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Sansa Stark looked up at the castle façade, the words Age of Heroes Dinner & Tourney, and prayed to the old gods and the new that nobody she knew would recognize her. Rickon had insisted that they go to the dinner show for his name day, and the youngest Stark had a way of getting what he wanted that Sansa begrudgingly respected.
Their father, Ned, was a tenured professor at the University of King’s Landing, and optimistically hoped that the excursion would serve as inspiration for his next book. As for their mother, Catelyn, well, she couldn’t say no to the baby of the family, even if the baby of the family was celebrating his fifteenth name day.
Her eldest brother, Robb, had managed to sneak his way out of the trip, something about ‘pressing business matters’ in Winterfell. She had half expected Jon, the Starks’ cousin, to tag along, knight in shining armor was very much his vibe, but he and his fiancée Ygritte were taking a cruise beyond the Wall.
The family posed for a group photo at the gates, and much to Sansa’s embarrassment Ned paid for copies at the front desk. Sansa maintained eye contact with the floor as the rest of her siblings filed into the castle (really convincing, she thought bitterly, a castle attached to the side of the mall).
Arya made a beeline for a display case of real swords, while Rickon was already eyeing the plastic light-up kinds. Sansa watched as her father and Bran made their way towards a dark corner of the room, which a helpful cardboard cartoon of a knight labelled “Real Long Night Torture Devices”.
Her mother gave a pointed look towards Sansa.
“You’re not going to be this moody during the whole tourney, are you, Sansa?” Sansa rolled her eyes.
“I’m not being moody, I’m just tired.”
Cat smiled. “Trust me, you’ll be wide awake for the show, whether you like it or not. It’s incredibly loud and bright.”
Sansa nodded, she knew that Bran had brought a pair of noise-canceling headphones to deal with the overstimulation, and she was mentally preparing herself for the amount of yelling that would come from Arya and Rickon alone.
“Did you know your father took me here back when we were first dating?”
Sansa shook her head, and Catelyn laughed. “He thought he’d impress me with the tickets, we were both in Uni, mind you, but his friend Robert Baratheon was acting manager at the time, so of course he got in for free. Well, imagine his surprise when one of the nights crowned me the queen of love and beauty!”
Sansa snorted. “On your date?”
Catelyn blushed at the memory. “Pretty sure Robert put the knight up to it, pranking your poor dad like that. Who knows, maybe you’ll be crowned this time.” She said, playfully jabbing Sansa in the ribs.
It was time for their group to be seated, and all of the Stark family filed into the front row of the green section. A waiter came by to ask for their drink orders. “During the actual age of heroes, they wouldn’t have to card me if I wanted to drink mead.” Arya pouted. “Who’d want to drink mead?” Sansa wrinkled her nose, then ordered herself a novelty flaming cocktail. “One Dance of the Dragon, coming right up.” their waiter, Theon, replied joylessly.
There was one final rush of souvenirs through the stands, and Arya ended up with two green flags she was waving with the vigor of a sailor lost at sea. “If you poke my eye out with that thing, I’ll kill you.” Sansa muttered, adjusting the paper crown Arya had knocked off her head.
Finally, the house lights dimmed, and dramatic music swelled through the room. A spotlight fell on a bald man on horseback in the middle of the arena. Despite his commanding voice, Sansa couldn’t understand half of what the man was saying through his crackling microphone.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Queen of this fair realm, Daenerys Stormborn!” The man gestured toward the balcony at the far end of the arena, where a young woman in a blue dress was casually seated upon a throne of swords.
“The Iron Throne” Arya whispered in awe. Sansa was trying to figure out if it was just the harsh lighting, or if the queen’s hair was as silver as it looked. She had a commanding, austere presence, and Sansa felt herself blushing. Thank the gods their portion of the room wasn’t under the lights.
“Varys, bring forth the knights” Queen Daenerys commanded, and the music picked up again, fog rolling through the floor. Sansa barely paid attention to the first three knights, Blue, Red, and White, when Varys announced “And fighting for the Reach, the Green Knight!”
Arya waved her flags aggressively, Rickon yelled and pointed his plastic sword as high as he could, Bran politely clapped, and Sansa found herself whooping along with the rest of the crowd. The Green Knight was an incredibly handsome man, his blonde curls paired incredibly well with his green armor, which Sansa saw was decorated with a magnificent motif of flowers as he traveled over to their section of the arena.
