Sansa found the preparations for the tourney in full swing. Two days of jousts, melees, fencing, drinking, boasting, and celebrating would herald the wedding day. It was all very exciting and Sansa smiled as she walked the green, encountering many people she knew. Lord Renly took her around to show her the pavilions, which were blooming with the brightly colored flags and sigils of the competing knights. They were joined by Loras Tyrell and Sansa was sure a more handsome man couldn't be found in the Seven Kingdoms. His golden eyes, flowing hair, and lean build were complemented by his courtly address and swift smile. Loras and Renly ribbed each other, each assuring Sansa that it would be he who would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty, and Sansa smiled and protested that it would surely be a tie.
When Loras offered his arm, she accepted it with alacrity and could scarcely contain her pleasure at being tucked close to his side. He and Renly escorted her to the jousting field and amused her with their comments as the knights practiced. As they were exchanging barbs with Jaime Lannister, Sansa felt the uncomfortable pressure of someone's gaze. It was as though someone was pressing a knuckle into the middle of the back of her neck.
Wanting to catch whoever it was, she instantly turned around and let her eyes range over the people behind her. Unfortunately, dozens of people were milling about the green and no one in particular seemed to be looking at her. She took a harder look. Lord Tyrion . . . Clegane . . . oh, there's Jeyne . . . Lady Stokeworth and her daughters . . . Mace Tyrell . . . Lord Baelish . . . Sansa realized her expression was severe and that she was looking at everyone suspiciously just as she heard Lord Renly say, "Your last pass was so weak that Lady Sansa couldn't even bear to watch."
"I believe it was your eyesore of a doublet that had her turning away. Leave crimson to the Lannisters," Ser Jaime replied in an arch tone.
Sansa turned back to them at once. "I am very sorry, my lords, I –"
Lord Baelish appeared at her side. "You Lannisters care more for gold than crimson, I imagine," the master of coin said smoothly. "And rightly so," he added, his eyes slithering over Sansa. "Lady Sansa." He swept into a low bow. Ser Jaime nodded at Sansa and left to rejoin the practice rounds before Lord Baelish continued. "Might I deprive you of one half of your company? Lord Renly has been so foolish as to suggest Ser Jaime will be bested by our good Ser Barristan tomorrow. The Imp has wagered generously and I know Lord Renly will wish to sweeten the pot even further."
"Lady Sansa, with your permission?" Lord Renly favored her with a wide smile and bowed slowly without breaking his gaze.
Sansa couldn't help but smile at him, so very polite and handsome as he was. "Of course, Lord Renly. I look forward to seeing you again soon."
"And I look forward to claiming a dance with you at the wedding. Until then."
Sansa's heart swelled until it was fit to burst. She loved dancing and on the only previous occasion she'd had to dance with Lord Renly, he'd been so kind, graceful, and sure of his steps that dancing with him had been the highlight of her night.
Lord Baelish, his lips stretched in a tight smile, gave her another nod and then turned away, mentioning an impossibly large sum that made Renly laugh.
Sansa looked back toward the lists and found Ser Loras giving her a wry smile. "Lord Renly is quite taken with you, Lady Sansa."
"You are too kind. As is he."
When she'd first come to King's Landing, Sansa had been smitten with them both. Over time, and as she'd come to know them better, she realized that Lord Renly, while handsome, was perhaps more fizz than drink and that, deep down, made Sansa feel relieved that he was not on the throne. Loras was the epitome of masculine beauty but at times a little touchy and quick to find offense. She enjoyed harmless teasing with them but felt that they meant it perhaps even less than she did. She did not usually care for such behavior, since it often led to hurt feelings, but, with Renly and Loras, the joust of words seemed to be mutually understood. If anything, they seemed to enjoy her company the more because she was one of the few highborn ladies content with banter alone.
Sansa sighed to herself. With so much wedding talk in the air, she couldn't help but think of getting married herself. No, not married, not yet. It would be nice just to have someone to spend time with. She'd had a few suitors since coming to court but no one who had truly captured her heart. In truth, she'd been overwhelmed by the attention she'd been given when first arriving in King's Landing and was surprised and disappointed when the knights who'd paid her court seemed more interested in kissing her than in anything else. The memory dissatisfied her.
Loras had just started to say something, bringing Sansa back to the present, when a voice cut across the green.
