A/N: I felt like uploading this. Finally. It went through 4 revision periods, and I'm still not totally happy with it.

Shoutout to Tannerite, Kryn_Womble and Sonicmalibu for all sorts of assistance going forward (take a look back, you might notice a few minor changes thanks to their insight and help!) Thank you all very much for reading!

Marna/Visenya = Female Jon Snow, the other characters should be self-evident. Thank you and have a wonderful day!

Feel free to join my Discord for updates, giveaways (for those who actively chat), early access and story information, link on my profile.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE KIND REVIEWS. We now get so many that it's impossible to respond to all of them, but each and every one of you taking the time to speak your support mean the world to me. Please, by all means, speak with me in Discord!

Visenya was ready. Elia had seen to that most expeditiously. It wasn't all that surprising when one thought of the experience Elia might have in regard to fashion and hairdressing. Rhaenys, Daenerys and her own life all coalesced to form a quickness of action that Visenya doubted she'd ever achieve.

Least of all when children were most certainly not in her future. She could have them, but why do so? Southron men were strange, kept to Gods alien to her, and boyish. The vast majority didn't so much as have a speckling of facial hair; Visenya imagined Robb could put them to shame at the age of ten and five. It was astounding how the womenfolk of the South thought their men 'tough' or tale-worthy.

Visenya wrinkled her nose at the perfume cloud she walked through. Elia had sprayed a tough from many a bottle, and as one might suspect, the cloud that lingered where she'd done so was still quite prevalent… it smelt nice if overbearing in the myriad of scents.

"Oberyn will love you, you'll see," Elia remarked as the older woman's hand grabbed hold of one of Visenya's own. "I dare say both of my brothers will come to love you just as much as they love Aegon and Rhaenys."

Visenya wanted to smile, she truly did, but she wasn't a Northern fool as many might suspect of her; not Elia, particularly, but she knew what the Southerners thought of those from the North. Lady Stark hadn't come to love her for ten and six years, or near enough, so what reason was there to suspect others not officially of her blood would?

"Thank you," Visenya said, awkwardness filling her. Such words and feelings were, by this time, very familiar to her.

What else might she say to such a comment?

"You're still uncomfortable here."

Elia's words weren't a question, but a statement. The woman's eyes bore into Visenya's face, for eye contact was made impossible when the latter pointedly kept her vision downwards, to that of her lap. The Queen was intimidating by title alone, but Elia… there was a ferocity under the gentlewoman, and Visenya would be keen on avoiding any negative emotions from any person so long as their family name started with a 'T' and ended in 'Argaryen'.

"I'll adjust," Visenya said, her eyes maintaining the view of rich fabric the likes of which she'd still not gotten over; it was so exceedingly soft! "I apologise if I com—"

"No," Elia said, her tone sharp enough that Visenya nearly winced. "No more apologies. In fact, it should be we that apologise to you — had we been wiser, had we been able to find out about you sooner, so much would be different. It's our burden to bear, not yours. Never yours, my sweet."

Visenya felt her cheeks twitch, and as seconds ticked by, seconds in which she said nothing, gradual wetness began to slide down as her eyes blinked of their own volition. One hand, soft and small as ever they'd been, came up to wipe away at the treacherous weakness that manifested. She was supposed to be strong, for the Starks.

For her family.

"I've gone and ruined the work you did," Visenya said, a sniffle forcibly coming free of her.

Elia scoffed as her hand wove around Visenya's shoulders. "We can always fix that later. Come here."

And Visenya did sans hesitation. In Elia's arms, small as the woman was, she felt happy. Safe. Loved.

Why was it so different, yet so similar to how it'd been with Father?

When next Visenya and Elia emerged from the private, adjoining room in which they'd share a meal with the entirety of the Targaryen-Martell group, the two no longer found themselves alone. Rhaegar was present and speaking with Oberyn near the head of the dining table, Aegon was with two of Oberyn's daughters, and Rhaenys was with Daenerys and two others, one of whom was Tyene; the blonde hair gave that away.