Stupidly, she found herself waving at the knight, but to her surprise he waved back. Sansa felt herself turn redder than her hair, and sank down in her seat in embarrassment.
The tourney began with some playful jousting, lances through rings of ribbons, and Sansa started on the first course of dinner, a watery tomato soup and a chunk of bread. Instinctively, she reached for a spoon, then cursed as she remembered the gimmick of no silverware. She sipped at her soup, watching the other knights give white flowers to people in their respective sections of the seating.
It was around then that their server Theon came back with Sansa’s drink, dramatically lighting the cocktail on fire with a barbecue lighter, and only by craning her gaze over his shoulder could she see the Green Knight connect a ring with his lance.
Their group cheered, and Sansa watched as the knight galloped over to their section. “For you, my lady” the knight said, handing Sansa a flower, a red rose. Sansa smiled politely, tucking the (fabric) rose into her hair as the knight trotted away.
“Everyone else got white roses, but he gave me red. Maybe it means something” Sansa whispered to her sister.
“Yeah,” Arya whispered back, “it means you’re delusional.”
Next was the archery contest, which Sansa only half paid attention to, having been presented with chicken and half a cob of corn. The Green Knight did fairly well, handing out a few more flowers which he had to toss to the upper levels of the section. Sansa kept a mental list of what colors of roses he threw over her head, relieved that none of them were red like hers.
“Before we begin the final trial of single combat, I, Queen Daenerys Stormborn, summon forth the royal falconer!” the actress called out in a loud clear voice. Sansa watched in awe as the falcon soared above their heads, gliding around the arena with ease. Then, her gaze shifted down into the arena at the falconer.
She was stunning, to say the least, and not in the dramatic way that the Queen on the Iron Throne was. Her features were softer, kinder, and her eyes sparkled with pride as she commanded the falcon to fly across the room. Forget the green knight of flowers, this woman was seriously making Sansa blush.
All too soon, the falcon landed on the gloved arm of the woman, and she walked back into the fog. For the briefest of moments, Sansa honestly thought she had imagined it, their eyes locked. Gods, that face…
Sansa paid more attention to her food than the remainder of the show, half-heartedly cheered when the Red Knight, the Viper, fought against the villainous Mountain and won, and she was thoroughly enjoying her dessert of lemon cake while the white-cloaked knight, the Kingslayer, gave a speech that had managed to move Arya to tears.
Finally, against all the odds, the Queen announced the Green Knight as the victor of the tourney, and Sansa braced herself for the knight as he approached her section. She blinked out of her half-lucid state, as the knight had produced a handkerchief up to her on the tip of his lance.
“A token of my favor, my lady.” he said. Sansa smiled, grabbing the cloth, and braced herself as the full audience raucously applauded, for the knight had grabbed the flower crown from his saddle-bag and was gesturing for Sansa to stand up.
The spotlight was on her as she was crowned that night’s Queen of Love and Beauty.
Afterward, when the stage lights had dissipated and the house lights were up, Sansa unfolded the handkerchief, and winced as she made out the numbers scrawled across the edge of the fabric. Surely she hadn’t made that much of an impression on the knight.
She was mentally constructing ways to let the knight down gently and without offending the poor bloke, when she heard a voice from behind her.
“It’s not his number.”
Sansa whipped back, taken aback at the falconer, now dressed down in casual jeans and a tee shirt.
“Loras, your ‘green knight’” she made finger quotes “is my brother, and he’s happily married to our stage manager Renly.”
“Well, whose number is it?” She asked, puzzled at the handkerchief.
“Mine,” she said, stepping closer. Sansa felt her breath catch.
“The red rose was my idea, too.” she said, reaching to brush the petals of the fake rose.
“I’m Sansa.” she stammered, her heart racing.
“Margaery.” the girl smiled. “And don’t tell me you’re not into ‘fair maidens’, I saw the way you looked at Dany.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a wig, by the way.”
“Shame.”
The two laughed.
“Bar doesn’t close until ten, may I treat you to one of our specialty cocktails.”
“No.”
At the falling of Margaery’s face, Sansa backpedaled. “I mean, I normally would, but I’m here with my family, otherwise-”
“Hey, it’s all right, Sansa. How long will you be in town?”
“Our flight leaves Sunday.”
“How about coffee tomorrow morning? I know this little place in Cobbler’s Square, they serve the quaintest little pastries. Their lemon cakes are to die for.”
Sansa smiled. “I’d like that very much.”