AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello dear readers, it's award season in the fanfic world and this story is up for a Turtledove Award on the AlternateHistory forum!
If you already have an account for that site or are willing to create one, I'd really appreciate if you dropped a vote there for Canucks!
To find the vote, simply put "2025 Turtledoves - Best Timeline Based on ASOIAF Poll" into Google (since FFN won't let me put a link).
Thanks for reading and thanks for voting!
SANSA
Lord Eddard Stark had spent the time since he had been released from the Black Cells reading, watching the sea from the balcony, and doing strange exercises. He seemed at a strange ease, except when he slept. His leg bothered him, and was healing very slowly.
Shocked by how ragged and dirty he had looked when they had first been reunited, and by Father's stories of what had happened in the throne room before he was thrown in the dungeons, Sansa had cursed Joffrey and Cersei and the whole Lannister band.
From that moment on, she had paid special attention to her father and never left his side. When he read, she would do needlework or read too. When he looked out over the sea, she would sit nearby, eating snacks and trying to work out what he was watching for. Often times it was then that the maesters attended to his wound.
When he exercised, they spoke, of old times and of what would happen when they both made it back to the North.
Truthfully, it was the most time she had ever spent with her father, and she was strangely happy. The dream turned nightmare that was King's Landing was soon coming to an end. The air felt lighter, food tasted richer, water was more refreshing. The darkest clouds over their lives had not been seen for weeks, save one.
Queen Cersei had been confined to the Maidenvault with them, and Lord Lannister had wisely divided the keep in two so that she would see neither Sansa nor her father. The few times this had been unavoidable in the central stairway, no words were exchanged nor glances. Sansa did not understand why the Queen-Regent had been confined, but her father always wore a small smile each time there was an encounter.
One thing that was more of an annoyance was the presence of men wearing the boar sigil of House Crakehall at all times. The corridor to Sansa and her father's chamber had ten men on duty at any time, another ten on the balcony, and many more in every possible approach up to the floor. Sansa had counted seventy eight of them out of boredom one day.
Ser Lyle Crakehall had come when she had been first reunited with her father and explained the men-at-arms were there to protect them, and although they seemed to have been selected for their courteousness, she could no longer believe such things from men of the Westerlands. They're lions and wild boars, ready to tear you apart for their sport.
No one visited them. Occasionally, Father was summoned elsewhere, and during that time, Sansa was left alone, sweating and shaking with fear she couldn't control about what might happen. But each time, the Gods Old and New answered her prayers, Father returned. She hugged him tight and he reminded her that Robb and his foreign allies were coming, that it made no sense for them to be harmed.
Joffrey wouldn't care, she thought at first, but the instinct to say that to herself came less and less easily.
Then, one day, the door to their chamber opened, and Lord Tywin Lannister strode in with three Casterly Rock men in red tabards. Her skin crawling, Sansa stood up and curtsied. Courtesy is your armour.
The Hand of the King gave a small bow in return, straining to do so with his cane. Surprised, Sansa glanced at her father. Lord Eddard was scowling up from his seat, his wounded leg stretched out and a book about King's Landing open on his lap.
The Crakehall men quickly pulled a chair to a place directly in front of Father and Lord Lannister sat down heavily with a sigh. With a flick of the hand, the Crakehall men were ordered to leave the room, leaving just the three Lannister ones standing at a respectful distance.
"Lord Lannister," Father said with no small amount of annoyance, "I would ask you leave us in peace here. If you have need of me, you may summon me."
"I come for no small matter of inquiry," the Old Lion replied, "And it is best summarised by what I must now call you by protocol, Your Grace."
Sansa blinked in confusion. Why is Tywin Lannister calling my father by that term?
"Is this mockery?" Lord Stark sighed, "I am not Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."
Lord Tywin stroked his blonde whiskers for a moment. If Sansa had to guess, he almost looked pleased. "Indeed not," he said, "You are however a king nonetheless."
