This story takes place after season three, episode seven. A possibility of how the story could move forward.
"Let the conclave begin! The Commander is dead! Let her spirit choose wisely."
Clarke stood frozen, unable to move and unable to look away from the dark blood that now covered her bed. The commotion from Murphy banging on the locked door was only a subtle buzz in the background. The grief she was feeling was overwhelming. She finally let Lexa into her heart after trying, unsuccessfully, to get her out of her head. And now, she's being hauled away right in front of her.
"Clarke! We need to get out of here!" shouts Murphy, reefing on the door. "We need to find Octavia and get back before the kill order sinks in!"
Clarke moved closer to the bed, her eyes never leaving the blood. She ran her hands through the stained fur, tears falling uncontrollably.
"No. No, how did this happen?" she manages through the tears.
"Clarke, there's nothing we can do now. We need to go," insisted Murphy again, trying to pull her away from the scene.
"Don't touch me," sneers Clarke, her fingers gripping the blanket.
"Ugh," frustrated, Murphy bangs once more on the door. They may or may not harm Clarke, but they certainly have no reservations about his well-being.
The music from the olden days played through the speakers of the vehicle Trigada worked on. Lexa had always preferred horses to solar powered ways of travel but they didn't need to see eye to eye on everything. This was just a hobby anyway that Lexa let her work on during her off time, which was decreasing by the second now that her training had picked up again.
Tri connected the solar pack and tried the engine. She had been hoping to increase the power by rearranging the electrical pathways between the source and the motor. The engine roared to life, bringing a smile to her face. Having an 8x8 all terrain vehicle could only help in the future, Lexa would warm up to the idea eventually.
"Tri!" shouted someone from outside the shop. "Tri! Where are you?"
"In here!" She replied, in her native tongue of Trigedasleng.
Lake's face had been drained of its color. She skidded to a stop in front of her friend, "have you heard?"
Tri gave her a look, "Heard what? I've been in here all day."
"Tri," she paused. "The conclave is beginning... Lexa is dead."
Tri felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She steadied herself on the ATV as shock rippled through her body.
"Dead? she asked, rage quickly replacing the shock, "How can that be? By whose hand?"
"She was shot," mumbled Lake.
Tri wanted to be angry, she wanted to allow the emotion to get the better of her but the warrior in her took over.
"Trigada? You okay?" asked Lake.
Tri knew what she had to do and with a quick nod to her friend she retreated to prepare.
Murphy sat in front of the door, occasionally banging his head against it. Clarke hadn't moved from the bedside, tears streaming her face.
"Clarke?" he tries again, "I need your help to get us out of here. It's going to be dawn soon."
He leans his head back against the door after being ignored. Turning and facing the door, he stares at the handle while contemplating his next move. It's not long before the handle clicks and he's backing up quickly towards Clarke.
Tri enters the room closing the door.
"Wanheda," she greets, bowing her head.
Clarke looks at the stranger and then to Murphy, who has made it to his feet and getting more defensive by the moment.
"Who are you?" asks Clarke.
"My name is Trigada kom Trikru," explained Tri. "If you are ready Wanheda, we must be leaving."
"I'm not leaving until I find out where they're taking Lexa," stated Clarke, anger filling the hole torn by grief.
"I must insist," pushed Tri, "my orders are very clear."
"Orders from who?" asked Murphy.
"From Heda."
"Heda is dead. How can she be giving orders?" questioned Clarke.
"These orders were to go into effect should something happen to her," answered Tri, quietly.
Clarke looked at the Grounder suspiciously; she wore similar markings to the Commander.
"Why have I never seen you before?" asked Clarke.
"I'm Lexa's second, it is my duty to serve her, which I would like to continue to do, if you would let me," explained Tri. "I was asked to protect you until the next Commander is willing and able to do the same."
"How can I trust anyone from here," asked Clarke, "that's why Lexa is gone! She died because someone, one of you, was trying to kill me!"
"That's why I am here; Lexa knew your life would be in jeopardy from both sides. A conclave can last days; I'm here to protect you in the mean time. Why would they lock you in here otherwise? You're not a prisoner Wanheda, yet now you are treated as one. We must leave before they return," said Tri.
"Prove you were Lexa's second," challenged Clarke.
Tri thought for a second, wondering how she could prove this quickly. She pulled up her sleeve, a tattoo similar to Lexa's was revealed.
"Lexa had a similar tattoo on her back," explained Tri.
"I know the one," mumbled Clarke, moving closer to touch the marks. Murphy gave her a questioning glance at her admission, which Clarke ignored.
"Her markings represented the other Nightbloods she defeated during our conclave," Tri began to explain.
"Her tattoo was missing the eighth marking, why?" asked Clarke, interrupting.
Tri pointed to the lone circle in her tattoo, "on our Ascension Day, it came down to Lexa and I, we fought and while I had her pinned, she cut me with a rock," she said, pointing to the scar along her forearm next to the tattoo.
"That's how she beat you?" asked Clarke, still confused.
Without answering, Tri took her knife from her belt and cut her hand. Bright, red blood began dripping.
"Wrong color," stated Tri.
"So you're not a Nightblood?" probed Clarke, reaching for a bandage.
"My twin sister was one of the chosen, her name was Costia. She was too sick to fight, so we switched, hoping to just be able to switch back after the battle."
"Didn't you expect to bleed during the conclave?" asked Clarke, while she wrapped up Tri's hand.
"You haven't seen me fight," smirked Tri.
"Alright," said Murphy, "as fun as this share session is, she seems legit and she has a point, baldy locked us in here the moment he left. We're only a couple hours away from dawn. Then what? We need to get back."
Clarke moved her gaze from Murphy to Tri; she couldn't contemplate any longer. She knew they had to at least get Murphy back to the compound. The thought of going back to Arkadia was still lacking appeal. Under the reign of Pike, she lost all say once she stepped foot in the camp. However, the only other person who truly listened and could affect change was dead.
Trying to shake the image of Lexa lying limp on her bed, Clarke stood and agreed.
"Okay, let's move."
"There was a guard outside, I immobilized him and considering he hasn't tried to break the door down, I'm assuming he's still out," explained Tri.
"Didn't they just let you through since your one of them?" asked Murphy.
"I'm not actually in the guard," admitted Tri.
Clarke grabbed a few key items before she left including a well-crafted knife that Lexa had given her. She tucked it in her sleeve.
"So you ended up being Lexa's bitch?" scoffed Murphy.
Tri turned abruptly, pinning Murphy by his throat to the wall.
"Enough!" shouted Clarke. "I thought we were all on the same side."
Tri and Murphy continued to stare each other down.
"He does not know me," snarled Tri.
"Well, I think we're about to share enough time together, that we'll all know one another soon enough," said Clarke, pulling Tri's arm from his throat.
Tri let it go and moved to listen to the door, hearing nothing from beyond the barrier; she opened it and moved out. Clarke took one last glance at what had been her home over the last few months. She closed her eyes as she remembered the quiet moments she shared with Lexa. The calm conversations, the intense looks they often shared and subtle touches; all of that would stay here forever in this room.
"This way, Wanheda," whispered Tri.
Clarke quietly closed the door, silently saying her final goodbye to something that was so much more than a place to lay her head.