life, taken so soon, are all he has to hold onto as the end draws near. They flutter about in his head, the pieces of their life together, she can see them like stars behind his eyes.
“Such beauty you have brought me.”
Laughter echoes in her cries, for even on his deathbed, Bellamy Blake would still find a way to be romantically poetic.
And his hand is on her cheek, warm and gentle, even now. And how could she not love him?
He pauses, a second passing before he continues.
“But you are going to have to let me go now.” He mutters into her hair, words like a golden dagger, voice captivating, but stabbing her heart all the same. “You must love again, promise me Clarke.”
“I won't,” She’s gasping now, tears turning into fear fuelled panic, “I will never love anyone the way I love you.”
“I pray that you do” He mutters as his eyes begin to close.
She kisses his head then, feeling the life leaving his body.
She’s crying into the crook of his shoulder, tears mixing into blood. “Bellamy Blake, je t'aimerai pendant des siècles.”
I will love you for centuries.
Her promise is the last thing he hears, her deep blue eyes the last he sees before the darkness consumes.
Bellamy Blake dies in her arms, her lips against his forehead, her tears falling between them. They had wanted forever, a lifetime of loving each other, more children, happiness. They were supposed to go to Paris, and dance under the stars, but sometimes all you can do is hold onto the pieces of the future you could have had, the future you wanted. He dies in the arms of his first and last love, her lips on his head, his hand limp in hers.
And so he dies.