"Sandor!"
Sansa smoothed her features and turned with Loras to watch as Margaery slinked toward Sandor Clegane with an enticing smile. She gripped his arms and pulled against him as though she would kiss him full on the lips. He stood straight, his height preventing him from having to do more to avoid her.
"Lord Baelish just told me you're favored to win the melee and you're tied with Ser Jaime for the joust. I told him I was sure you'd win all three events. In fact, I'm so sure . . ." And then, to Sansa's very great relief, Margaery's voice dropped so only Sandor could hear her, his face first betraying surprise and then interest. He rumbled a response that made Margaery laugh. Sansa looked away, piqued by the blatant display, by the sheer stupidity of such a mummer's farce.
"Pardon me, Lady Sansa," Loras said as he moved toward his sister, his eyes alone betraying his irritation.
"Of course."
Loras greeted his sister cordially and, after a moment, managed to escort her away from Clegane. Sansa watched them go and then realized she'd been left behind. She glanced at Clegane and found him looking at her. Her eyes did a quick scan of the green and, to her astonishment, found that everyone she'd recognized earlier had disappeared. She began to walk back to the castle when Clegane suddenly fell in step beside her. Sansa suppressed a groan.
"Going back to the castle?" he asked.
Sansa cast about for an alternative destination but, having no business outside and not wishing to lie, simply said, "Yes."
Clegane offered his arm and Sansa took it reluctantly She was less pleased still when Sandor seemed intent on speaking with every person they encountered. A jape with a knight here, a word with a man-at-arms there, a directive for his squire, an admonishment for some rowdy boys kicking up dirt; half an hour later and they were not much closer to the castle at all. Sandor introduced her to the few people they encountered who she didn't know, as was proper, but her impatience was growing. Finally, after Clegane had discussed some business at length with the farrier, Sansa felt it necessary to say, "I really must be getting back to the castle now," as she released his arm, her own feeling sore from being held high for so long.
"We're going to the castle," he said as he reached for her hand.
Sansa snatched it back before he could take hold of it and was instantly embarrassed by her rude behavior. "I'm sorry. I'm expected by my seamstress. Mustn't be late." With that she turned and walked away, her cheeks blazing. When she heard his mumbled apology, her face grew even hotter and it was stoked to an even higher degree when she realized that he was trailing along behind her.
Stop being discourteous and let him walk with you. No! He'll only stop and talk to every last person on the way. He's walking right behind you. Septa Mordane would be ashamed of you. So would Father. Father doesn't even like Clegane all that much! Now you're just being mean. Sansa stopped dead in her tracks and the dull clanking of Sandor's armor stopped behind her.
"I beg your forgiveness. I thought you had more business to attend to before returning to the castle. If you're going straight there, it would be my pleasure to have you escort me."
Sandor stepped forward wordlessly and once again offered her his arm. Sansa was so rattled by her earlier break in courtesy that she couldn't think of much to say. She was surprised when, after a while, Sandor said, "You're having a dress made for the wedding?"
"I am."
He nodded and was quiet so long Sansa thought that was the extent of his interest in the matter. "What color will it be?"
What? "Purple. A dark purple."
"Like the color of Dornish wine?" he asked with half a laugh.
What is he talking about? "I'm not really sure. Isn't that more red?"
He shrugged and looked down at her, an unasked question in his eyes. Sansa looked up at him, confused. He furrowed his brow and looked away. To ease the awkward moment, Sansa said, "I'm very happy for Myrcella. I believe you've known her since she was a little girl . . ."
"I have. She's grown into a proper lady. Your father arranged a good match for her."
Sansa's eyebrows rose. For Sandor Clegane, that was nearly effusive. "Willas is very kind. He will make her happy."
"He'd better," Sandor commented, "or I'll kill him." He laughed but it was really more a snarl.
Sansa's face fell. She didn't know what to say to a suggestion of murder and after a moment Sandor cleared his throat and grew quiet again. When they reached Sansa's room, he said, "Will you be watching the tourney tomorrow?"
Sansa's forehead creased. The entire castle and most of the surrounding countryside will be watching the tourney tomorrow. Why wouldn't I be there? "Yes."
His mouth kind of twitched but he pressed his lips together, nodded, and said, "Good day, Lady Sansa," as he took his leave.