Sansa's eyes widened so much she felt them bulge. What a strange thing to say!
Father was not so shocked. "And how did I become one?" he said, "Is your hand that shall touch the crown to my head? It would be in your interest to divide those opposing you. By allowing it, Stannis would call me an oathbreaker and a rebel."
Lord Tywin put his hands on his belly, one of which was made of solid gold. His real one had been lost in battle with the foreigners. Now it was obvious he was enjoying himself, Sansa thought, though his face remained ever stern.
"It is true that I have a great interest in seeing you crowned," he proclaimed, "But it wasn't I who put the crown on your head, Your Grace. Your bannermen declared independence at Harrenhal some days ago. A raven carrying the declaration to Maidenpool got wounded and took shelter in Antlers, after which it was sent here."
"So I am a king now?" her father repeated, "I do not think I can believe you."
"You are King in the North and King of the Trident," Lord Tywin said, "Your son is Prince and heir apparent of the North and Trident." He looked to Sansa. "And you girl, are Princess Sansa of the North and Trident."
A lump grew in Sansa's throat, emotions battling within her. In some ways, it was almost what she had always wanted for herself. A grand title, standing at the very heart of the realm. But the news was being delivered by her family's enemy, and with no small amount of glee.
"And why should I accept this crown?" her father asked, "I am willing to accept a truce on terms we have already discussed, but why would I also invite the wrath of Stannis? A man I regard to be the true Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, as I have told you."
Tywin's hands parted and went to the armrests to either side of him. "You shall do it because there will be no peace without it, because I shall not release you unless you do, because your own lords proclaimed it and you shall not change their minds…"
Sansa's heart froze when the man's green and gold eyes turned to her.
"And because I shall release your daughter on the morn if you accept the crown and send forth a proclamation to that effect at once."
It can't be! her mind shouted, It's a lie! Yet she felt like she was shaking with joy regardless, and fear for her father.
Lord Eddard hesitated, mouth opening once to speak before closing once again before he spoke his next thought. "Release her to what?" he scoffed, "To the open road in the midst of war? To your guards who will treat her as a vulnerable girl often is in war?"
Sansa shuddered, the thought of being alone with just Lannister men frightening as can be. She fought down the urge, trying to remain nothing but a statue. A crying girl looks weak.
Tywin turned back to Father with a shake of the head. "The Canadians have arrived," he said, "I will bring her to them personally, and they will take her to Prince Robb."
Eddard Stark put the book on his lap aside and moved to become more comfortable.
"Why would I entrust my daughter to the foreigners? Aside from the fact they have brought you low."
"I have shown you their proclamation," the Old Lion replied, "And told you of their actions. They are not the sort to hold hostages, nor are they the sort to harm a young woman. But I shall sweeten the offer if I must. Alongside your daughter, I will release the other young hostages I have; Jeyne Poole and the other handmaids."
Sansa could not believe her ears. "They're alive?" she gasped out.
Lord Tywin gave a single nod, and said no more.
Where have they been? Her head spun. "Father," Sansa pleaded, "You cannot leave Jeyne here… I don't want to leave you, but…" Leaving her friends to their fate would seem more cruel than anything Joffrey had commanded.
Lord Eddard frowned and seemed to examine Lord Tywin for a moment.
"Very well, Lord Lannister," he sighed finally, "You win. I shall take the crown to save my daughter."
Lord Tywin shook with a silent laugh. "No doubt to repudiate it later," he said, "But you shall find that more difficult than you think, and for our purpose, it matters not."
He turned once more to Lady Sansa. "I shall have your handmaids brought to you, Princess Sansa. By dawn, you and they shall be clean and your things shall be packed so that we may depart at once."
"Yes, my lord," Sansa said, bowing her head. Her head felt light, her shoulders not aching like they weren't carrying the weight of the dead any longer. I'm going home…
Jeyne Poole, Enith Wells and Lauryn Condon arrived in the Maidenvault at sunset. As they were escorted into the chambers, Sansa could not help herself. She started from her chair and made straight for Jeyne at the first sight of her friend. She wrapped her arms in a tight hug in the middle of the space, the other two girls taking their place to the side and watching.
