Chapter Text
On his ninth nameday he is wed to the fairest woman in all the world.
Aster rouses him a scant hour after cock's crow. His old nurse tumbles him out of bed and into a scalding hot bath before he can protest.
"I want to sleep," he wails, thinking that she has gone quite mad. "Ser Aron never has me train before the ninth bell. Its too early."
She pays him as much mind as she would a mewling kitten, indeed less. When Rhaenys' cat slinks in through the door, she actually throws her sponge in fury at it, shaking her head and grumbling about ill omens. "Foul little beast," she says, lashing out at the tire-women. "And you lard-brained fools didn't think to chase it out, today of all days?"
"Why today of all days?" Viserys asks her curiously. "Is there to be something special for my nameday?" He does not think there will be but perhaps... perhaps...
She dunks his head underwater, soaping his hair with a fury. Her handmaids scurry about, bringing out his clothes from the linen chest. He catches a flash of black and scarlet, velvet and jewels and plush ermine.
They are far grander than the clothes he wears everyday. Something important is going to happen and suddenly he is terribly frightened.
"Aster," he whispers, grabbing her sleeve with one small, wet hand. "Am I to be beheaded today?"
They will want me to look very fine and splendid, he thinks. They are going to kill me today, just like they did Aegon and Rhaenys and Elia, Father and Rhaegar. But they will want me to look like a prince. He does not know why they would want to kill him but he doesn't think they need a reason. For over a year he has lived in fear of this very day and tears begin to smart in his eyes even though he has vowed to be brave like his brother.
Aster stops scrubbing his back abruptly. "Gods above, child, what put such a thought into your head?" she asks. "No, my little fool, you're to be wed today."
"Wed?" He stares at her, not understanding. "To who?"
"Is your head as squashed full of turnips as that of yon wenches?" she asks crossly, jerking her head at her women. "To the Lady Cersei, of course, your right fair betrothed. Do you not remember kneeling and swearing your vows to her in the sept? It was only three moons ago."
He remembers. "But we were to be wed when I was twelve," he says hesitantly.
"When you're able to father sons on the maid, aye," Aster agrees briskly. "No one's calling on you to do your duty by her tonight, but the high lords will play their games. Betrothals can be broken but not so a marriage brokered in the eyes of the Seven."
He bites his lip. "Why was I not told before?"
She snorts. "Why because you don't matter at all, my sweet princeling."
I used to, he thinks but says nothing as she scoops him out of the tub and dries him quickly. She helps him into his clothes and asks him whether he knows what to do.
"Yes," he says but then frowns, troubled. "She's so tall, Aster. How'm I to put the cloak around her?"
"She'll kneel for you," his nurse tells him and then chuckles grimly. "The first and last time she does in her wedded life, I have no doubt. She'll ride you, spurs and whip and all."
One of the serving girls brings forth a looking glass of polished bronze. "Your Highness looks very handsome and fine," she ventures timidly. "Like to your brother, the Mother give rest to his soul."
No, Viserys thinks. He looks like a little boy. Rhaegar was a dragon. I am only the shadow of a snake. It hurts to think of Rhaegar so he puts it from his mind.
"You've your lady mother's eyes," Aster says suddenly. "The prince's were darker, like your sire's, I remember."
"Mother's dead," Viserys whispers and his eyes begin to smart again.
Aster snaps her finger at the serving girl before his eyes overflow. "Bring me the prince's cloak-brooches," she snaps and when the girl scurries off she holds him by the shoulders and gives him a little shake. "Stop that," she says sternly. "You're to wed a lioness today. Will you have her laugh when they put a mewling pup in her bed? Hmm? You with your god's blood of Valyria?"
"No," he whispers, very low because his voice will crack if he speaks up.
"Remember that," she says grimly. "You and your baby sister are the last of the dragons and its up to you to stand strong for the both of you."
"There's still-" he begins.
"Forget the wolf cub," she whispers fiercely. "Does he have your eyes, your sister's hair? Where's the proof save in the swords that gird him that he's truly your brother's heir, hmm? Where-?"