The gown was a triumph. Sansa beamed at the seamstresses as she spun around, the full skirt whirling around her. The bodice fit perfectly and, if she thought so herself, the lower neckline flattered her décolletage and showed off her collarbones and neck to graceful effect.
"Beautiful!" Mara, senior seamstress, enthused. "All that's left is the trim. Perhaps if you would care to step out on to the balcony, you could examine the ribbons in better light. The sun will make the stones sparkle even more."
Sansa walked outside. It was a breezy, sunshine-filled day and the air felt wonderful on her exposed skin. The dress had exceeded her highest expectations and her excitement for the celebration increased.
"I think this one would look particularly nice," Mara said, motioning for one of her assistants to bring the sample forward.
It was a dusky gray ribbon with clear, oval stones. The woman pinned it along Sansa's neckline and the sun certainly did make the gems glitter. The gray, instead of looking drab, allowed the stones to shine and accented the plum color of her dress rather than competed with it.
"That's very pretty, indeed," Sansa said, delighted.
"My lady is kind to say so."
As the seamstress was carefully removing the pins, a tingle went up Sansa's spine. After having gone through several fittings, Sansa was used to the woman's touch. No, this discomfort had a different source. Sansa looked surreptitiously at the windows in the castle but it was impossible to tell if anyone was watching her, yet she was sure someone was.
"No, I knew this one wouldn't be right. My lady doesn't care for it at all."
Sansa was startled to realize another ribbon had been fitted to her gown and her silence had been mistaken for disapproval. She looked down and found an ivory ribbon stitched with gold and fixed with opals had been pinned to her neckline.
"It's beautiful," Sansa said truthfully, "but maybe not with this gown."
The older woman nodded. "You're quite right, my lady. Now, this next one . . ."
The prickles along Sansa's back made her wiggle in discomfort. What is the matter with you? Who would be watching you? Her mind went to Margaery but she would simply bribe the seamstresses if she wanted advance information on what Sansa's gown looked like. Who could it be? Her mind fluttered to Lord Baelish, who always made her feel naked, and Lord Varys, who was as opaque as he was softly spoken. She couldn't imagine why either of them cared what her gown looked like. They'd never watch themselves. They both had extensive spy networks in their employ. Joffrey? His windows were in one of the towers so it was possible he could see her but why? Sansa felt mildly irritated. That would be something he'd do. She quietly blew out a breath as the next ribbon was presented to her.
"Hurry now!" commanded the seamstress. "My lady doesn't have all day!"
"Oh no," cried Sansa. "I'm in no hurry. Please, take your time." Her eyes moved over the windows again but all she saw was the clouds' reflections.
"My lady is kindness itself."
Your lady is suspicion itself.
The next ribbon was actually a wreath of tiny, fluffy gray feathers. Sansa liked the novelty of it but thought it might draw an indecent amount of attention to her breasts. The next ribbon, a series of silver rosettes, was thought too plain for an event of the wedding's importance, and the last, a brighter purple hung with garnets, was just slightly flashier than Sansa felt comfortable with. In the end, and to the seamstresses' satisfaction, she chose the first ribbon and stepped back inside to be helped from her gown.
"How was your fitting?" Arya asked later at dinner, after informing Sansa that she'd endured half a hundred pin pricks in the fitting of the gown she was being forced to wear.
"The dress is beautiful," Sansa said wistfully.
"But?"
"But what?"
Her sister gave her a shrewd look.
Sansa leaned closer. "You're going to think I'm crazy but I keep getting the feeling that someone is watching me."
Arya looked intrigued. "Who?"
"I don't know! Why would anyone want to watch me at all?"
Arya shrugged.
"Maybe Joffrey's doing it for sport . . . ?"
Arya rolled her eyes. "Subtlety isn't Joffrey's strong suit."
"If not him, it could be anyone. There are so many people in the city now. First it happened on the green and then, later, when I was on my balcony."
"Ask Father for a guard."
That seemed excessive and Sansa didn't want to excite alarm. "I want to know who it is before I do anything."
"I could watch you to figure out who it is."
"Arya! That's a brilliant idea! Would you mind?"
"No, it could be fun. Tomorrow, why don't you go stand by the well for a while? I'll watch from Father's solar and see if anyone's staring at you."
