Chapter Text
The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the drawing-room curtains of Lannister Hall. Before a table lavishly arranged with buns, pastries, and every variety of sweetmeat, Sansa nibbled at a lemon tartlet while listening to the animated chatter of her friends. The hour of tea was the customary moment to exchange the intrigues and gossip which, at the height of the Season, spread through King’s Landing like wildfire.
Lady Myrcella Lannister was the one to announce the principal novelty of the day: the return to the capital of her brother, Lord Joffrey, son and heir to the Earl of Lannister and one of the most eligible bachelors in the realm.
"Joff will be here next week. He intends to spend the Season in town" Myrcella explained, selecting a small cake from the silver tray, well satisfied at having instantly secured her friends’ attention. "If only he would make up his mind soon! I can hardly wait for you to become my sister, Sansa!"
Sansa gave a shrug that lacked conviction. Although her marriage to Joffrey had long been regarded as a foregone conclusion between the two families, ever since they were scarcely more than infants, Joffrey never seemed to find the proper moment to formalise the engagement. Sansa’s late father, Eddard Stark, Earl of Winterfell, had always wished his eldest daughter to become the wife of Lord Joffrey, son of Lord Robert Baratheon, Earl of Lannister and his closest friend from boyhood. Eddard and Robert had attended school together and later fought side by side. In that manner, their friendship would be perpetuated through the union of their respective houses and the descendants it would produce.
For Sansa, the marriage was not merely a means of fulfilling her beloved father’s last wish; the handsome and refined Lord Joffrey, with his golden hair and green eyes, represented the very best husband she could possibly imagine.
It was undeniable that no better opportunity could present itself than the Season, with its countless balls and social engagements, for Lord Joffrey to go down upon one knee at last and make the long-awaited proposal. Yet Sansa found herself unable to dispel the sense of inferiority that overcame her in his presence. Though she was an earl’s daughter, the Winterfell fortune had diminished considerably following a succession of ill-judged investments on her father’s part. Moreover, she could not help but feel insufficiently pretty, her figure too tall and slender beside her friends, whose softer curves rendered them more proportioned and undeniably more alluring.
On many occasions, when she accompanied Lady Myrcella—who, with her green eyes and fair hair, immediately commanded the attention of every gentleman in the room—Sansa noticed that she herself was favoured with little more than a passing glance. No doubt they considered that awkward red-haired girl, her face scattered with freckles, to possess too few charms to warrant prolonged admiration.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Jeyne Poole’s discreet cough, which she had made her habitual prelude to announcing news of sufficient importance to captivate her small audience.
"Lord Joffrey will not be the only unmarried aristocrat in attendance this Season." At Jeyne’s words, her two companions pricked up their ears. If anyone was acquainted with every rumour and whisper circulating through the city, it was Jeyne, who could recite from memory a full catalogue of potential suitors. Under their inquisitive gaze, she hastened to add, "The Duke of Westerland has also returned to his townhouse. Lady Margaery Baratheon informed me that he has been invited to the next ball at Tyrell Hall."
Myrcella and Sansa stared at her open-mouthed. Within the antiquated and tradition-bound aristocracy of Westeros, Sandor Clegane, Duke of Westerland, stood as one of the most mysterious and enigmatic figures in the entire kingdom. At any gathering, his name was invariably preceded by a flurry of murmurs concerning his infamous reputation, the obscure origins of his immense fortune, and his tragic family history. It was also said that Lord Westerland displayed a certain predilection for women of questionable background and took pleasure in pursuits of the most censorious kind. Though none of the young ladies had the faintest notion what such pursuits might entail, they were quite certain that no respectable girl ought to permit herself to be associated with such a gentleman in any capacity whatsoever.
"I am certain he will be the guest everyone is most eager to behold," replied Myrcella, swallowing another tartlet. "And I confess I am quite dying of curiosity myself. I wonder whether his appearance is as fearsome as the rumours suggest."
"Myrcella! You ought not to speak in such a manner!" Jeyne reproved her. "We must keep ourselves as far removed from that man as possible. He is the most unsuitable company for any unmarried lady. What would society say if it discovered we had any dealings with someone of that description? A duke who engages in trade and associates with persons of the most questionable character is, indeed, a gentleman—if such a term may even be applied to him—whom we must avoid by every possible means."
Though Jeyne was not of strictly noble birth, her father had achieved notable victories fighting alongside Lord Winterfell during the Greyjoy Rebellion, a civil war that had shaken the northern reaches of the realm, in which local nobles had sought greater independence from the Crown. The rebels had ultimately been crushed, and many soldiers had amassed substantial fortunes from the spoils of war. Thus Jeyne’s father had secured a knighthood and an estate that provided a modest income.
Owing to the close friendship that had united their parents, Jeyne had won Lady Sansa’s affection. She regarded her friend with deep admiration and secretly aspired to equal her rank and consequence through an advantageous marriage. For that reason, courtesy and strict observance of social conventions were, in Jeyne’s view, the principal means of attaining her ambitions, and she could scarcely contemplate the notion that any impropriety or questionable conduct might lower her in the estimation of the society she so ardently wished to enter.
"What reason could the duke possibly have for returning to Westeros?" Sansa asked at last, having until then remained silent and thoughtful. "I had understood that he does not usually attend balls or assemblies."
Among the few certainties known of Lord Westerland was that he had fought in the war, where, through courage and ferocity, he had distinguished himself as a national hero, extending his lands and gold in the process. The duke had not contented himself with living upon inherited revenues, as his forebears had done, but had invested in a variety of enterprises, ranging from iron mines to foundries and shipping companies. Despite the admiration his exploits had earned from his soldiers and officers, Westerland was regarded with disdain by many of the nobility, who viewed his involvement in trade and manufacture as something humiliating and degrading for a peer of the realm.
It was widely understood that the sentiment was mutual, for the duke openly disdained the aristocracy and its refined customs, preferring instead the company of businessmen, financiers, and former comrades-in-arms. This made his presence at something so superficial and contrary to his inclinations as the Season in the capital—all balls, soirées, concerts, and other frivolities designed solely for public display—appear all the more curious.
"And he does not generally attend them," Myrcella replied. "Which makes it all the more exciting, do you not think? I am quite convinced that the purpose of his stay in town is to seek a wife. After all, his father died last year, and it is only natural that Lord Westerland should wish to secure an heir to the title without delay. Undoubtedly, he will not lack for candidates eager to become a duchess, mistress of such a fortune and elevated in rank above the greater part of society."
At Jeyne’s scandalised expression, she added in a mischievous tone, "It would certainly be an excellent match for you, my dear, since you do not come from an aristocratic family and possess but a modest dowry. The duke far exceeds even your most optimistic expectations."
So direct an allusion to her humble origins and limited means caused Jeyne to fall silent and lower her eyes in embarrassment.
Sansa’s thoughts, however, had long since drifted far from the drawing room. She was imagining how delightful it would be to dance with Joffrey all night, while he bestowed upon her one of his dazzling smiles and whispered sweet, romantic words in her ear. Then it occurred to her that the duke would also be present at that ball, and she resolved that, under no circumstances whatsoever, would she allow her path to cross with that most disagreeable man.