This was written for the Discord SanSan Writers Guild Trick or Treat 2021. Prompt: "I've never seen one this big! Marg, look at – Oof!"
"Careful. You break it, you buy it."
"Oh… you must be Farmer Clegane. Your squash is…the girth is…I mean…they're very impressive."
Farmer Sandor Clegane is renowned across the county for growing rather large vegetables. One crisp autumn morning, Sansa goes with Margaery to the farmers market and quite literally runs into the rugged farmer himself.
OCTOBER 13th
"They're big!" Margaery chirped.
Sansa rolled her eyes. "How big?"
"Big enough to win first place county prizes five years running."
"Maybe everyone else's are just unusually small."
It was Margaery's turn to roll her eyes. "Sansa, just take my word for it. You have to see them. Produce this big . . . it's unreal. And so is the farmer who grows it."
"Wait, you know the farmer, too?" This level of interest in anything involving dirt was unheard of in Margaery. "Since when do you know farmers?"
Margaery put on a mock serious face. "I know winners, Sansa. And I know farm boys are ripped. And someone should let them know their efforts are appreciated."
Sansa laughed. She figured there had to be boys involved. With Margaery, there always were. "Okay, okay, so when do you want to go to this farmers' market with the unreal farmer and his engorged wares?"
Margaery clapped in delight. "This weekend. We'll make an afternoon of it. There are all kinds of stalls with different things to buy. It's got a festival vibe. I still can't believe you've never been."
Sansa still couldn't believe Margaery had but she just smiled in response. The truth was, Sansa had never had much to do with the food that ended up on her table. Her mother had long ago hired help to do the cooking for the large Stark family. Not a maid or a housekeeper, though they had one of those, too, but a domestic assistant, as Catelyn Stark put it. Sansa wondered if Ellen, who did their cooking, had ever been to the farmers' market. She'd always assumed Ellen did the shopping at the high-end grocery store in town simply because the Starks could afford it and Catelyn expected the best when they had company.
OCTOBER 17th
The week passed. Sansa attended her classes at Northern Westeros University, where she majored in music, and worked her part-time job as an office assistant at the tony middle school she once attended. By the time Saturday rolled around, she was wondering why she'd agreed to go with Marg to look at some vegetables, enormous or otherwise, when there were other things they could be doing.
"Change," Margaery ordered as soon as she saw Sansa's outfit. "Where do you think you're going? Hot yoga?"
Sansa looked down at her tank top, leggings, and flats. "We're not picking the vegetables, are we?"
Margaery answered by flinging some skinny jeans and knee-high boots out of Sansa's closet. She rummaged through Sansa's drawers until she found a white camisole. "Is Bran home?"
"What? No, why?"
"Good. Be right back."
Sansa's mouth swung open as Margaery went into Bran's room and returned with one of his plaid flannel shirts. "This might be a little fitted across the chest but leave a couple buttons open and tie it at the waist."
"Should I add a corncob pipe or just chew on some wheat?"
Margaery gave her a look and pointed to the chair in front of Sansa's dressing table.
After Sansa's hair had been parted in the middle and braided, Margaery was satisfied. She herself was wearing jeans, boots, and a thin sweater that looked casual but which Sansa knew was ridiculously expensive. Margaery had tied a scarf around her neck and pulled a knit cap over her own loose hair.
"Now we're ready," she declared. "Farm girl cute."
"The farmers might be offended that we're slumming it for fun." Sansa plucked up the end of one of her braids, a style she hadn't worn since she was a little girl.
"We're not slumming it. We're participating in it. We're appreciating it. We're celebrating it!"
Sansa gave her a skeptical look. Both of them were well aware of their families' wealth. Sansa had been raised with a healthy awareness of the Starks' place in local society along with the importance of humility, kindness, and a responsibility to help those less fortunate. Margaery, while not unkind, seemed to accept her family's wealth as, if not her due, at least as a resource meant to be enjoyed to the fullest.
Margaery continued. "Consider it a chance to expand your options. Weren't you just saying how bored you are with all the university guys?"
Sansa couldn't argue that point. The guys she knew from school were all the same: rich, entitled, ambitious. They spent the school year jockeying for position on the social ladder and summers interning at companies owned by their fathers' friends. They were good catches on paper but something about them left her cold. When she went on dates with them, she felt like her looks and her family's wealth were all being assessed on some sort of "potential future trophy wife" scale. Even if they were nice, she was never sure of their motivation. "Are you suggesting I date a farmer?"
