Undisclosed Desires

Chapter 1

Jarrett

"You said I could pick my own match!"

"Visenya..." Rhaenyra sighed softly, reaching out towards her daughter, trying to hide her hurt when the girl ripped her hand back towards her as though she had been burnt. "These matters are complicated...You would have never chosen a match..."

"How do you know?! You bemoan that Grandsire took your choice away for your first husband, and now you are doing the same to me! He hates us! They hate us!" Visenya glared at her mother, hugging herself. Angry violet eyes stared at Rhaenyra in disgust, the girls lips and brow twisted in to a scowl. Rhaenyra wanted to tell her daughter that she knew, because she herself had never really intended on finding a match.

Daemon stood behind Rhaenyra's seat as his daughter stood, making to leave. "Visenya," he said softly, such a gentle tone that he only used for few. Before she could make to storm from the large hall, her father caught her wrist, pulling her to him easily.

"Get off me, father, get off me!" Visenya growled as she tried her hardest to pull her arm back, failing. When Daemon wrapped his arms around her, a breathy whimper that she hadn't been expecting escaped, crumbling when her father stroked her hair gently, murmuring gentle comforts. Daemon eyed his wife carefully, fearing they were making a grave mistake.

- - - - - -

Tournaments were supposed to be fun. Feasts were meant to be joyous occasions. Visenya was supposed to be flattered that this was being held in her honour. But it wasn't just her honour, it was being held in their honour, at her Grandsire's insistence. The hall was decorated in Targaryen colours, tables filled to the brim with food and different ales and wines. They had ensure every luxury was present it seemed. The youngest Targaryen daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon had been clad in black and red dress, colours of her house, to match her family – her hair down with a handful of brains to keep it back from her face. She had grown quite beautiful, exactly like her mother they would say – they would attribute her strong will to Rhaenyra in person, but the whispers in the Keep would talk of her a temper being similar to her rumoured father – the Rogue Prince.

Visenya watched as the banners fluttered around the hall, walking dutifully behind her parents with her brothers and sisters, with them all matching in house colours save for her sisters wearing Velaryon colours. Visenya had yet to come face to face with the one-eyed prince, they had arrived late afternoon and had been ushered straight to their chambers to rest and prepare. In truth, Visenya only knew to look for hair like hers and an eyepatch from what she had heard from others. It had been many years since she had seen her betrothed, they had been but children then, when he had lost his eye. She could barely recall what had happened in the bowels of Keep that night, she had been so young – but she could recall the screams and the blood, and the aftermath of it all.

"I can't believe they're making you do this," Jace muttered unhappily as he glanced around the hall, admittedly a little jealous of the fanfare for his sister. "Perhaps we could duel for your honour, and then you won't have to marry our dear uncle?" he joked quietly as Luke laughed under his breath. "Wonderful," she sighed softly, having no doubt this feast could lead to some sort of strife between her brothers and their uncle. It hadn't always been this way, at least not for Visenya. As a chubby babe, and then a toddler, she could often be seen on the hip of her aunt and uncles when they visited, enamoured by the young children who had eyes and hair like hers, different to her brothers. But as they got older, and the divide grew over her brother's parentage, she found herself spending more and more time chasing her brother's around, keeping her distance from her uncles, favouring her sweet aunt out of the three of them. Gone were the days she would play chase with Aegon, or nag Aemond to read her stories of dragon riders, just in case it would cause a squabble between her brothers and them. Visenya moved to the empty seat that would be her betrothed's, willing in her mind for one of the dragons to come crashing through the ceiling and end this farce.

 - - - - - - - -

"Seems like our niece is thrilled to be here," Harwin murmured in a low rumble to his wife, watching as the Targaryen brood entered the great hall for the feast. He watched them, counting one...two...three...His boys. Well, the late Laenor Velaryon's son's, who bared more resemblance to him that their supposed father. "Hm," he hummed as he noticed his wife's sister and husband glance in their direction, giving them nods before finding their seats.

Hearing the gurgling of a babe, the broad man glanced down at his wife, unable to hide his smile as he reached for the almost toddler, lifting her from her mother. A daughter had been born to them two years before, but instead of dark hair and eyes, she looked exactly like her mother, apart from the furious temper the tot displayed on times which reminded him of a certain prince. He knew the rumour mill swirled again, that Strong's only bore son's, and the babe couldn't possibly be his – much like the rumours that plagued Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Harwin refused to hear of it though, he loved the girl in the bundle of cloth from the moment he had set eyes on her.

"Someone is excited to see your family," he teased Rila gently as he held the girl, bouncing her gently. Harwin wouldn't deny that he and his wife had a rather complex relationship with her family, who had he loved first? The eldest Targaryen sister or the younger? In truth he had children with both. Much like Laenor and Rhaenyra, Daemon and she also seemed to have an open marriage.

His free hand reached out to gently smooth Rila's hair, watching her carefully, wondering how he had been so lucky to be given such a beautiful wife. Although he may have been the heir to Harrenhal, and his father had a considerable amount of wealth to his name, he had always thought that it would not be an advantageous match in the eyes of the King, as he had seen it that way for his eldest daughter. He hadn't dared to ask his father to press the matter with the king when the young princess had caught his eye – however it had unfolded in such a way that with his father being a loyal hand, and a good Lord in court, that Harwin had been awarded a marriage with Rila. His daughter gurgled a little, causing him to raise his hand from Rila to the girl, allowing her to play with his fingers.

"Princess, have you heard the insolence our child speaks to the Captain of the City Watch," he chuckled as the babe shrieked delightedly at being cooed over by her father. "Heresy and treason you say?" he questioned the little one with a raised brow as he moved his fingers to playfully tickle the babe's chubby belly, grinning when she wriggled and babbled away, thrilled at the attention.

Rila had given him two sons and a daughter, happy and healthy, he couldn't have asked for anything more. He did fear sometimes that strife rippled under the surface due to his relationship with her sister, and possibly her now connection with Daemon, as he noticed the prince glance in their direction as the child giggled.

Harwin had worn his hair half in a bun at the back of his head that he had asked Rila to fashion for him, adorning a dark blue tunic that he had tailored for him – being taller and broader meant that he tended to need things altered often, it had ornate silver toggles and buttons, he had the same made for his sons in order for them to match. He noted how his other son's had been clad in Targaryen colours, and he tried to ignore the small ebb of disappointment he felt. He knew it was for the best, but it did sadden him sometimes.

"Will we get through this feast without a fight I wonder?" he murmured to his wife, looking at their boys, knowing they would not cause any trouble. "Your brothers and nephews are not going to be pleased," he said, clearly amused that the feast would also consist of entertainment for them. He wasn't sure they'd seen a celebration that hadn't included some sort of fight.