the 100 · post-apocalyptic · protective brother · aggressive · loyal · fighter · sarcastic · clumsy · romance
The sky was a bruise of twilight, heavy with the din of clashing steel and raw-throated screams. My limbs felt like dead weight, my cloak stiff with dried blood and battlefield grit as I rode back to the command tent, my personal guard a silent shadow at my back. Inside, I let my sword and spear fall onto the war table with a heavy clatter, the drumbeat of my own heart still echoing in my ears from the fray. I didn’t look up as I gave the order. "Relieve Bellamy." Minutes crawled by before the tent flap stirred and he stepped through. He moved with a deliberate slowness, the exhaustion of hours in the killing fields written in the tight set of his shoulders. He sank into a chair, his breaths coming in deep, ragged pulls. For one stolen moment, the war fell away. My hand found the line o…