"I missed you," Sansa said, barely able to speak above a whisper, "I'm so glad you're alive."
Jeyne began weeping into her shoulder, shaking with every sob. Sansa leaned her head against her friend's own, stroking her hair and wanting to weep herself. It took most of her effort to stop herself. Strength, not fear, not sorrow.
The smell of perfume became strong enough to distract her; lavender, too much of it. Sansa's fingers then reported more strangeness, the feeling of silk and velvet. She looked to the other two, and saw they were wearing the clothes not unlike Lord Varys' robes around them, heavy and covering up their forms entirely. They would have cost a small fortune.
It was so odd, Sansa pulled away slightly, her hands taking Jeyne's own.
"What are you wearing?" she asked quietly of all of them, "What happened to you?"
Jeyne looked up with bloodshot brown eyes and could not answer, sobbing more. When Sansa looked to Enith and Lauryn, water was pouring down their cheeks too, though they were silent. Even the guards looked on with a horrified sympathy.
"Sansa, you can talk about that when you are safely home," her father intervened, placing a hand on her shoulder, "For now, you must prepare to leave. I'll call for the servants to prepare a bath." His tone brooked no disobedience, something she had not heard for some time.
Not understanding why, Sansa nonetheless obeyed. "Yes Father," she said.
The large copper bath was brought in as usual, but the number of servants was far more than usual. Each was searched thoroughly before being allowed into the room, the guards even sticking their hands into the buckets of water to check them.
It took quite a long time for everything to be prepared as a result, and when Father finally left the room for the balcony and the guards closed the door. The servants disrobed Sansa and the others gently, almost fearfully, like they were afraid of hurting them.
Underneath the robes of the other girls were even stranger clothes, thin cloth suspended only by velvet cords that barely covered anything. Red lines and scars covered their backs, clearly made by wooden switches and horse whips. Sansa's throat closed over at the sight of it, at least some of the answers to her questions written on the flesh of her friend and her servants.
They did not speak as they washed, nor when they redressed, or when Lord Stark offered his master bed to them to sleep the hours left until they would have to wake to prepare to go. Sansa slept fitfully with Jeyne clutching her tightly, Enith and Lauryn sleeping to the side facing the opposite way.
The servants woke them in the morning, they all washed with wet cloth again and dressed for their journey. Sansa, her father and her companions were all led out of the Maidenvault at dawn. A carriage and a small escort were waiting. Queen Cersei looked on from her own balcony above, unreadable from a distance.
Sansa supervised her and her father's chests being loaded into the carriage, when something occurred to her. "Should we not get Jeyne, Enith and Lauryn's chests?" she thought aloud, wondering where they might be.
"Leave them," Jeyne replied at once from the carriage, the first words she had spoken since her return, "Let us go."
Sensing the urgency and cursing herself for having thought of such a mundane thing, Lord Eddard Stark seemed to feel her guilt at hurting her friend and quickly brought her into his own embrace. "Sansa, my daughter," he said, "Get home and live well. Give your mother and brothers my love. Tell Robb I'm proud of him."
Sansa's eyes swelled with tears of her own now, overcoming all her new instincts to remain a statue in the eyes of her captors. "Yes, Father," she choked out.
"Jeyne, Enith, Lauryn," he called, still holding her, "My lady wife shall see to your needs. Fear not. The Starks of Winterfell remember and reward those who suffer in our service."
"Thank you, my lord," Jeyne replied softly, though her face was blank with doubt.
Another carriage rumbled up as Sansa joined her companions, drawn by fine red horses. Lord Tywin and Lord Varys were sat within, the Lannister lion stitched in hangings from the doors. "Let us depart," he commanded, "Lord Stark, I shall see you tonight."
"Very well," Father said, voice tinged with irritation.
