Arianne Martell is received at court with pomp and splendour. The Dornish princess comes with her own companions, ladies-in-waiting of the noble houses of Dorne. All of them, without exception, sport bright colours and daring garments. The hotness and humidity of their home land seems to have travelled with them to King's Landing.
Viserys stands straight at his brother's side. He tries not to grimace at the guests – though the urge is almost too strong to ignore. His mood drops considerably when his eyes fall to the woman he will make his bride. She is short and curvaceous – in the image of her mother, Mellario of Norvos, some have said – and perhaps something many men would like in a wife. A tendril of dark hair falls loose artfully to frame her face. Wide dark eyes regard with speculatively. There is a smile on her face, but it is the sort the hunter gives its prey. She thinks that she might seduce him, Viserys supposes.
It's not that he is a stranger to such attempt. Being a prince with a handsome face, coin more than he'll ever need and a bright future ahead, women have been flocking to him ever since they considered him old enough to be seduced. But Viserys is different from Rhaegar in his handling of them. His brother has always been courteous and conveniently blind to displays, Viserys on the other hand enjoyed a good game when the chance appeared. Of course, he never allowed it to go too far. There is a certain cruelty to him that Rhaegar does not possess.
He can see this reflected in his prospective bride – the same glint of cruel intentions – and he does not like it one bit. He finds no fault with it, to be sure, but he would not want something like that in a spouse. Yet he must wed this woman. Viserys does not bother swearing under his breath. Arianne Martell is set on become a Princess and he won't be the one to refuse her – not that he can refuse anyway. Dorne needs to be kept tied to the ruling house.
"She is good looking," Lyanna whispers softly to him. She has chosen to stay behind the King and the Prince, no doubt feeling more at ease flanked by Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Barristan Selmy. Viserys wonder how she can see with him and his brother before her. Lyanna is positively minute. "Yet there is something about her aura," she trails off. Viserys sighs. Even the Queen agrees with him, though unknowingly. "I'm sure this will be a brilliant match."
While he cannot agree with words, Viserys gives a short, discreet nod. He does not hope for a love match. The Prince is not that much of a fool. But he did hope to at least like the woman he was going to marry. His brother is lucky to have fallen in love with his spouse. Somehow, Viserys is sure that luck won't be extending to him. Yet he is determined to make her a decent, if not a good, partner. Arianne Martell is as innocent as he in this.
The Dornish Princess executes a proper curtsey and speaks her part perfectly. At least she knows her duty. Viserys is grateful. The ornaments glitter in her hair, around her neck, on her fingers. One might say she is extremely fond of those.
Completely oblivious to what is going on around him, Viserys almost jumps out of his skin when Lyanna slides past him, a cloud of gossamer and silk and lace. His good-sister welcomes the Princess with kisses to her cheek and words that are too soft for him to catch. With a start, he notices that Arianne is a bit taller than his aunt. The picture they present one next to the other is oddly amusing.
"And this is Prince Viserys, Lord of Dragonstone," Rhaegar makes the formal introduction. It is customary for the heir to the throne to hold that position, but Jon is better served by staying close to the King and learning first-hand how to move about court.
Arianne turns the full power of smile on him. Viserys' pulse quickens. Gods, but she is beautiful, sensual even. "Princess," he greets with a bow. Well, at least bedding her won't be a problem. After all, he doesn't have to like her as a person to climb into her bed. He remembers something that has been said in his presence by a guard that had been imbibing on duty during his father's reign. The man had been of the opinion that there were no ugly women, just not enough spirits in a man's stomach. And indeed, from neck down, Arianne is a woman, even should she have a viper for her head – which Viserys suspects she does.
Lyanna offers him an encouraging smile as he takes the Princess' hand in the crook of his arm. He is content to stay silent, and she seems of the same mind. Nay, he won't have what his brother has with his wife, but sometimes even marriages based on love fail. It is little consolation, but Viserys grasps at what he can. Her hand is warm under his. He almost smiles and wonders if she feels even a little bit nervous.
"They were wrong about you, my Prince," she says suddenly, making his attention snap to her face. "They told me you favoured your father, but I have seen the former Queen, and it seem to me you favour her more."
How unusual of her to say so. Most people do think he resembles his father. But that is because of his eyes mostly. Rhaegar has eyes of a darker violet, like mother's. Viserys' are lighter, like Aerys' had been. The truth, however, is that he is similar to both of them in equal measure. "Does that please you?"
She shrugs. "I myself resemble my mother, my Prince. I suppose it is the kinship that pleases me." She's looking to establish a bond. Viserys nods slowly. "I heard the heir to the throne resembles his mother too."
"That he does. Prince Jon is all wolf in appearance," Viserys laughs. "Although, he has the pride of a dragon." He remembers now that he hasn't seen her at Lady Dayne's funeral. How strange. Perhaps it would have been better to meet her there. Nothing can captivate him more than a maiden's melancholy. But he has seen Rhaenys Dayne somewhere behind them. Should he ask? He does anyway. "Are you close to young Lady Dayne? You are relatives of a sort, are you not?"
"Cousins," Arianne supplies. "And we are not particularly close, but I was assured that it would seem crass to bring with me companions with the name of Sand." He can sense the irony in her word. Lady Dayne herself was born out of wedlock. "Officially, anyway."