AU Versions of Cut it Out and then Restart
So what do I do when I'm meant to be writing my latest chapter? Why of course I write AU versions of it, of the roads not taken.
This isn't new for me, generally every story I've written, although I've had a very firm idea where it's headed there's always been intriguing possibilities that could've happen, things I would've liked to explore. Usually I don't write them down though.
So here's two that wouldn't go away or get out of my head until I wrote them down. Warning, much darker than the actual fic and containing character deaths. The first one in particular.
AU 1: In which Sansa agrees to marry a Frey for the sake of her brother's alliance
They find her perched on the windowsill in a crouching position, arms braced against the enclosure, the long sleeves of her gown spread out like wings.
“Lady Sansa, please step down from the window.” The man who they have made her husband says, a fear evident in his voice as walks towards her, one hand out in a calming gesture. He is not the worst of them, she knows this, but he is one of them nonetheless.
It has been a week, a week since they killed her mother, her brother… Sandor. Killed them at what was meant to be her wedding feast.
She had assumed that she was the lamb being brought to slaughter, oh how wrong she was.
“Do not come any closer.” She warns him, and her voice does not waver once. He lifts both his hands now to show that his intentions are safe, even as others appear in the doorway behind him. She cannot remember his name in that moment, she does not wish to.
They killed her mother and her brother in the hall below, their friends and bannermen with them. Sandor had made it all the way up the stairs to her room before he had been cut down, killing at least thirty men, eighteen Freys among them. She had heard the noise outside the room even above the music and had moved to open the door even as her husband tried to stop her, even as Sandor Clegane had been cut down outside to die at her feet.
She had held him, seen the light leave his eyes as they had looked into hers. Screamed as they pushed her back into the room, locking the door behind her.
She does not know what they did with his body, she only hopes they have not burned it. Of her mother and her brother… she does not wish to know.
For a day she asked after her family, but she is not naïve now as she had been at King’s Landing. She could see the evidence of the carnage from her window as she sat alone in that room, she knew what had occurred.
When Sandor Clegane had taken her from King’s Landing she had not imagined that she would be exchanging one cage for another, that she would be leading the other wolves to slaughter.
She should have refused when they asked it of her. Family, Duty and Honour have brought her here.
“There is nothing to fear, Sansa.” The man who they have made her husband tells her, approaching slowly. “You will not be ill-treated. I mean to be kind to you.”
She lets out a laugh, her last laugh, hoarse and bitter to her ears. The sound of it reminds her of him, of all that she has lost. There is nothing left to her now except one final act of defiance.
She is not sure that she believes in the gods anymore, nor in heaven nor the hells. She only hopes that wherever she goes, that he will be there, along with the others she has lost.
Little bird, he used to call her.
“You shall not have the North through me.” She tells them.
And then she flies.
AU 2: In which they are late to arrive to Riverrun
They are late arriving to Riverrun.
Heavy storms that turned the roads to muck and made the rivers impossible to cross, brigands and outlaws who must either be fought or avoided. There are five fights, three times they are forced to double back and choose a new road. Once, when the weather is particularly bad, they shelter for an entire week in an abandoned cottage, she taking the small broken bed and he the floor.
They are rarely dry and hardly ever warm and it has become second nature for her to seek out his warmth once they make camp.
He will wrap his arms around her, rubbing her arms to rid her of the goosebumps, chafing her hands in his when they’re freezing and her teeth are chattering to bring a bit of colour back to her cheeks.
He will not look her in the eye while he does so.
He aches to reach for more but will not allow it for himself, even as she edges closer day by day, peeling away his layers.
They are late to Riverrun by only two days, her brother and mother having left to attend her Uncle Edmure’s marriage to a Frey at the Twins. Only the Young Wolf’s wife remains behind with the Blackfish, an awkward introduction to be made. Her great-uncle is not quite sure what to make of a Lannister turncloak though he welcomes the little bird warmly.
Sansa asks whether they should follow her family in the hopes of catching up but Sandor only laughs roughly.
“Better not to, little bird. Might give the Freys some ideas about another alliance.”
She shudders at the thought, and is content to wait for their return.
They are ten days there and then suddenly there is the Blackfish waking him in the middle of the night, with news passed by way of scouts and villagers.
They wake her together, and immediately she knows that something is wrong. This time he cannot look away, she sees the truth of it in his eyes.
She sobs, broken in more ways than he knows how to fix.
But he holds her anyway when she reaches out to clutch him, not caring what her uncle might think for once. He holds her anyway and wishes there were more he could do as she sobs and screams and rages, pounding his chest in her grief, tearing at her clothes. He holds her until she is still, until she cries silently, eyes closed, and her head resting against his chest. Then he lets her go.
When he looks up, the Blackfish is watching them with a thoughtful expression.
“You’ll leave tonight.” Her great-uncle announces, “We don’t know how soon they’ll move against Riverrun now that your brother’s forces have been defeated. Go tonight and go as far as you can, somewhere out of their reach. I’ll arrange to get Robb’s wife to safety, it’s too dangerous to send you together.” The Blackfish pats her head gently as she sits up, wiping her eyes. “Dry your tears now, Sansa, and pack what you need. We’ll not let them have you too.”
She nods, her expression turned to steel, and sets her sorrow aside for another time.
Sandor leaves to gather his own things and the Blackfish follows.
“Take her across the sea, to Essos.” Her great-uncle tells him, “Her safety is paramount. I trust you, Clegane. I know that you’d die to protect her. Keep her safe and keep her alive and one day when the time is right, bring her home again.”
“You have my word.” Sandor promises him, “Nobody will harm her, I’ll keep her safe.”