The Hand's carriage proceeded forward first, followed by Sansa's own. She leaned out to watch Lord Eddard for as long as she could, as he stood doing the same, leaning his weight against his wooden cane. Finally, the carriage turned a corner and he was gone.
And she feared she would never see him again.
The journey to the meeting place took almost three hours, the carriages seeming to move more slowly up the Kingsroad than ought to have been possible. Sansa felt a nervousness about it, like they weren't leaving quickly enough and Joffrey might come storming from behind with a company of knights to drag her back to the capital.
But as the stink of the city was replaced by the sea breeze and summer smells, she began to relax. So too did Jeyne and the others, occasionally exchanging quiet smiles as they realised truly that they were on their way home.
Awaiting them was a truly strange sight.
Six huts with wheels on them were sitting in the middle of a recently harvested field, painted a dark green and having huge windows on their front. Men in dark green clothes and armour stood around or sat on top of them, holding black clubs or long grey poles attached to the huts like either were real weapons. They were guarding a tent without sides, under which was a long table and seats made of cloth and poles.
Above them, a banner caught the sea air moving above it all, showing a red banner with a thick top-down white stripe in the middle, a large weirwood leaf on the stripe in the same red.
Canadians, Sansa realised. "They're supposed to be sorcerers," she announced to the carriage, as she looked out at them.
"They shot Lord Tywin," Jeyne said, "And blew away his bannermen with fire, like dragons."
Sansa turned her head sharply to look at her friend. "Where did you hear that?" she asked.
"The whole city is talking about it," Jeyne replied, "The tales of the new foreigners are everywhere now. They captured the Imp and the Mountain, they have wildlings riding unicorns with them, and they took thirteen castles in less than a week."
Sansa cursed her captivity twice over. Such information was not given to her or her father. It may be that Father could have asked for his own release by using these Canadians power to scare Tywin.
The Lord Hand himself appeared by their carriage seconds later, green eyes peering up at her. "Please dismount," he said, "You will be handed over to the Canadian delegation at once."
"And they'll bring us to Robb?" Sansa asked, worried she was just being traded to a new set of captors.
Lord Tywin's brow twitched upwards. "Yes, as far as I am aware," he said, "They are not a duplicitous people, they keep their word." The way he had said it suggested he thought such honour was a failing. How can such a lord think honour anything but a boon?
She nonetheless led the way off the carriage, and all four girls followed Lord Tywin and Lord Varys across the soft dirt towards the tent. Waiting to meet them were five people. From a distance, it appeared to be three men, a woman and a small child. But as the party got closer, the true nature of the hosts became clear.
The most ordinary was a handsome man with striking blue eyes and a wide smirk, a strange soft hat on his head with a sigil in gold on it. He had other sigils and icons on him too, indicating he was the leader. But Sansa's gaze was torn away from him quickly by the others.
The next man was not in fact a man at all, despite being dressed and armed in much the same way as her leader. She had wide, high cheekbones and the darkest eyes Sansa had ever seen a person possess. They were black pools that ate up almost all of the white of the orbs. Her arms looked strong too, like she was a Mormont of Bear Isle or one of the mountain clanswomen.
The last of the men was just as foreign looking, with a large scar on his cheek that looked like it had been made not too long ago. He wore a thick red garment on his body with a hood, though the hood was down in favour of the helms all three were wearing with green cloth over them. His weapon was different too, and had a Myrish spyglass on it.
All three looked truly formidable, though Sansa could see no blades beyond small daggers, only the strange thing clubs with many handles. She almost did not pay attention to the other two, until she came closer still.
The woman was of an age with Sansa's mother, and was dressed in a truly mad manner. Large men's boots and blue men's trousers, a white shirt with a strange dark grey doublet that was half open, it was so foreign. Her hair was tied back behind her head, and her face was dominated by a thin frame holding two pieces of glass to her eyes, perched on a high nose and her ears.
All very strange, but nothing compared to the child: It was no child at all.