Margaery laughed. "Only if he's hot."
"Maybe we could both date farmers. Your grandmother would love that."
Sansa and Margaery both knew that Margaery would marry very well. Her family owned Highgarden Distribution, which provided warehousing, transportation, and logistics services to pretty much every supermarket chain and food producer you could think of. Her father was president and CEO but her grandmother chaired the board of directors and called the shots.
"The Tyrells have deep roots in agriculture," Margaery answered with a smirk. "By supporting local farmers, I'm ultimately supporting the family business."
Sansa laughed and shook her head in acknowledgement that she'd lost the argument. "Alright. Let's go find us some farmers."
Margaery grabbed her keys. "Let's go!"
As Margaery wound her Jeep out of the city and the traffic and smog cleared, so did Sansa's mind. It was a beautiful, crisp autumn day. The sun was shining and the fields glowed gold. To Sansa's surprise, there were signs for the farmers' market miles out and they joined a line of cars pulling into the grounds. There were multiple pavilions outside as well as a central building with indoor shopping.
"How did you find this place?" Sansa asked Margaery.
"Loras turned me on to it. He and Renly swear by the coffee here."
Sansa looked around at the bustling market. The first thing she noticed was the riot of colors. Peppers in bright reds, oranges, yellows, and greens were piled on a nearby stand. Ears of corn were neatly lined up in rows. Baskets were overflowing with brussels sprouts, beans, peapods, and, she only recognized them from one of her mother's gourmet magazines, ramps. Apples in a variety of blush shades gave way to pints of blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, and larger containers of strawberries. Radishes, beets, carrots, and parsnips lay in bunches gathered by their greens. Herbs in tidy little pots were across the aisle from stout jars of pickles and, farther along, pots of honey were on offer. Buckets of flower bouquets featuring sunflowers, marigolds, sweat peas, freesia, cosmos, roses, iris, and foxglove waited on the ground around the foot of the stalls. All of it looked fresh and abundant.
Each stall had a name, which Sansa found charming. "Bees Knees Honey." "A is for Apple." "Frey's Pies."
"See?" Margaery said, joining her on the passenger side of the car. "Cool, right?"
Sansa nodded. "Let's go see what else there is."
For over an hour, they strolled through aisles. Never before had vegetables made Sansa so hungry. She imagined everything was just bursting with flavor. They made their way inside and found a different variety of wares. A deli was proclaiming to have meats cured in the style of Essos and Sansa and Margaery each accepted a sample of spiced ham and a small bit of cheese on toothpicks. A local winery was selling bottles of Dornish varietals. A Summer Isles bakery counter was staffed by tall, striking women in traditional garb. The professional-looking tarts, cookies, pies, and other confections made Sansa's mouth water. "We need to come back here," she advised Margaery.
"Absolutely. Let's get lunch first. Are you getting hungry?"
"Getting? I've been hungry since we got here!"
They walked a little farther. Margaery got a coffee from the place her brother recommended ("It's just okay. They're such exaggerators.") and a Dothraki barbecue platter (and a fork and knife because, "Hello! This sweater wasn't cheap!") while Sansa ordered a hot ham and cheese sandwich the vendor swore was "just like they make back home in Essos." Sansa had never been, but Arya had studied abroad there last semester so she would have to ask her about its legitimacy. Legitimate or not, it was hot and melty and the bread was crispy on the outside and soft and chewy in the middle and Sansa savored every bite.
After they finished lunch, they headed outside again. There were more pavilions on this side of the building and, in the distance, fields.
"Ooh! A hayride!" Margaery exclaimed as she grabbed Sansa's hand. "Let's try to get on it before they leave."
They dashed through the crowd and emerged breathless at the pick-up and drop-off point. A tractor was idling loudly. Attached to it was a low flatbed trailer lined with bales of hay. Most of the people seated on the hay were families with young children. There was a puff of exhaust and the tractor lurched forward.
Her chest heaving a little more than their jog necessitated, Margaery eyed the teenage boy manning the podium that advertised the hayride. She hit him with a full smile. "We're not too late, are we?"
The boy, muscular and handsome, even with his acne, said, "No, ma'am." He squeezed the radio clipped to the front of his shirt and said, "Jimmy, hold up."
