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bonesofapoet · 5 months ago

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sunrise over the devil's revenge [ roan x you ] author's note: long time no post <3 i rewatched the 100 during my hiatus and my adoration for roan was reignited and so was my inspiration, it seems word count: 2333

Life could be beautiful, here at the end of the world.

When the sun broke apart from the horizon, precious honey golden beams dragged warm fingers across your skin and combed through the hair of your beloved. They were warm, those beams, kissing you awake in the glow of a new dawn, the bright star ascending slow and languid to draw the rest of Polis from its restless dreams.

Pure radiance, was the temperance of the sunrise, yet no rival was it to the crown prince of Azgeda, still sound asleep beside you. Head pressed to your shoulder he stirred as you did, when sunlight brushed over your lashes, traced the dip of your nose and the curve of your jaw. Even stuck in the crossroads between dreaming and waking, you felt him move away from you, though not enough to free his tangled limbs from yours.

A palm glided over your stomach, all gentle and calloused and adoring, tracing shapes and runes across soft skin. The touch began to awaken you further, pulling you from the embrace of sleep into the embrace of Roan, still half confined to the realm of dreams himself. And yet, with eyes as blue as the tumultuous sea, he watched you with a contentment that he has never felt anywhere else, has never felt with anyone else. They met your own as they slowly - ever, so slowly - blinked back the remnants of the night. The sun was bright, those golden streams still caressing your cheekbones, harshly imposing themselves through eyelids now scrunched up against this luminous, unwelcome awakening.

Next to you, Roan laughed rich and smooth, voice still a bit discordant from sleep. You felt it roll through his chest pressed to your side, heard it low in your ear while you adjusted to the contrast of the - was it truly morning, already? Dawn was still young, yet your bones felt the whispers of last night clinging tightly to your memories as if no time had passed at all. You swore it had been mere minutes since you had fallen asleep tucked into Roan's side, his fingers tracing shapes and swirls along your spine just as he had been doing a moment ago.

Gracelessly, and without sparing him another look, you groan and burrow deeper under the covers. "It can't be morning already."

The hand on your stomach ceased the comforting movements. He huffs another laugh, soundless this time. You burrow deeper into his chest, your own heart filling with warmth when you hear the amusement in his voice. "Only just."

You hum, a soft smile pulling up your lips when knuckles begin to trace your cheekbone, down the dip of your nose, along the curve of your jaw, the column of your throat. Your eyes flutter open then, adjusted now, to the bright welcome of the sunlight illuminating ruined, rotting wallpaper and scuffed wooden floors. Your prince - enamored with you, always - in the midst of it all. Those impossibly blue eyes are clear as they meet yours for the second time this morning, and for a moment - fleeting, as it is - you catch a flash of the bitterness he keeps buried deep and guarded close; something that lingered loud and jagged and unspoken between you, in contented silences such as these.

In reality, the precious nights you spent together were never meant to exist. Tensions were high past these walls, outside of this room; Roan was still very much royalty, and Queen Nia was still very much Queen Nia. Everything was a distraction for the Crown Prince of Azgeda, and unwavering loyalty was what she commanded. There was no doubt that anything other than carrying out her schemes for Ice Nation's ascension would get in the way of her projected success.

You were one of those threats, distracting Roan so. Both of you knew that's how this would be perceived, but you were careful. He was careful. It was a necessity, if not for your very safety, then for the sake of what little sanity his mother had not yet stolen.

"Tell me then, Prince Roan," you begin, pushing yourself onto an elbow. You reach to take his hand in your own, holding it safe and sound against your chest. "Is the sunrise as beautiful as you?"

Roan blinked. Scoffed at the teasing sincerity of your voice, still colored with sleep. Pulled his hand away from your touch and ran it through sun-kissed curls. Even though he broke eye contact with the movement, you caught the beating heart of a smile he tried to hide by slipping to the edge of the bed. His gaze turned toward the windows across the room, yet you lingered on him, and the way tension began to slip across his shoulders like a cloak made of promises.

"I wouldn't know," he says, tone playful in contrast with how he held himself, how he was already beginning to pull away from you, if only just a little. "It's a shame anyway, because they're rarely as divine as you."

As he spoke, a balmy breeze swept through the windows then, rustling the furs still draped across your skin. The laugh Roan pulls oh, so seamlessly from you is carried on the wind, dancing around this little space you call home. It fuses deep and steady with the time you have left in each other's company. It's limited, now that the sun rises higher with each given breath. It's something you push away when you crawl to his side and press a kiss to his shoulder.

"We'll see about that," you say, voice stolen away by his skin. Your lips linger for a moment longer, feeling, ever so slightly, a small thread of tensity unravel from Roan's shoulders for as long as you stay. You would have missed it, had you not been allowed to learn every tell, every way to read your prince the way he had been allowed to learn you.

Another laugh falls through his lips and into yours, as he guides you up to meet him in a kiss that's soft, and another one that's sweet. You pull away with a lazy smile still dripping repose, and drift to the windows and the sunrise beyond.

With a smile in his voice, he says, "Tell me how right I am when you finally catch your breath."

And, well - you failed to, wholly, completely, tremendously - because Roan was right about one thing, at least. Your hands fluttered along the windowsill, textured stone rough under your fingertips to ground you down, down, down to remain tethered to this one, single moment because, oh.

