The wedding was a moderately solemn affair, what with the presence of Robb Stark and all of the current nobility of the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon didn't exactly have to offer the High Septon violence, but there were a few hard looks exchanged between the men during the ceremony, but eventually it was done and the King of the Andals cloaked his bride in the Baratheon colors, cementing their vows and placing a crown on Sansa's head.

The wedding feast was definitely a lively one; considering that it was a public affair, with enough food to go around, at least once. Scores of armed guards patrolled, ensuring no shenanigans interrupted the festivities, and the entire city shared in the party, with wine and ale flowing like water. Daemon, for his part, sat at the high table, his crown somewhat haphazardly hanging off the back of it, and though his raiment was somewhat more well made than his usual attire - he'd absolutely refused to be dressed in any of that uncomfortable finery as other nobles wore, and the royal tailor had nearly swallowed his tongue when the king informed him so - he was visibly armed, as well as invisibly, too.

He'd left most of the details to his betrothed and to Tyrion, trusting them both not to bankrupt the city or burn it down in the event, and just now he sat absently chewing on a chicken leg and drinking ale by the cupful, idly talking shop with his new brother-by-law, all the while keeping a close eye on the revelries, "just in case".