"I'm…" Visenya paused when Elia looked down at her, brows raised and head cocked to the side.

"We're late as any person of importance is," Elia said when not another word came free of the younger woman's lips. From there, Elia looped her arm through Visenya's and led the girl toward the head of the table, where Oberyn and Rhaeger were. "Brother."

Oberyn's attention, and Rhaegar's too, was then shifted from the conversation they'd been sharing, to Visenya and Elia. As he'd previously done, Oberyn took Visenya in with a gaze that wasn't like that of those she'd seen thus far; perhaps a touch similar only. One thing was certain, he most certainly didn't seem to think of her as nought but a 'classic Targaryen beauty' to be bartered for or lusted after.

He rose from his seat, and with all the manners of a true gentleman, took up one of Visenya's hands with the most gentle of touches before he brought it up for a kiss. "The Hidden Princess," he said with a grin, disregarding the expressions or thoughts of Rhaegar and Elia each. "Forgive me for earlier, too long in one saddle and too little time spent in the other left me sour, I fear."

"Oberyn," Elia said in warning, and based on the tone, that wasn't the first time such a warning had needed to be given.

"I jest, I jest," he said, his grin growing into a smile as he did a once over of Visenya. "It does me well to know my vision remains sharp as ever, you're a beauty as I said when first I was introduced to you — now, when will you come to Dorne?"

"Oberyn," Elia sighed and pulled Visenya more firmly to her side. "We've only just gotten her. Don't think you'll be stealing away my daughter to go gallivanting throughout the countryside or splashing about in the Water Gardens."

Oberyn pouted in a manner similar to that of Arya and Robb, the look was odd for one so old and battle-hardened. "How else might I spoil my newest niece?" he looked her over again, but this time, he frowned. "Mayhaps the Maester or Tyene might need to stay alongside her. It wouldn't do if I returned your newest daughter with sun scales."

Visenya… Visenya wasn't sure even remotely what she might make of the man. He was spontaneous, his expressions shifted seemingly by the second, and when she took into account the tales told of him, well, he was as a mystery.

In truth, she'd thought he'd dislike her at the very least, if not show outright discontent in her presence. Mayhaps that was the bastard in her speaking.

Something touched her hand. Visenya winced. She pressed further into Elia, the contact startling her from her thoughts. When she took back into account her surroundings and the happenings therein, she took notice of Oberyn examining her more critically, his playful, joyous nature now strained-looking. In the passing of a few more seconds betwixt the foursome, Visenya took note of the looks exchanged by the other three.

Much to her surprise when next the silence that'd befallen the foursome was broken, it was by Oberyn, whose visage was that of kindness when he looked back at her; he seemed a good father with such a kind look. "I will put to ease any worries, child—" his gaze flickered to the King and Queen, then back to her. "You have my assurances that you are to Dorne what Aegon and Rhaenys are. If my brother says otherwise, Elia will show him sense, as she's always done to him and I both," When he finished, his hand, rough and manly, found hers as it'd previously done.

And thereupon, he placed a kiss.

"That's his way of saying he's glad to have met you, and that he loves you already — Oberyn's not one for such 'soft' words, nor those that might prove too forthcoming," Elia's tone was teasing as her hand rubbed up and down Visenya's arm as the aforementioned man brought her hand — still in his grasp — back up to his mouth for one last kiss. "He'll not ask either, but I imagine he'd be very keen if you were to offer a shared meal with him, Ellaria and their girls."

Oberyn smiled wide, his teeth showing and his expression a touch goofy-looking. Visenya couldn't help but smile at him; yet he was amongst the most dangerous. Supposedly.

Visenya, still a touch too shy to speak to the man, nodded up at Elia, and thenceforth in short order, she was sent over to the gaggle of girls near the balcony. In an instant, Rhaenys and Daenerys snatched her up, one on either side of her; Elia stayed behind to speak with Rhaegar and Oberyn.

