His flame haired cousin fairly begs a dance of him and Viserys cannot refuse Sansa Stark. There is something utterly charming about her innocent smiles and rosy blushes. The last strains of the song can still be heard when he gives her back in her father's care. Eddard Stark nods his thanks, taking hold of Sansa's hand. There is already another lordling asking to have his turn partnering her. She is all grace and shy smiles, the complete opposite of her impish sister who has taken to skulking in the shadows after her mother berated her for some minor offence none of the guests took notice of.
Soon enough the maidens not flowered will be sent to their chambers and the bedding will commence. The Prince covers his scowl by sipping from the goblet passed into his hand. He eyes the dancing couples, taking note of the pairings and their disposition. Sansa has been swept into this dance by Lord Beric, and she seems happy enough, though her eyes keep stealing glances to the crowds. Eddard Strak has convinced his unruly she-wolf to partner him, while Robb Stark is still dancing with Daenerys. Even Lord Dayne leads his pregnant wife in elegant circles. Lady Tyta looks less wan, but somewhat large.
The King and Queen sit out this dance as they did the one before. Rhaegar's head leans in so he can better hear his lady, the pose striking as it is intimate. There is rarely any display of affection exhibited in public between his brother and his wife, however, a veil of mystery is wrapped around the pair when they are close together. The atmosphere around them is slightly charged, as if they are acutely aware of one another, making the third party aware of them both. Viserys looks away from the scene.
"Brother, you should smile," he hears Daenaeys' voice chiding him. Suddenly his sister has materialised before her, grabbing him by the arm. "You look sour. 'Tis your wedding. What cause have you for sadness on this day?" Large amethyst eyes sparkle in the light. She mimics his expression a moment later.
Annoyance course through him, but he smiles despite himself. "Very well, sister. You have caught me in my mischief. Whatever shall you do with me?"
"I have a mind to find a feather," she tells him with her most serious expression on. "Unless, of course, you offer me a dance."
"Have you not tired yet of dancing?" His question is met with a knowing smile and Viserys finds himself dragged after her. She is his sister. He owes her at least a dance. "Don't expect I shall do this again. MY toes are not made of steel," he hisses when she intentionally steps on his foot.
"What do you think of your bride?" she asks innocently.
He cannot tell her. His displeasure catches in his throat. "She is nice." Such a bland term. Nice. But she is nice, he supposes. At least her face and figure hint at nice. But even now he can feel her eyes on him, burning his skin through the layers of his clothing. "I don't suppose you wouldn't know anything about her, would you?"
"She is your wife," Daenerys points out sensibly, "and you can ask her anything you wish to know. I am sure she will be more than happy to see you are interested in her."
How naïve his sister is. Viserys smiles down at her indulgently. Her head is filled with tales of knight and love and whatnot. She lives in a world where everything is possible; where whatever she wants she can obtain by reaching out for it. There will come a day when she is no longer allowed to do as she will. Viserys fears for her and what her reaction will be. Instead of speaking he twirls her around one last time before the music ends.
The children are being led out and Viserys knows what follows. The singers play the first chords of The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown. A wave of bawdy comments and good-natured teasing hits the bride and groom, Viserys plasters a smile on his face as the noble ladies take him by the arms, making all sorts of comments. His wife fares no better, but she is now cowed. Instead she jests and laughs. Viserys turns his head away.
Fingers pull at his clothing, dislodging buttons and undoing knots. Someone touches his side gently and he cannot help but laugh. It tickles. The ladies that that as approval for their work. They coo and fuss, complimenting his tall form and princely demeanor. Viserys tries his best not to mind the fact that his chest is bared to their gaze and touches.
Soon enough they have him completely out of his clothing and murmuring in fascination. They are wedded, all of them. That his form should prove such a surprise can only make him wonder. They push him into the bridal chamber where he is promptly set upon by his young wife. Bawdy suggestions come from outside, but Viserys pulls away from Arianne to bar the door.
"Leave that, husband," she calls to him, her voice throaty and seductive. She guides him away from the door and into the bed. Viserys follows without complaint. The telltale signs of arousal are already here. "Come to me."
Bedding her fells exactly like bedding any other woman. Viserys finds no difficulty in doing his duty, but there is nothing more to it. He makes sure she finds her pleasure and prays that somehow the gods will see fit to bestow a child upon her soon.
He is not at all surprised that she comes to him not a maiden. There is skill in her touch, too much of it for her not to have known other men. For a brief moment his pride stings at the knowledge but Viserys tramples it down. He does not care who she had been with.
"Do you ride much, my lady?" he asks, just to be polite. So they may be in accord if they are asked for explanations. The chances are slim, but he is not willing to risk anything.
"Aye, I am a very good rider." She seems to understand immediately what his meaning is. Viserys is thankful. She must have planned this anyway. "Perhaps we could go riding together someday soon, husband," Arianne suggests as he withdraws from her embrace.
"Perhaps," Viserys agrees noncommittally. He finds that clothing had been provided for them. Handing his bride a long – ironically enough, white – garment, he pulls his own tunic over his head. He would leave, but this is his wedding night.
In the end he settles into the bed, next to Arianne and waits for sleep to come, patently ignoring his wife when she tries to spark an amorous mood.