The tractor stuttered to a stop and a little boy protested, "Hey!"
Margaery stuffed a couple bills into the charity collection jar for which the hayride was raising funds and purred, "That's so sweet of you. We'll see you when we get back."
The boy held her eye. "I'll be right here when you do, ma'am," and tipped his head at her.
"Love the ma'am-ing," Margaery said in an undertone as she slid her eyes toward Sansa.
They jogged over and climbed onto the trailer and sat down once the other riders had budged over to make room for them. The tractor lurched into motion again and they were off. Another teenage boy began a monotone narrative about the importance of farming in the region but he was directly behind the tractor and the distance and noise made it impossible for Sansa to make out what he was saying. She let his voice fade into the rumble of the engine and instead took in the fresh air and the sunshine, which was now slanting down on the fields at an angle. Margaery took out her phone and, after insisting on a selfie with Sansa, otherwise left Sansa to enjoy the ride while she scrolled through her apps.
The tractor bumped them over the dirt track and they saw drying corn stalks, apple trees trained along wires, grain silos, and tilled but empty fields where the first spring crops would be planted. They rounded a corner and drove along the edge of a large pumpkin patch. The tractor stopped for those who wanted to pick pumpkins. Sansa smiled as she saw, out in the field, parents snapping pictures of their apple-cheeked toddlers draped over the large orange pumpkins and little kids trying mightily to lug pumpkins as heavy as they were by their stems. Tables were set up so the children could paint their pumpkins if they wanted to and there was a long line of round artwork drying on the ground. There was a small playground nearby with picnic tables. Fake cows were available for the kids to milk and wooden cut-outs for them to stand behind so their parents could take pictures of them being farmers, sheep, cows, pigs, ghosts, witches, vampires, and, of course, pumpkins. Sansa thought that she and her siblings would have loved coming here as children and wondered why they'd never been.
She was disappointed when the tractor came back within sight of the market. It was so nice to be outside and among things that were growing.
She and Margaery climbed off the tractor and Sansa saw the boy's gaze was already fixed on her friend. Sansa got a few bills out of her wallet to donate while the boy asked, "Did you ladies have a good time?"
"We sure did," said Sansa, smiling.
"Are you here every week?" asked Margaery, though Sansa knew she wasn't interested. Despite her previous speech, Margaery went more for corporate types who owned condos along the coast of the Narrow Sea.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good to know." She winked at him, promising nothing, and guided Sansa away.
"That poor guy," Sansa mused.
Margaery shrugged.
They were in the thick of a crowd again and moved along with them, following the smell of smoke and the sound of music. Set apart in a flat dirt area behind the indoor market and well away from the outdoor stalls was a small platform that served as a stage. On the stage was a band and around it were several fire pits, each surrounded by curved stone benches. Sansa and Margaery picked their way through the crowd until they found seats. Despite the lead musician playing a banjo, the group was performing covers of popular songs. The girls bopped along with the music for a while until Margaery decided they'd smell like smoke for a week if they stayed any longer, and they scooted out between numbers.
"They were really good!" Sansa enthused.
"Yeah, there are a few different groups every week. I told you you'd love it."
They were now on the far side of the market from where they had entered and were walking past bins of crisp-looking apples. A couple who seemed to own the stand were jabbing popsicle sticks into them, coating them in caramel, and rolling them in nuts.
"Mmm, those look good," Sansa said.
"Not as good as they do," Margaery answered, looking into the distance where some men were using hooks to unload bales of hay from the back of a truck. Despite the cool air, they were shirtless to the waist, their back muscles glistening with sweat.
Sansa just stared in awe at their broad shoulders and tapered waists. After several moments of silence, Margaery interjected, "There's something to be said for country living."
Sansa laughed. "Indeed."
She saw that, in addition to the caramel apples, the vendors were also selling hot apple cider and apple cider donuts. "We haven't had dessert yet. Let's try those."
Margaery was still working on her coffee but Sansa breathed in the heavenly scent of the cider and let the warmth of the cup soak into her hands. The vendor handed her the bag of donuts and the girls each took one and chewed happily as they walked. Sansa had a mouthful of cakey deliciousness when an arm was slung over her shoulder.
"Lorash!" she tried to say, spraying crumbs.
"Shansha!" he joked, making as though his mouth was full.