Brown skin with white spots, large ears peeking out of lighter brown hair with flowers woven into it, golden eyes with slits like a cat's own, and wearing a cloak of red weirwood leaves. Sansa stopped dead on recognising what she was seeing, looking to the others to make sure it wasn't just her. So did Jeyne, Lord Tywin, Lord Varys and everyone else that was approaching. Mouths dropped open and eyes widened as far as they could.
A Child of the Forest, Sansa wanted to say, but she found she had no breath left to do it, A legend from Old Nan's stories is sitting atop that table.
"Welcome," said the leader, glancing between the mysterious creature and the party that had just arrived, "Sorry to add an extra person to our delegation, but Arrel insisted."
"I am not a Canadian," the Child spoke in a melodious voice. "I am one of the Speakers."
"So he doesn't count," said the black-eyed woman.
Lord Tywin made a noise from his throat, and walked forward to the leader.
"Ambassador Duquesne, I presume. You are younger than I imagined."
The leader's hands moved to rest on the top of the weapon hanging from his front. "There should be a Captain in my title, somewhere?" he replied, his accent a refined one with a slight northern lilt. He quickly walked around the Hand and moved towards Sansa, watched the whole time. His smirk had disappeared, his mouth now a thin line.
"Sansa Stark?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord," she answered.
Duquesne's gaze flickered to the others, examining them. "Where is Arya Stark?"
"We never had Arya Stark," Lord Lannister stated, "She escaped during the chaos of the King's ascension to the throne. We have been unable to locate her. We assume she died in the city or managed to leave it entirely."
"Liar," the dark-eyed woman declared. Lord Lannister bristled, but did not deem that statement worthy of a response beyond shooting a short glare at his accuser.
Duquesne went quiet for a minute too, scratching his chin with his fingers. "Normally I would agree with my colleague," he thought aloud, "But I'm not so sure he is lying, given recent events."
The dark-eyed woman grimaced with annoyance and looked away, clearly having relished the idea of sending the Lannister delegation back to King's Landing with nothing. Why do the foreigners hate the Lannisters so? Sansa wondered.
The Canadian leader knelt in front of her, and pointed between Jeyne, Enith and Lauryn. "These are your friends?"
Lord Tywin quickly listed off her companions names. "These are the handmaidens who survived Eddard Stark's attempt to overthrow my grandson," he concluded.
Anger briefly flashing on his face, Lord Duquesne stood and looked at the whiskered Lannister with a small tilt of his head. "I'm sure the little girls that didn't survive put up a hell of a fight," he said flatly, "But I suppose you have kept up your part of the bargain."
He reached for a box on his hip with one hand and a strange stick poking out from the side of his helm with the other. Speaking a single word in a language Sansa didn't recognise, when he was finished, a strange wailing sounded from the north.
Fearing what strange thing might be coming, Sansa clenched her fingers to stop from fidgeting. "What is that noise, my lord?" she asked.
"I demanded your release as proof that Lord Tywin was civilised," the Canadian replied, "It occurred to me that I should prove it about myself too."
Blood rushing to her face, Sansa was outraged and glowered at Lord Lannister.
The Hand of the King had used her release to get her father to accept the crown of the North and Trident, but it had been the Canadians' demand all along, and the Old Lion had used it to get Lord Eddard to do what he wanted.
Neither man noted her visible anger. They were too busy watching the road north, and for good reason. Three carriages were moving rapidly towards the field, faster than any seen before… without any horses to pull them. The lead one had unnatural flashing lights atop it, was fully enclosed in painted metal and clear glass, and seemed to be the source of the wailing. The two behind looked more like real carriages, except they had bulky frames around them and she could see warriors inside them, including what could only be wildlings.
Unable to believe what she was seeing but seeing it anyway, Sansa began to feel numb to the shocks of new relevation already. No wonder Lord Lannister gave in to their demands, these foreigners are sorcerous beyond dreams.