"You're beautiful."

"She is."

Rhaenys gave the very same look that Elia previously had to the two foreign girls; Tyene and… Nymeria? Sarella?

It had been Tyene, the small, innocent-looking blonde girl that was just as petite as Visenya that spoke first. In her eyes, there was a fire, a spark, one that was all too oft spotted in Arya's before she got into particularly repercussion-heavy mischief.

Visenya smiled demurely at the two and mumbled her thanks; she shifted afterwards, more of her hidden behind Rhaenys and Daenerys. Tyene's gaze in particular felt odd, mayhaps even lustful. Visenya had been warned that Southron women might fancy one another. Given that their father was a man of great renown behind closed doors as much as he was upon the battlefield, Visenya imagined his tastes might have trickled down to his children. Rhaenys and Aegon had alluded to such things during the carriage, wherein Visenya had learned a bit about each of the four Sand Snakes present.

"You've not even introduced yourselves and you're already trying to tease her," Rhaenys said with a huff, one hand pointing accusingly at Tyene. As for the other, it was firmly keeping hold of Visenya lest she try to leave.

Would that I could go for a ride through the Kingswood, 'Senya thought morosely.

"Tyene," the blonde said as she edged closer, her eyes alight with curiosity. "This is Sarella, one of my many baby sisters."

Sarella rolled her eyes, but she stepped forward in much the same fashion and with a similar look about her; Sarella's, granted, lacked the untoward undertone that Tyene's gaze possessed. "I'm Sarella, as Tyene said — forgive me if this is forward too, but, I have an interest in the North. I've only ever read about it, you see, and I'm very fond of learning all that I can. Might we meet for a luncheon? On the morrow, mayhaps?"

Rhaenys leaned down, their hair joining together to form a silver-black swirl as her lips moved against Visenya's ear, her hot breath washing down her neck and causing shivers to form; she was too close, but that didn't stop her from speaking.

"Sarella's as likely to bore you to death as Tyene is to accidentally poison you."

Visenya's eyes went comically wide, and her look of cautious happiness morphed into one of abject horror.

"Whatever she's just told you is a lie," Tyene proclaimed as she stepped closer still, a nosy, ancy quality to her.

"Me? Lie?" Rhaenys gasped, her visage wounded as she pulled away from Visenya. "I'll have you know I'm the quintessential Princess — pure of heart and mind, beautiful, and honest."

Silence.

Looks were exchanged in said silence, and then… uproarious laughter the likes of which would scare away many a suitor came. Visenya joined the others, albeit more quietly and reserved, as was her nature. Still, it felt… oddly good to be in the company of the four that she was. There was almost a feeling of normalcy betwixt the group.

That was, until the doors to the chamber burst open, and a man, tall and silver-haired, entered. With nought but a look at the hair atop the man's ahead, the sense of normalcy fell away, shoving Marna back whence she'd come for the few seconds she'd been released; Visenya rose again.

"Am I late? Did I miss it? Did I miss her?" the man's voice was loud, he was winded, and when he took in the company, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh. You're all here. Well, that's quite a horrible entrance, isn't it? Allow me another."

And like that, the man that'd just entered left the chambers, going so far as to close the doors with a sheepish expression on his face.

"Well," Rhaenys said after shaking her head, her eyes finding Visenya's. "You've finally met Uncle Viserys."

Visenya blinked. Like Daenerys, like all of House Targaryen, from that initial meeting alone the man wasn't what she'd been expecting. Not even remotely.

Nearly five minutes after Viserys' initial entrance, one of a panicked nature, he entered again, the doors swinging open for him. This time, he strolled as a Prince might, his nose — sharp as Rhaegar's was — held aloft with his eyes zoning in on Visenya… for all of a scant few seconds before they found their way much like the rest of his body, over to Rhaegar. She supposed she shouldn't have been too surprised.

