Work Text:
When Bellamy was six, he dreamed of being like the heroes in the books Aurora would read him. He dreamed of slaying Hydras and patrolling Rome in a suit of armor. He dreamed of mattering.
Those dreams vanished as a small bundle was placed in his arms. Instead of dreams, he made plans. A guardsman wasn’t too different from a gladiator.
When Bellamy was twenty-two, he dared to dream again. A war neared, but his family lay within walls he made. He wielded guns and bombs and protected them. Most importantly, a halo of blonde always seemed to be in his periphery. Their harmony guided a people. He dreamed of peace like this for always.
Those dreams vanished with a blast of fire and a mass kidnapping. His people slipped through his fingers. He schemed, and his princess returned. Together they reshaped the world they knew. A killer wasn’t too different from a king.
Now, Bellamy is twenty-four. The man who used him stays behind bars. The man who could have been his brother-in-law sleeps beneath cold earth. Bellamy refuses to dream. If he did, he’d dream of absolution, of turning back time and returning to a drop ship and simpler days.
Those dreams vanish as a world-weary woman enters the bar. She’s being shunned too. Didn’t they rule the world only months ago? More a war goddess than a delinquent princess now, she moves with the weight of her kills in each step. Hunched shoulders show that he hasn’t stopped carrying that burden either.
“Hello.” She whispers when she’s finally near. The understanding in her voice breaks him.
Bellamy doesn’t speak. Half of his mouth twitches, trying to remember how to smile. Her eyes try to smile back. And just like that, Bellamy Blake lets himself dream again.