"Mistress Aster," the girl says. "I've brought His Highness's-"
"And so you have, my dear," Aster said, with the sweetness of an adder. "Pray won't you sit and help us sort through them? We all want Prince Viserys to look splendid enough for his beautiful bride today, don't we?"
He waits in the nursery before he is fetched. He watches Aster fuss over his baby sister. Their mother named her Daenerys but everyone calls her Dany. The nursery is the only wing of the palace that has been untouched by war and Starks, it is just as he remembers. Their old toys are still stored in the painted chests. His wooden knights and horses, Rhaenys' dolls in the gowns that Elia was teaching her to stitch, the gilded blocks to build castles that they would squabble over.
He sorts through the dolls carefully, until he finds the one that he remembers Rhaenys was fondest of. A silver-haired princess in a gown of flame-colored silk.
"Too old for toys aren't you, my lad?" Aster says but stops when he shows her the doll. "Maiden, Mother and Crone," she hisses, making the sign to ward off the evil eye. "Put that away. First that damned black cat and now..."
We might have been married, Viserys thinks. If Elia had another little girl Aegon would have married her and Rhaenys would have married me. He puts the doll away though because he's afraid Aster might snatch it away if he doesn't. Nobody ever actually told him how Rhaenys was killed but he knows anyone.
The nursery doors are thrown open and before he can help it, Viserys shrinks in fear. Lord Arryn has come for him, attended by two of the White Swords. These are new men, Viserys doesn't know them and in spite of Aster's assurance for a moment he is very frightened.
Aster bobs him a small curtsey, but her face is clouded with resentment.
"Has the boy been told?" Lord Arryn asks abruptly.
"Yes," Viserys says before Aster can speak. He faces the great Lord of the Vale boldly, though he is still clutching Rhaenys' doll. "I'm going to marry Lady Cersei Lannister today. Why?"
He expects Lord Arryn to tell him that children should be seen and not heard, that it is not for the likes of him to question his betters but instead the old man does something very surprising. He crouches so that he is at Viserys' level and gives him a straight answer, the first that he has received in months.
How did Rhaenys die? She died quickly, my prince, and that is all that you must know.
How did my father die? Its time that you were at your lessons, Viserys, no your arithmetic cannot wait upon your whims.
"Because Lord Lannister wishes it," Lord Arryn says grimly. "And it does not do to cross him."
"Is it part of a game?" Viserys blurts out, remembering what Aster had told him.
Lord Arryn's eyes narrow. "Game, boy? What game?"
"The high lords' games," Viserys says, feeling very small. "The game of thrones."
"You're a sharp child aren't you?" Lord Arryn touches his shoulder gently. "Yes, you could say that, Viserys Targaryen. You could very well say that. Come."
They trot him out before the people like a prize. He rides on a handsome white stallion, decked in scarlet and black and jangling bells. The people throng the wayside to see him as he rides across the city to Baelor's Sept on Visenya's Hill. Lord Arryn hands him a purse of coins to scatter and he blows kisses to pretty girls just as he has seen knights do. They cheer his brother's name as he rides by and sometimes his.
He knows he looks like a true king, far more than the brown-tufted infant in whose stead Lord Arryn sits the Iron Throne.
At the sept, he is led aside to a separate chamber. The White Bull, the Commander of his Father's Kingsguard, is waiting there for him.
"Prince Viserys," he says very formally.
"Ser Gerold," Viserys greets him.
Lord Arryn hesitates at the door and says, "I will leave you alone a moment."
When he is gone, Ser Gerold gestures to a bench and grunts, "Well, you might as well be seated. There's a few things I must tell you and Lord Arryn thought it best that I spoke to you, under the circumstances..."
But Viserys does not give him time. He knows the White Bull is honorable, he knows his father and brother trusted him, he has known him since he was a babe in swaddling cloths. "You were with the Lady Lyanna in Dorne," he blurts out, "Her baby, is he truly my brother Rhaegar's?"