If anything, Visenya was thankful that he'd not come over and speak with her immediately. All of this interaction didn't agree with her nearly as much as one might suspect. It was foolish, she knew that. Thousands would kill to be where she now found herself, and yet, was she given the option, even now she suspected she'd return whence she'd come.

The chill of the North and her cousins therein had left a hole in her heart that words couldn't begin to describe. Even as Rhaenys rubbed up and down her arm or combed her hand through Visenya's hair all the while speaking words of praise, a comparison couldn't be made.

"... a dreamer, if ever I've seen one," Sarella said, the words a touch louder than the previously hushed tones used betwixt Rhaenys and the two Sand Snakes.

Rhaenys grip of her arm grew firmer and the motion thereof halted altogether. "Visenya's not grown accustomed to our home yet. How might you feel if you were in her place?"

"Rhaenys' point is true," Tyene said sweetly, one hand slowly extending toward the closer of Visenya's with all the trepidation a huntsman had toward wild animals. "May I, cousin?"

Cousin, Visenya thought inwardly, her brow nearly furrowing at the remark. She's being polite… why?

Visenya had heard tell of the Southron people and their affinity for schemes. Ask any Northerner, and they'd be loathed to place their trust in one not of their Northern kin. What of those words were true, and what of them were false, Visenya couldn't begin to imagine.

Finally, Visenya's eyes found Tyene's as the rapid pace of her thoughts grew calm. "Yes."

Tyene's answering smile was as sweet and well-practised as Sansa's as her hand took hold of Visenya's. "Tougher than I'd imagined. You're no delicate lady, are you?"

"F— Uncle Stark thought it wise that I train with a bow and blade, and I've long held the reigns of many a mount," Visenya answered, emboldened by Tyene's remark — she'd never be helpless. Arya was much the same, the two had even gone so far as to practice swordsmanship in the privacy of their chambers.

"Have you ever done both at the same time? Train with a bow and ride atop a horse, I mean — Father says the Dothraki do so," Tyene's eyes were filled with wonder, but it was Sarella and Rhaenys that had gone alight with curiosity, the two going so far as to form a tight crescent around Visenya's diminutive form; it made her feel trapped.

"Only once. I must confess, it's exceedingly difficult. Moreso than I thought, and so I halted my efforts to focus on the thrill of riding," Visenya looked past the other girls for a moment, hard as it was to do so, and out at the water behind them. She'd never seen so much of it until she'd met this side of her family… but it wasn't the forest.

Gods did she long to feel the wind whipping through her hair.

"My ladies, niece, a moment of your time if I may." The voice was as silk, and not at all like the panicked voice she'd remembered only moments earlier; Viserys had come to see her, it seemed.

It'd only taken him resolving whatever business he'd had with Rhaegar before he did so.

"Uncle," Rhaenys grip grew tighter still, and her voice was oddly strained. "Visenya, sweet sister, this is our dear Uncle Viserys as I'm sure you've realised by now."

"The rumours of your beauty, scant as they are, fail to do you justice, niece," Viserys said with a smile — one that wasn't all that charming — as she stepped forward, her hand taken hold by one of his in an instant as he brought it up for a kiss. "Your greatest Uncle, ready to serve."

Visenya wasn't sure Oberyn would think too fondly of that remark. Nuncle Benjen either. She nearly frowned then. Nuncle Benjen… she'd likely never see him again, and if she did, she could only imagine how long it'd be, or the look that'd be on his face; he hated Targaryens just as much as Father did.

"It's very nice to meet you, Uncle," Visenya said politely, her voice louder than she'd like it to be on account of the multitude of conversations happening throughout the room.

He grinned at her, kissed her hand again, and bowed as he began to move away. "Very nice indeed, excuse me. I've many a thing to see to, but we'll speak again soon. Very soon."

And as quickly as he'd come, he left.

"Odd, isn't he?"

