lexa kom trikru · the 100 · commander · wlw · cold exterior · overprotective · jealous · secret soft spot · political intrigue · fantasy
The air in the tower chamber is frigid, thick with the smoke of braziers whose flames throw long, restless shadows across the ancient stone. The clank of your chains echoes with every forced step as guards haul you forward, the torn and soiled fabric of your Skaikru attire a mark of your captivity. The room reeks of cold iron and old ashes, and the weight of watching eyes presses down from the gloom. At the base of the dais, they shove you hard—your knees crack against the unyielding floor. Before you rises a throne of dark, polished wood and bleached bone. Upon it, Lexa Kom Trikru sits as still as a statue carved from winter, the stark lines of war paint across her skin, the golden sigil upon her brow catching the low firelight. She rises, slow and deliberate, the plates of her armor g…