"I didn't know you were going to be here. Did you, Marg?"
Margaery was busy greeting Renly and didn't hear.
"I told her about this place eons ago. I'm surprised it took her so long to get back here. Ren and I are regulars now. Isn't that right, Renly?"
Renly and Margaery turned toward them. "What is?"
"That we're here all the time now." He turned back to Sansa. "We just love the authenticity. It's so back-to-nature." Loras was wearing dark jeans and a corduroy blazer over a fitted sweater. On his feet were polished boots that probably cost a month's rent in Winter Town. He was carrying a bag in which two bottles of wine were separated by a piece of cardboard. He was the very picture of "enjoying the countryside" while being free of actually touching it.
"Completely," agreed Renly, who was wearing khakis and boat shoes. His bespoke button-down was covered by a brand new-looking fleece vest, which had the logo for the elite Storm Lands College stitched on the breast. On his wrist was a thick gold watch. He was crowned with a newsboy cap. "And the coffee. Have you tried the coffee?"
Margaery held up her cup.
"It's the best, isn't it, Marg? Locally sourced beans, hand ground, and Pentos pressed," Loras said, closing his eyes in rapture and shaking his head slowly as though he was breathing in the aroma as he spoke.
"Isn't it good?" Renly said, nodding at Margaery's cup.
"So good," she said, eyes darting to Sansa's with a smile. "This is Sansa's first time here," she added, by way of changing the subject.
"What?!" exclaimed Loras.
"No!" gasped Renly.
Sansa smiled. "I'm really enjoying it."
As though by mutual consent, they all turned to look at the men hauling the hay bales. After a long moment, they gave a collective sigh of appreciation.
"Of course you're enjoying it," said Loras with a confident nod. "Nature: what's not to love?"
Sansa remembered the bag in her hand. "Would you like to try an apple cider donut?"
"Apple cider donut?! Sansa, you're practically a farm girl already," beamed Renly.
Loras plucked two donuts from the bag. He nibbled his in dainty bites while Renly ate his leaning forward to avoid getting crumbs caught in his fleece vest. ("A most unforgiving fabric.")
They chatted and laughed with Renly and Loras for several more minutes before the latter moved on to find some gourds with which to decorate their townhouse.
Sansa and Margaery were in a silly mood, giggling as they made their way along the stalls, Margaery making ribald comments under her breath whenever a handsome man passed by.
They came across a stall packed with a variety of fresh-looking produce. At the front was a row of zucchini, squash, and eggplant. The vegetables were thick, firm, and glossy.
"The emoji has nothing on this," said Margaery, hefting an eggplant in her hand.
Sansa was genuinely amazed. She picked up a yellow squash and marveled at its size. "I've never seen one this big! Marg, look at – Oof!"
"Careful. You break it, you buy it."
Sansa froze, embarrassed. She slowly turned and looked up, and up, into the disastrously scarred face of one of the biggest men she'd ever seen.
"Oh… you must be Farmer Clegane. Your squash is…the girth is…I mean…they're very impressive."
For a beat he just looked at her. "How many will you be buying then?"
Sansa's mouth swung open. Why would she buy squash when she had no idea how to cook it? "Umm, I'll take three. And some zucchini. And the eggplant for my friend."
Margaery was smirking. Clegane was looking at Sansa like she was an idiot. She couldn't meet his eye so she turned her attention to the booth. A sign simply proclaimed it as "Clegane's" rather than a cute play on the produce offered. Tacked beneath the sign were several blue ribbons noting "Best in Show." To the side was a framed but faded newspaper article from five years back, reporting on how Clegane Farms had supported the city soup kitchen. Below that was a certificate of appreciation from the local humane society. Behind the stall lay several sleeping mutts.
Sansa turned to Margaery despite having nothing to say only to have Margaery chirp, "Ladies room. Back in a few," and stride off down the aisle.
Clegane announced her total and Sansa dug into her bag for the cash. She'd give the squash and zucchini to Ellen. The eggplant she would hurl at Marg's Jeep for ditching her like that.
Sansa felt like she had to say something to atone for her silly behavior. "Um, so, this is your stand?"
"Yes."
Sansa looked around for something to talk about, since it seemed unlikely a sinkhole would swallow her up and save her from this mortification. "There's really a nice variety of things to buy here."
Clegane grunted.