Ser Gerold looks terribly pained, as though he would rather not speak. "Lord Arryn bade me speak to you of your duties as regards the wedding-"
"I know what to do," Viserys says hotly, clenching his fists. "I'm not a child. I deserve to be told." He has not lost his temper with anyone because there is no one left whom he trusts but with Ser Gerold...
"His Highness, your brother, was lawfully wed to the Lady Lyanna at Summerhall," Ser Gerold tells him. "It was a privy matter, but Ser Arthur bears witness to their union. Prince Rhaegar bid myself, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell attend him at the Tower of Joy and there we were given our instructions when he rode to war. Her Ladyship carried his trueborn child - a daughter, he thought it would be. He instructed the Lady Lyanna to name her Visenya."
"But it was a boy," Viserys says. "Rhaegar was never wrong. So the baby must be a bastard."
"Your brother thought he would win too," Ser Gerold says dourly. "In that he was wrong too. We were instructed to protect the mother and the babe and to escort them in all safety to either King's Landing or Dragonstone in time, as the fortunes of war fell. We yielded most willingly to Lord Stark, for so we were bidden by our lady. Childbirth came easily to her. And so we escorted her to King's Landing."
The Kingsguard would not stay to protect a mere paramour and a bastard, that was the claim on which his nephew sat on the Iron Throne. That and the swords of Winterfell and the Eyrie. But it was an uneasy peace and that was why Viserys would be married to Lord Lannister's daughter. He was his nephew's heir.
"Your Highness."
There was a lady at the door. Viserys remembered Catelyn Tully, in her girlhood she had been one of his mother's ladies for a brief spell, brought to court for a year to be trained as so many noble maidens were. With her flowing auburn hair and deep blue eyes she was very lovely, but he was wary of her even though she smiled sweetly at him. She was Lord Stark's wife and her son was betrothed to Dany.
"It is time," she tells him and holds out her hand for him, as though he is a little boy. He ignores it and accepts the cloak that he must drape over his bride from Ser Gerold. It is a monstrous heavy thing, rich velvet loaded with rubies and black diamonds.
"Will he be able to carry it?" Lady Stark asks Ser Gerold anxiously. "He's such a slight thing."
"Yes," Ser Gerold says gruffly and does not help while Viserys struggles to hold it properly. When he is finished, Ser Gerold sighs heavily and says, "I was there on the day your father wed your mother. It was a marriage like to the one you must make today. Gods bless you, child."
The wedding passes in a flurry. He stands where he is told, looking more like Lady Cersei's son than her lord husband. He says the words they put in his mouth and at the time that the cloaks are to be exchanged, his bride kneels gracefully. He fumbles with the golden lions that hold her crimson silk cloak clasped and his eyes meet hers for the first time in the ceremony.
The look in them reminds him of Aster's when she looks at Lady Lyanna and Lord Arryn, of his mother's when she spoke of his father.
Afterwards, they stand together to receive the wedding guests that crowd the sept. "Don't fidget, boy," she warns him curtly.
"I wasn't going to," he tells her, stung. He is a Targaryen prince and she is only a lucky Lannister girl.
Lady Lyanna, the mother of the King, is the first. She is a slender woman, dark-haired and willowy, with inscrutable steel-colored eyes. Viserys doesn't think her beautiful at all. He seldom sees her, though she has lived in the Red Keep for half a year now, and he knows still less of her. When Dragonstone yielded, the Tyrell fleet escorted him and Dany back to the city and they were placed in the nursery once more, under the charge of the old servants. As though nothing had changed when everything had.
Lady Lyanna kisses Lady Cersei's cold cheek and a secret smile flashes between them. "I hope you have much joy of your marriage, my lady," she says dryly. "And you too, good-brother."
Viserys doesn't like it when she calls him good-brother but he has no choice but to be polite. "Thank you for your kind wishes, my lady."
"Will you not ask my lady how your nephew fares?" Lady Cersei asks him, as though he is a stupid child who does not know anything.
He was just about to but now he grits out the question.
"He is thriving," Lady Lyanna says, appraising him with her cool, pale eyes. "You do not visit him often enough, Viserys. I would have you both friends."
I don't want to be his friend, Viserys thinks but he promises he will.