Rhaenys, Visenya and Sarella looked at Tyene, but not one of the three made to disagree with her.

Very odd, Visenya silently agreed.

"Be careful around him."

Visenya cocked her head at Rhaenys. Those words had come free of the other girl's mouth almost as soon as the two had closed shut the door to the former's chambers.

"Who?" Visenya asked. Mayhaps the amount of wine she'd consumed, a good bit of it at the behest of Rhaenys, had muddled her brain, but she'd met more than one man in a true fashion this evening.

"Viserys. Father shan't allow you to be alone with him, I'll not either," Rhaenys began to pace, her eyes maintaining contact with those of Visenya all the while. "He wishes to claim you. I've heard whispers. With Daenerys spoken for, private as the matter is, and Father's plans for me and Aegon, he sees you as a means to an end — Summerhall, when it's restored, or something more."

Visenya wrinkled her nose in disgust, a feeling of sickness emanating from her belly; a mixture of wine and contempt, perhaps. "Incest is a amongst the worst of sins. Father broke away from it."

Rhaenys' pacing stopped when those words came free of Visenya, and then it resumed a scant few seconds later, if even that. Visenya wasn't sure if she'd been seeing things, but when the words had flowed from her lips like water down a river, she thought she'd seen hurt or annoyance flash across Rhaenys' face… Visenya had thought Rhaenys might agree with her thoughts. She was forcibly betrothed to their brother, was she not?

If not, was she not as sane as Visenya thought her to be?

Such thoughts amplified the uncertainty she'd long since felt in the presence of the Targaryens and made the yearning for the Starks greater than it'd already been. What was a moon, not even, compared to a lifetime spent with another family?

"Father broke away from it himself, you speak true. Yet, he sought it out again with Aegon and I," Rhaenys said slowly, and as she stalked toward Visenya. In seconds, the taller girl was stood so close that 'Senya had to crank her neck to maintain eye contact with her sister, and as she did so, one of Rhaenys' hands traced a path up Visenya's hip until it came to rest on her cheek; it was then she spoke again. "Enough of that — promise me you'll not spend a moment alone with our dear uncle, little sister?"

Visenya nodded, her eyes searching for an answer she wasn't sure she wished to find in Rhaenys'.

"Say it."

"I promise."

Rhaenys' shoulders sagged upon hearing her do as she was asked, and then she took a step away from Visenya, exhaling. "Forgive me. I… I'd not see him use you. I care for you a great deal even if we've not but known one another for a moon. You're my sister. We might lack a past, but we'll share a future."

Visenya's response was to close the distance and wrap her arms around Rhaenys. The embrace was tight, with the latter's grasp, especially so, but it was comforting. Visenya knew she was ill-equipped to handle the myriad of problems that arose in the South, but she genuinely believed Rhaenys cared for her.

She just couldn't be certain if that care went further than was appropriate. After the statement about Viserys and the expression Rhaenys had pulled at her remark thereafter, testing as it'd been — and perhaps aided by the wine she'd consumed so as to be bold enough to say them — the trepidation toward House Targaryen had only grown.

Elia would speak truly if I ask… wouldn't she?

As Visenya allowed herself to be led to bed, and to the warm embrace of sleep and Rhaenys both, she could only hope the answer to that question was a resounding yes.

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Where one might expect the errant cough or sneeze, there was nought but the flickering of the nearest torch and the beating of her heart for noise. Not even the man of the Kingsguard by her side, ever-vigilant as each was, made a noise that might distract her from the events that'd soon transpire.

The time had, unfortunately, finally come for the formal announcement of her to the realm. Rhaegar and Elia had put it off longer than most likely would have, but even they as King and Queen couldn't do so indefinitely, and Visenya would be loathe to beg them to do so. Even she recognised that a formal acknowledgement of her personage was necessary.