Sansa was looking at some strawberries being sold a few stalls down when it suddenly dawned on her that it was late October. She turned to Clegane. "How are strawberries still available? Aren't they out of season?"
Clegane looked at her like he couldn't decide if she was kidding or not. Eventually he spat out, "Greenhouses." This was followed by a look that suggested she was wasting his time.
Sansa blushed. She had known that, of course. She just wasn't very good at summoning her meager agricultural knowledge in the face of someone who was A) clearly a master farmer and B) stunned by her stupidity.
"Don't you know where your food comes from, girl?"
This was really too much. Sansa stood tall and faced him. "My food," she announced, "comes from the store." She couldn't keep up the pretense of confidence and quickly broke into a self-conscious smile, her cheeks burning.
Clegane hmphed but his eyes crinkled. He reached behind the stall for something and then handed her a flier. "Here. This might help you out."
The flier advertised a farm-to-table dinner at Clegane Farms on October 24th.
"That's next weekend," Sansa said, noting the exorbitant price per plate, though the proceeds were going to the animal shelter. For an additional exorbitant fee, wine could be paired with each course.
"It's sold out but I can get you in, if you're interested."
Sansa nodded, still looking at the flier. Live music would accompany dinner and the chef would explain the benefits of fresh produce and how best to prepare it.
Sansa glanced up at Farmer Clegane. This seemed like an elegant event – one such a gruff man would not likely attend.
He sounded somewhat reluctant when he added, "I can get your friend in, too, if you want."
A woman approached and picked up a zucchini, turning it over and over to look for imperfections.
Before Sansa could answer, Clegane reached over and snatched the flier out of her hands. He scribbled something on it and shoved it back at her. "Call me if you make up your mind. But don't want too long. It's still sold out."
Sansa looked at him. He met her gaze confidently, gave her face and hair a once-over, and then turned to his customer.
Sansa felt her face flush as she moved away, dismissed. She saw Margaery farther down the aisle, flirting shamelessly with a man selling potatoes and onions. Sansa smiled at the man before taking Margaery by the elbow and steering her toward the nearest exit.
"How could you do that to me? That was so embarrassing!"
"But weren't they big?"
Sansa laughed in spite of herself. She held up the bag. "They're breaking my arm!"
"Told you so!"
Later that night, when she was alone, Sansa took the flier out of her bag. For some reason, she hadn't mentioned it to Marg. She looked at the number Clegane had written and wondered if she should call him. What if he didn't remember her? Or worse, what if he did? Her food-imbecile act didn't need an encore but the dinner party intrigued her. Maybe she'd learn how to cook something. It was expensive for sure but her family could afford such things and the profits benefitted the community so . . . Sansa realized she was talking herself into it. One ticket would be enough, if it was truly sold out like he'd said. Before she could chicken out, Sansa picked up her phone and dialed Clegane's number.
She braced herself for his rough tone but was jolted instead by a professionally smooth and pleasant female voice. "Thank you for calling Clegane Farms, cultivators of award-winning ethically grown fresh produce. For the main office, please press 1. For information on our farmers' market stand, please press 2." Sansa listened to the prompts and wondered why the farmer responsible for all this success wasn't listed higher up in the directory. "For Sandor Clegane, please press 7."
Sandor? She had expected something more like Mack or Dirk or Iron Jim.
Sansa pressed 7 and braced herself to launch into her rehearsed message. His voice threw her and she was suddenly nervous. "You've reached Sandor Clegane. I proudly support the Westerlands Animal Shelter and so should you." Beeeeeep.
Sansa was stunned into silence for a moment and, having lost her train of thought, started to babble. "Um, hi, Mr., er, Farmer Clegane. This is, um, well, I guess I never introduced myself. My name is Sansa Stark and I met you today at the, uh, farmers' market. You, um, very kindly invited, well, told me about the upcoming farm-to-table dinner. I understand the event is sold out but, um, I'd like to attend and, um, I'll be happy to buy a ticket in support of the, of the animal shelter. If there's still space, I mean. Um, if you really meant, I mean, if there's room for one more, I'd like to attend, as I said, to, uh, contribute to the cause." Sansa paused in horror and took a breath. "Please call me back." She rattled off her number and disconnected the call. Pressing her palm to her face, she muttered, "Oh gods. Now he'll really think I'm an idiot."