The Road
The journey to King’s Landing passed like a fever dream. For periods, the landscape succumbed to an overwhelming blur, and the road loomed before her in all its surreal infinity. At other points, certain elements of the journey took on a kind of vividness, as the snow melted and lush grasses, sharp and pungent, poked through.
Lexa had elected to ride on a horse familiar to her, a haughty storm colored mare, as opposed to in the carriages with Octavia. Her younger sister had pouted at first, whining about how Lexa seemed to hardly have time for her anymore.
“I wish it was Bellamy coming with me instead of you”, she muttered darkly, rolling her eyes at Lexa’s stubbornness. To be fair the twins were largely inseparable. As far as Lexa could remember, they had never been truly separated during their fourteen years. But Father had been adamant about his oldest son staying close to Winterfell, a decision that relieved Lexa. In truth, she had never been as close to Bellamy as she was to Octavia and Aden.
“Unfortunately, Father doesn’t not anticipate that the crown prince will have any desire to marry Bellamy”, Lexa retorted facetiously.
Octavia made a frustrated sound and her eyes took on the steely look they did when she was about to pick a fight.
And then, realizing that a quick intervention was necessary “Besides, he wouldn’t have sat with you either, O. You know how he likes to ride at the front of the procession”, Lexa murmured distractedly.
She sensed that she would need the fresh air and solitude to help organize her thoughts over the next few days. A rogue thought in the back of her mind repeated dully again and again.
"Enjoy this while you can. Once you’re married off—If you’re married off—you’ll never be your own again".
To be fair, Lexa was used to sublimating her own identity and desires if it was in the best interest of the North. The simple fact that she, as an individual, hardly mattered at all, was the first thing she learned about herself growing up, an idea which battled with it’s twin urge which was largely inarticulable, but somehow connected to her inherent wildness, to her mother, to the Dothraki inside her.
But this was different. At Winterfell she had always found moments for herself, be it early in the morning among the horses, or traversing the woods at the boundaries of the settlement in the dead of night. Something told Lexa such forays would not be possible if she became queen.
Queen. Lexa could not quite imagine it. She was a natural leader, of course. That much had been evident from the time she could walk and talk, and was cemented by the time the twins were born. Her Father had taught her independence, but her siblings had taught her protectiveness, and fierce compassion.
As her father’s eldest child and heir, she had always anticipated leading and guiding Winterfell. And then her stepmother, Aurora Greyjoy, had fallen pregnant. Her father’s attentions—those few that had somehow made their way to Lexa—were suddenly stripped away in favor of the coming child. At the end of nine months, when not one but two children were delivered and christened, a chasm seemed to open up between Lexa on the one side and the rest of the family on the other.
To Lexa’s surprise, and Aurora’s indignation, their father seemed to care little about Octavia, doting instead upon her brother. Because the girl twin was so immediately neglected, Lexa took it upon herself to entertain her. She had loved the way Octavia's small, bright eyes fixed so stubbornly on whatever had captured her attention, which was usually Lexa's face. And it was only Lexa who could make her little sister laugh, although Aurora attempted to pacify her when Bellamy was asleep. Perhaps that was what had bonded Lexa and Octavia so intensely together at first: their shared exclusion from the world of men. And perhaps it was this that alienated her from her younger brother.
With the birth of Bellamy, a boy, what had felt like something inherent, something fated had become incredibly complicated and painful. It was not the boy’s fault of course—he couldn’t help his sex. But Lexa’s father had made it explicitly clear he would be succeeded only by a male, and more implicitly, that he would only be succeeded by one of his proper children.
It was not until the arrival of Octavia and Bellamy that Lexa realized just how much her Father loathed her, how much he was intent on punishing her for his long-ago desire for her mother.
And yet, despite her father’s blatant proclamations, everyone at Winterfell seemed to consider Lexa an heir in her own right. The servants and locals called her “the Commander” behind her father’s back, with a kind of fond, reverence. They had watched her grow up, after all. They knew what she was made of. And although her Dothraki roots were shrouded in associations of savagery, an assumption that had always bothered Lexa deeply, they also made her mysterious and powerful in a way none of the other Stark children could claim.
For a moment, she shut her eyes as the mare made its way steadfastly forward, imagining for a moment that she was far away, on the other side of the wall. She imagined that she had never had to cut her hair, and that she was clothed in the manner of her mother’s people. She imagined that no one was expecting her to marry, only to lead.
The sound of galloping hooves startled her out of her ruminations, and she jerked around at the call of a familiar voice.
“Since you wouldn’t ride with me, I guess I’ll have to ride with you”, Octavia flashed a smile at her older sister, hair tumbling out behind her in the wind as she sat atop a lovely, bay mare.
Lexa felt her mouth curving into a smile in spite of itself.
“So, do you think the Targaryen boy will be attractive? I’ve heard from some of mother’s family that he’s perfectly charming. But what if he’s mad? What if he’s completely insane?” Octavia began in a rush, and Lexa settled into the sound of her sister’s voice, clinging to it like it was the only real thing left.