That didn't mean she liked it, and even as Rhaegar spoke words in which she minded not to the Lords and Ladies of the realm, she wished for an out that she knew wouldn't come. In her dream the night prior, the night Oberyn and Viserys had dined with her and the rest of their 'family' as they'd claimed her, she'd dreamt of Uncle Eddard and Robb coming to her rescue.

Gallant and manly, the two would force open the doors to the Throne Room, issue a challenge for her, defeat the champion that stood to keep her and take her back whence she belonged.

"Princess."

Visenya was roused from her recollection when the soft voice of Ser Loras called her forth from it. "Ser?" she asked, her head cocked to the side, and her voice small and girlish; it was a worthy final effort to avoid being paraded before those of the Realm that might do her harm.

"King Rhaegar has given the signal. It's time, Princess," and like that, Ser Loras sought out the door without so much as a look over his shoulder to ensure she was joining him. It was expected of her.

True as it might be that she wished to flee, for few wished to be under the scrutiny of hundreds, she knew what she needed to do. Visenya followed after the man, her posture straight and head held high as Elia had said need be done; weakness nor shyness could be portrayed by a member of House Targaryen, even new as she was.

"Princess?"

Visenya cocked her head at the man. "Ser Loras?"

"If it pleases you to know — I've heard they already love you." Loras sent her a small, fond and boyishly cute smile after such words were said; one she thought far sweeter than Aegon's or any other she'd yet seen.

That moment of warmth his words caused spurred her on, and as the door was opened and the silence grew to hushed, rapid whispers, she stepped out with all the confidence she could muster. Ser Loras was right. She was a Princess, a Targaryen, and all those who lived in the South seemed to love both of those qualities she possessed.

Elia, Rhaenys, even Rhaegar had promised her safety, and should any person so much as threaten that, they'd forfeit their right to live; perhaps an exaggeration… or perhaps not. Either way, it'd helped to set her at ease. Yet, the thought was strange, that being the 'power' she could project, but it brought her the same level of comfort as a bed of warm furs on a cold night.

Visenya took step after step, measured, calm, confident, and the picture of elegance — so she hoped — until she came to a halt betwixt Rhaegar and Elia, whereupon doing so each set a hand upon her person. There as she was, her eyes took in the vastness of the crowd. Nearly every face was strange to her, save for a few close to the front; one, in particular, drew a smile from her.

Yoren, Nuncle Benjen's friend. He was a good man, a kind man, and one that she hoped she could get a message to. Time would tell.

"... is why, to celebrate the return of my daughter, a tournament shall be held. The greatest since our peacetime celebration — the details will be announced by my Lord Hand, Mace Tyrell, as will the reason for delay," Rhaegar gestured to the man, but Visenya didn't look. Aside from Yoren, she avoided settling her eyes upon any one person. "The prizes, might I add, will be quite substantial."

With that, he took a step back, finished.

As if the murmuring hadn't been loud enough already, the many men assembled sounded off all the more as their King gave them permission to do so. If it wasn't whispers of Visenya, the talk of gold dragons littered the hall. Men were oft driven by two things, Old Nan had said, greed or lust. From what Visenya was hearing, unintelligible as the vast majority of conversations were, Old Nan was right.

"Father?" she asked only just loud enough for Rhaegar to hear her, the meaning of her request obvious.

"A moment longer," Rhaegar answered as his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "I would to introduce you to Mace Tyrell, and then, we'll go and enjoy a meal in the gardens. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His tone was almost hopeful-sounding as if he feared her declining such an invitation. Rhaegar was King; the thought shouldn't so much as be in his mind.

"Yes, Father." A dutiful response. Her eyes found Elia's next. "Will you join us… Mother?"

Elia's face went awash with a smile and a second later, if even that, the woman bent down to place a kiss atop Visenya's head. "You'd need to lock me in the Black Cells to avoid my company, my sweet."

Visenya smiled at the woman's words. It meant a lot to her, Elia's presence. She was Rhaenys-like in many a way, but where Rhaenys might fret or come across exceedingly possessive, Elia had no such qualities. In fact, Visenya might go so far as to say Elia lacked any negative traits.