It was breathtaking, this sunrise careening through the sky beyond. It was all vibrant amber dancing with deep coral against the horizon. Strong crimsons embraced bittersweet violets streaking along the treeline as they swept through boughs and branches of laced leaved canopies. It was nature's version of hide and seek, you thought idly. And then your eyes drifted up, and it was enough to draw a startled breath through your teeth, lips parting in awe as you beheld the clouds, wisplike ghosts swirling rich plum-colored shapes that were too, awash in the golden accouterment of the rising sun. The velvety midnight hues were being chased away right before your eyes it seemed, painted into nothing by the saturated paintbrushes of the ancient gods of old.

They've revealed themselves once again, here at the end of all things.

The unfiltered beauty of it all is enough to deepen the cracks coiling out from your heart with new ones beginning to shake themselves awake, separating once more, from the parts of yourself that understand this kind of life is anything other than hell. With every reminder, every breath of life breathed back into your soul, the heartache ran deeper and the rage propelled them farther because there was still raw, radiant love in this world and it was looked upon with scorn.

And yet, somehow -

You found peace even here, in your home built upon ruins, built among the bones of Polis itself. A contrast stark and deadly against the brightness of the careless sky. A reminder, that life was not always war and blood and betrayal and the lingering fear of losing your life in your bed, in place of the ones you held most dear.

It was jarring, these moments. They've been such a rarity since the meeting of Skaikru and Grounders all those months ago.

And yet, you had Roan. The Crown Prince of Azgeda who pulls you back from the precipice of losing yourself in the disarray, the neverending conflict that seeps into the cracks of your bones, your soul, threatening the only way of life you've ever known. Uprooted unceremoniously by the melting of your many cultures, just like everyone else.

War was always a breath away, these days.

He arrives when you need him, always - your prince, your friend, your love - anchoring you to this moment here at your window, as he slips arms around your waist to hold you steady, resolute, calm. He pulls you backwards to find relief leaning against his chest. Perceptive, always, was your prince. Ardent, was he, always. Always, yours and yours and yours.

You wonder, not for the first time, if you will be his undoing. You, his moonlight in the night mooring him to steady land as the chaotic current rages between his head and his heart, his crown and his resolve. You, the one to shatter his claim, forever.

"I'm going to assume by your silence that for once, you're too stunned to speak," he says quietly. Says it with head dipping to rest heavy on your shoulder. It's a comforting weight, this. A kiss, chaste, is pressed to your temple. Though what stuns you, always, is the way he lines the hard contours of his body with tenderness, weaving radiance and serenity through his words when you're alone. "I'll remember this forever, you know," he needles, "as the day my lover finally falls silent for once in their lives."

Something stirs in your chest as he teases, and it's warm, it's warm, it's warm - but above all, it's what you imagine it might feel like to be safe, truly, in all possible facets of this word built on rocky soil, pieced together with fragile foundations. What's worse - when you notice not only how easily your walls crashed down around your Roan - of course you notice how his barriers of iron ice bloody vengeance tumble into dust at your mere breath filling his lungs. So you faltered, if only a little.

It was all so unpolished, this thing blooming between you.

Roan noticed, of course. Felt your body gain a little more balance of its own, drawing away from the strength he shared with you willingly - he felt it, wracking open the deepening fractures in his chest that he thought you had begun to heal. He held tighter, but only enough for you to notice, for you to stop pulling away from him to gently - always, ever so gently - melt back into him piece by cauterized piece.

He wondered if this was what love only ever was - this fragile, secret thing. Strength in privacy, dangerous while observed.

Except how could something so bright be so fatal?

He questions this, when a laugh, smooth and saccharine spills through your lips. It's effortless, always, around Roan. He notices that too, of course, and it's never lost on him how much easier it is to laugh around you as well.

"You know you're the worst, right?"

Your elbow collides with his ribs, in which he shakes against you with a soundless laugh, breath warm and comforting as it cascades down the column of your throat, tumbles across your collarbone to be swept up in the breeze gone cool, gone just a bit too chilled, as it glides through the windows to coast around your bodies entwined into one. The sun climbs higher in the distance, casting this secret solace into partial shadow, yet the rest continues to remain gilded golden with the glowing sunlight. It blended freely with the vibrant euphoria of a morning spent together, if only until the city began to stir.

And, like always, it happens sooner rather than later.

"I should go," his gaze falls past you, past the alleyways and fallen stone structures beyond the open windows. He acts like looking anywhere other than your eyes will erase the dread creeping up his spine at the thought of leaving you, once again, to slip into his own quarters only to embrace a role that's never fit him as well as you do.

"Yes," you agree. All intonation of your contentment crawls off to the shadows still growing in the corners of your room. They held your heart in a grip of bone, their icy darkness prying open the chasms carving deeper into your soul all the while. "It would be wise if you did."

Roan pulls away, regret gnawing at his heart within seconds, minutes, breaths. He leaves you standing in front of your sunrise fading into blue skies and white, gauzy clouds. You're motionless, not turning to watch him leave as the door clicks open, creaking shut as he pulls it closed behind him.

You always watch him go. Always smiles wide and adoring as he steals one last parting kiss. Yet, today is different. He feels it as he enters his own cold, darkened quarters, feels it fuse into the marrow of his bones and thrum through his blood as it pulses hard and fast through the fissures in his lungs.

He won't see you again, Roan thinks. He's not sure how he knows, but he feels it; that sure presence looming tall and fierce stalking him the same way one does on a battlefield. He thinks about slamming his fist into the wall. Thinks about placing his mother's head on a pike outside the walls of Polis.

He should have told you he loved you.

#roan kom azgeda #roan the 100 #roan x reader #the 100 imagine #the 100 #kas writes

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