Next is Lord Arryn, his nephew's Hand, and his pouty Tully wife, Lady Lysa. But after them comes her sister, Lady Catelyn, and her fearsome husband. For a year, during the war, Viserys had lived in mortal dread of Robert Baratheon and his terrible warhammer but he is dead now. And now in the same way he fears his best friend, Lord Stark.
His mouth is very dry as he greets the Starks and his voice comes out in a squeak.
Lady Cersei notices and smirks. "Has the cat run off with my lord husband's tongue?" she murmurs, low enough that only he can hear.
"No," he hisses back at her, disliking her more by every moment.
She chuckles and ruffles his hair as though he is a baby. "Sweet child," she murmurs and bends to kiss his cheek. He notices Lord Arryn looking and wonders if he thinks that he and Lady Cersei are getting on capitally. Well they aren't. He hates her.
There is a grand feast in Maegor's Holdfast afterwards, dancing and fireworks. Lady Cersei dances with her brother after she has cut open the wedding pie with him. It isn't seemly, a bride should dance the first dance with her bridegroom. But he supposes it is for the best - she would probably step on his foot with her high heels if they danced together. For all that she is very beautiful with her golden hair and catlike eyes, he thinks she is unkind.
By the time of the fireworks he is already drowsing in his chair on the dais. They have not watered his wine and it has gone straight to his head. It is far past his bedtime and he wakes up with a jerk that causes much merriment when there are cries that the bedding should begin. Aster scoops him up and he cuddles against her as the ladies of the court, all tipsy and giggling, escort him to the bridal chamber in the Hand's Tower, stripping him on the way.
They toss him on his bed wearing only a sock but he is too sleepy to care. Aster kisses his forehead and tucks him in just as she does every night and he can almost believe that everything is just as before. But then the doors are thrown open and the men come roaring in, bearing the bride. Ser Jaime Lannister is carrying his sister himself, naked as her nameday. Her golden hair is wound around her throat like a glittering necklace and she giggles and clings to him when he tries to put her down.
"You must all stay," she says, giggling, to the general approval of the men. "For my lord husband is to young to make a true wife of me tonight. Come, who will attend to this lascivious little bride's hunger tonight?"
Aster tsks and puts her hands over his eyes and ears. Finally it is Lord Lannister and Lord Arryn who shoo the men out and laughing, Ser Jaime bangs the doors shut. He is a White Knight and he will stand guard at Viserys' doors tonight.
After they are gone, Lady Cersei saunters over to the coffer where a goblet of spiced mead has been kept. Wedding mead, Viserys knows, to give the bride courage. He snuggles in against the bolsters.
"What, to bed already, little lord?" she murmurs over her shoulder. There is a silver mirror hanging on the wall and she goes to admire herself before it. She stretches and runs her hands over her body, quite overcome with her own beauty. Viserys thinks her very vain. "Men would give a queen's ransom to have me for a night," she teases him. "And all you can do is sleep. Will you not give me a little kiss at the very least?"
Viserys ignores her, knowing she is egging him. He has seen bullies in the training yards just like her. They would never dare pick on him but on weaker boys, littler boys...
She perches on the edge of the bed, legs crossed at the ankle. He closes his eyes and turns on his side, not in the mood to be baited. Then he feels her hand on his hair and thinks that he will bite her if she tugs it and hurts him. Lord Arryn cannot blame me for that, I will tell him she forced me to. But she does not, she only strokes it very softly, just like his mother would.
"What a pretty child you are," she murmurs. "So like your brother. He was so very handsome, wasn't he? Lyanna Stark was a lucky whore. Still is."
"She's the King's mother," Viserys says sleepily, thinking that what she says is close to treason.
"And I am the Prince's wife," she murmurs and places the softest of kisses on his forehead. "And it will be some time before my prince and my king are both grown men." She rises with a chuckle and he can hear her throwing a robe over herself. "I shall take a walk outside," she tells him. "Go to sleep now, child."
He is already asleep before she shuts the door behind her and makes love to her brother in the hallway with it still unlocked.