"Your Grace!" bellowed a man over the still loud and boisterous crowd below.

Rhaegar seemingly had a flash of something untoward go across his face, but it went away just as quickly as it'd appeared. "My Lord Hand," her father returned. "My daughter, Visenya. I do believe your son Willas managed a glimpse of her."

Mace swallowed, and then he bowed gracefully — as gracefully as a man of his stature could. "My most sincere apologies, Your Grace. I- my mo—"

"As we said previously, the error's forgiven, Lord Hand," Elia said swiftly, her tone as honey, rich and enveloping. "House Tyrell has been a stalwart ally across centuries, and were it not for your family and the timely arrival of your men alongside Lord Frey's, I fear the Trident was a lost cause. Naturally, it would be you and yours that meet our third child first."

This is the game they all mentioned, isn't it?

Mace's chest grew larger and his posture, straighter. His face, previously growing red with embarrassment, grew red on account of pride or praise instead. "House Tyrell will always stand with the Crown, My Queen, Your Grace," he said, only the occasional stutter as he looked betwixt her parents… before his eyes fell on her. "Princess Visenya, allow me to be the first of many to welcome you to King's Landing. Should you need anything, it would be my honour, mine whole houses, to aid you."

Visenya wanted to shy away from the man, especially when he took a step toward her. He was larger the closer he grew, and taller than her; everybody was. Still, she couldn't walk away from him, nor could she hide behind Elia's skirts. As oft she'd done, the necessity to push down what she felt arose and she took a step toward him, her hand offered.

"You have my thanks, Lord Hand," she said softly, a pretty smile coming easily to her. Well, not too easily, she'd had to practise in the looking glass for most of the morning. "And please, do tell your son that I took no offence to his presence. One can't help but get lost in such a vast holdfast."

Mace kissed her hand and let it go in an instant as if her very touch had scalded him. It was a strange divergence from his previous gaze that'd lingered on her, as was the step back that he took. All the same, he responded with a hearty chuckle and jolly smile that reminded her of an old guard back at Winterfell; the man had been kinder than most all others.

"Truer words are seldom spoken, Princess. My son will be glad to hear you've not taken offence," Mace looked over her shoulder, looked her in the eyes, and then, he nodded once, respectfully. "Princess."

And then he was off after a few more words with the King and Queen. It made her furrow her brows and cock her head as the man made his 'hasty' escape. He was a queer sort much like her newest uncle, Viserys, but most she'd met thus far had been of a similar nature. Visenya exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding before twirling on the balls of her feet to seek out Rhaegar and Elia again.

"Father?" she asked again.

Rhaegar smiled at her, and within the span of five seconds, the trio were out of the Great Hall with the topic of a picnic at hand. Visenya was so very pleased to be away from the myriad of men. Even sans eye contact, their gazes felt… dirty.

"It's time."

Visenya wanted to pull the covers over her head at the incessant nature of Daenerys. It had been nary a few hours since the announcement had been made to the realm, and already, dozens of requests had been made for her to join families for meals, walks or even trips to their ancestral homes. Where the latter might spell opportunity, they were long rejected by the time the requests had made their way to her.

Elia, Rhaegar, and just about every member of House Targaryen had ensured the various Lords and Ladies wouldn't be able to corner her, much less take her away from them. It was odd to think some might even try to 'steal' her; in Rhaenys' words, they were overly ambitious animals little better than the bandits in the Kingswood.

In other words, Rhaenys hadn't been pleased to hear requests had been made that might very well see Visenya away from King's Landing for months unending. Daenerys' own request to take her to Dragonstone had even been denied by Rhaegar, and Viserys had been shut down before he could even make a request of a similar nature.

"Sister~" Daenerys sang as fingers, cold and small, prodded at Visenya after slipping under her silken and so very soft sheets. "Rise lest I have to go and get Rhaenys."