"The noise is just announcing their arrival," Lord Duquesne reassured her, misinterpreting her expression somehow, "It'll stop soon."
The wailing did stop within a moment of him saying so, though the flashing lights continued even as the three horseless carriages came to a halt on the road.
"What is this?" Lord Tywin demanded, "You brought more than agreed."
"You'll see," Duquesne replied with a wave of his hand. Sansa thought the gesture was really quite rude, unfitting of Lord Lannister's station. The man himself did too, brow knitting as he looked to the strange carriages once more. The armed wildlings and Canadians riding them readied their weapons in the direction of the Lannister escort nearby, and received the same in turn.
Thankfully no battle began, and instead, the doors of the lead carriage opened. Another armed woman stepped out, though her clothes and armour were black with large yellow writing on it, and her hat had a different sigil on it. After her, a blonde dwarf hopped down to the ground, wearing Lannister colours.
The Imp, Sansa thought. "Are you exchanging us for Lord Tyrion?" she asked, wondering if the Canadians had been fooled rather than their demands being granted. The dark-eyed woman snorted her amusement at that.
"No," Lord Duquesne said, "I'm just facilitating a little family reunion."
Tyrion Lannister made his way down the embankment of the Kingsroad and across the field with some difficulty, hobbling every other step. He was followed closely by the armoured woman, her hand on the weapon hanging from her hip. As he got closer, Sansa scrunched up her nose. She had forgotten how ugly he was.
"Father!" he shouted, "What a joy to see you."
"Tyrion," Lord Tywin replied shortly, "You are injured."
"Shot in the rump trying to escape," Tyrion said, spreading his arms to either side, "An unwise attempt given I was on the Isle of Faces at the time, but not much to be done about it."
"You got lucky," the red-hooded man said, "I wasn't aiming for your rear."
"Yet more proof that I am the luckiest man in Westeros," the Imp replied, "In all things, except height."
The armoured woman rolled her eyes and joined Duquesne, speaking in their own tongue for a moment. She was then waved forwards towards Sansa.
"This is Sergeant Portelance," the Canadian leader said, "She's going to take you and your friends away from here, and ask you some questions."
"Will you bring us to my brother?" Sansa asked urgently, without thinking.
Lord Duquesne's smirk returned with a quick glance to Lord Lannister. "I don't need to take you much further than Hayford," he said, "Robb Stark and thirty-five thousand men will be here in a few days."
Sansa's heart beat harder, her legs feeling like she could jump twenty feet in the air. So close!
"Then we really should begin negotiations," Tywin said impatiently, "I would hazard to guess that you are just as eager to come to an agreement before your northern friends arrive as I am."
Another snort from the dark-eyed woman. "Strictly speaking, we are the northern friends," she said, without an accent at all, "We came from north of the Wall."
"Details," Lord Tyrion said, "Mere details. My father is right, you rushed ahead of young Stark to talk to us first. Let's not pretend otherwise."
The dark-eyed woman shrugged in response.
"Princess Sansa," Duquesne said, "Please follow Sergeant Portelance to the car. Sayer, you go back to translate for the debriefing."
The scarred, hooded man smiled and gave a hand gesture up towards his helm, both revealing him to be far younger than Sansa had thought. With a wave, this Sayer invited she and her companions to leave. Seizing on this, Sansa took Jeyne by the arm and they went from the presence of the Lannisters. May I never see another for as long as I live.
Every step towards the strange carriages made Sansa feel more light in body and mind, even as the gaze of the soldiers and wildlings watching her got ever closer. I am going to see Mother and Robb! By the time they climbed into the Canadian machine and Lady Portelance had secured them with straps to the seats, it didn't matter that the foreigners were unknown to her and their ways even more so.
Sansa, Jeyne, Enith and Lauryn were no longer quiet in their smiles as Lady Portelance climbed into the spare seat in front of the wheel, looking like she thought they were mad. The horseless carriage lurched forward with a growl and turned northwards from whence it came.
We're going home!