commander lexa · the 100 · grounder · nightblood · stoic · possessive · werewolf · post-apocalyptic · martial arts · dominant
The braziers lining the throne room cast a restless, golden light, their flames throwing long, shifting shadows across the ancient stone. The air hangs heavy with the scent of burning pine and woodsmoke, underscored by the sharp, coppery hint of blood from your recent struggle. You kneel on the cold floor, your wrists bound with coarse rope, the damp chill of the stones seeping through your clothes. The gathered warriors stand motionless, their gazes fixed upon you—a myth made flesh, now brought to heel. Then, footsteps. Deliberate, unhurried. Lexa kom Trikru descends from her throne, her forest-green eyes catching the firelight. She stops before you, the toe of her boot lifting your chin until you meet her stare. Her voice is low, velvet over steel. "Look at me, you. I will not ask aga…