Visenya sat upright in an instant, her hair covering much of her face. She huffed, folded her arms and whipped about her head so that the errant strands cleared her field of vision.

"I don't like being tickled."

And then Visenya pouted, her bottom lip sticking out as she gave her best look of girlish pleading to Daenerys.

"You're adorable," Daenerys said with a grin. "It's almost as if I'm looking into a mirror, and were it not for your accent, I do imagine most of the Realm wouldn't be able to tell us apart — I'd not change that for the world, you should know. That Northern nature in you makes you all the sweeter."

Visenya felt heat rushing to her cheeks, so she pouted harder.

"That won't work on me. I practically created such a look back when I was moons upon moons younger. How else might you suspect I'm as spoiled as I am?" Daenerys giggled, and try as she might to hold in the sound, Visenya joined her.

Daenerys wasn't at all what she'd expected.

"Must I? Truly?"

"I fear the answer's a resounding yes. Rhaegar's very incessant that you meet the Lords of the Small Council, at the very least," Daenerys slid across the vastness that was Visenya's bed, the mattress dipping as her 'twin' reached her. "Think of it from his point of view, won't you?"

Visenya took in a deep breath, the breeze and birdsong doing little to calm the anxiousness welling up in her belly. A Targaryen she might be, Visenya forgot herself. She was a Princess, and she knew the fate of Princesses.

"My apologies," Visenya's voice was quiet and a moment later, she climbed free of the bed whilst dodging one of Daenerys' hands. "I'll need but a few moments to ready myself."

I'd like to visit the Godswood after, she thought inwardly. I could take Rickon along with me. An actual Northern grove, it is not, but a place of comfort it should prove to be. Yoren. Mayhaps Yoren will visit it. I'd like to let Father… Uncle Eddard, know that I'm alright.

Visenya glanced back at Daenerys, who was oddly — finally — silent, and with a look of contemplation on her face. Wounded contemplation, and to think Visenya had done nought but shrug off her hand. Perhaps Daenerys was as possessive as Rhaenys, only with a personality that made such a nature easier to disguise.

She sighed.

"You're ready. Well, nearly," Daenerys' voice was back to normal, as was her visage, as she came up behind the newly-washed and dressed Visenya. "Sit."

Visenya did as she was bidden immediately, Daenerys' tone and the energy around the girl activating Marna's nature. If a Lord or Lady spoke so authoritatively, she might resist, she was willful like that — Uncle Eddard had said as much. The Targaryens, even now a part of her feared them, a part of her remained keenly aware of what they might do to her at any given moment.

Starks don't fare well in the South, Uncle Eddard had once said, and as for the rest of the quote, she truly was of his blood, just not in the manner she'd always believed. But that didn't matter. Sans his name, sans him being her father, she was still a Stark and nothing could change that, not even the new duality of her person.

"Your hair's so soft."

"Like yours."

Daenerys' flatter-filled smile was visible in the looking glass. "I'd like to be friends. Closer, if you'd let me," her hands continued to weave intricately in Visenya's long, silverish hair as the words came free of Daenerys. "Would you like the same? Speak honestly. I've lived here long enough to know when pretty words cover falsehoods."

Visenya wasn't certain. Daenerys, Rhaenys, and Elia had become her favourites, but even now a level of distrust or unease was prevalent whenever she thought of them. And yet, riddled as her mind might be with Targaryen tales, the bulk of them wicked, a part of her yearned to connect with them.

"What if you hurt me?"

As soon as the words came free of her mouth, she wished to take them back. She sounded as a child might, nay, worse than a child, and yet, there was a certain sincerity and genuineness in her question.

"Me?" Daenerys asked, her intricate weaving slowing to a halt as she slowly, painfully slowly, walked out from behind Visenya and kneeled before her. Their heads were level with one another after such a move, and violet stared into violet. "Or any of us?"