The Blackfish pauses, thinking on his next words with great care. “She is the last of them now, unless Arya can be found, the last of the Starks.” He fixes Sandor with a fierce gaze. “The bloodline must continue. She is young now and her grief is fresh but in a year or two… she must marry, and bear children.”
The thought of it stings him but he knows the truth of it. “I will see that she is found a good match, a worthy one.” He promises her great-uncle.
The Blackfish shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good man, Clegane, a better man than I thought. I have seen the way you look at her, the way she looks at you. If she should choose you… it would not be a bad thing. You have the look of the North, you have the strength and the will to do what needs to be done.”
It is not what he had expected, it is more than he had ever hoped for.
“There is time yet to worry over that,” He rasps, “Let her have her time to heal and then make her own choices. Should she choose me… whatever happens I’ll ensure that her children are brought up as Starks and that one day she brings them safely home again.”
They shake upon it, an agreement that he will not tell her of. Let her make her own decision, in a year or two or three, when she has seen the world and knows more of it. Perhaps by that time it will be safe for her to come home, to choose freely among the highest of the land.
The last of her house, the Queen of the North.
Before the dawn light breaks, he steals her away.
Yes sorry, there you go, depressing person that I am, while I favour happy endings occasionally these things won't go away.
This isn't new for me, generally every story I've written, although I've had a very firm idea where it's headed there's always been intriguing possibilities that could've happen, things I would've liked to explore. Usually I don't write them down though.
So here's two that wouldn't go away or get out of my head until I wrote them down. Warning, much darker than the actual fic and containing character deaths. The first one in particular.
AU 1: In which Sansa agrees to marry a Frey for the sake of her brother's alliance
They find her perched on the windowsill in a crouching position, arms braced against the enclosure, the long sleeves of her gown spread out like wings.
“Lady Sansa, please step down from the window.” The man who they have made her husband says, a fear evident in his voice as walks towards her, one hand out in a calming gesture. He is not the worst of them, she knows this, but he is one of them nonetheless.
It has been a week, a week since they killed her mother, her brother… Sandor. Killed them at what was meant to be her wedding feast.
She had assumed that she was the lamb being brought to slaughter, oh how wrong she was.
“Do not come any closer.” She warns him, and her voice does not waver once. He lifts both his hands now to show that his intentions are safe, even as others appear in the doorway behind him. She cannot remember his name in that moment, she does not wish to.
They killed her mother and her brother in the hall below, their friends and bannermen with them. Sandor had made it all the way up the stairs to her room before he had been cut down, killing at least thirty men, eighteen Freys among them. She had heard the noise outside the room even above the music and had moved to open the door even as her husband tried to stop her, even as Sandor Clegane had been cut down outside to die at her feet.
She had held him, seen the light leave his eyes as they had looked into hers. Screamed as they pushed her back into the room, locking the door behind her.
She does not know what they did with his body, she only hopes they have not burned it. Of her mother and her brother… she does not wish to know.
For a day she asked after her family, but she is not naïve now as she had been at King’s Landing. She could see the evidence of the carnage from her window as she sat alone in that room, she knew what had occurred.
When Sandor Clegane had taken her from King’s Landing she had not imagined that she would be exchanging one cage for another, that she would be leading the other wolves to slaughter.
She should have refused when they asked it of her. Family, Duty and Honour have brought her here.
“There is nothing to fear, Sansa.” The man who they have made her husband tells her, approaching slowly. “You will not be ill-treated. I mean to be kind to you.”
She lets out a laugh, her last laugh, hoarse and bitter to her ears. The sound of it reminds her of him, of all that she has lost. There is nothing left to her now except one final act of defiance.
She is not sure that she believes in the gods anymore, nor in heaven nor the hells. She only hopes that wherever she goes, that he will be there, along with the others she has lost.
Little bird, he used to call her.
“You shall not have the North through me.” She tells them.
And then she flies.
AU 2: In which they are late to arrive to Riverrun
They are late arriving to Riverrun.
Heavy storms that turned the roads to muck and made the rivers impossible to cross, brigands and outlaws who must either be fought or avoided. There are five fights, three times they are forced to double back and choose a new road. Once, when the weather is particularly bad, they shelter for an entire week in an abandoned cottage, she taking the small broken bed and he the floor.
They are rarely dry and hardly ever warm and it has become second nature for her to seek out his warmth once they make camp.
He will wrap his arms around her, rubbing her arms to rid her of the goosebumps, chafing her hands in his when they’re freezing and her teeth are chattering to bring a bit of colour back to her cheeks.
He will not look her in the eye while he does so.
He aches to reach for more but will not allow it for himself, even as she edges closer day by day, peeling away his layers.
They are late to Riverrun by only two days, her brother and mother having left to attend her Uncle Edmure’s marriage to a Frey at the Twins. Only the Young Wolf’s wife remains behind with the Blackfish, an awkward introduction to be made. Her great-uncle is not quite sure what to make of a Lannister turncloak though he welcomes the little bird warmly.
Sansa asks whether they should follow her family in the hopes of catching up but Sandor only laughs roughly.
“Better not to, little bird. Might give the Freys some ideas about another alliance.”
She shudders at the thought, and is content to wait for their return.
They are ten days there and then suddenly there is the Blackfish waking him in the middle of the night, with news passed by way of scouts and villagers.
They wake her together, and immediately she knows that something is wrong. This time he cannot look away, she sees the truth of it in his eyes.
She sobs, broken in more ways than he knows how to fix.
But he holds her anyway when she reaches out to clutch him, not caring what her uncle might think for once. He holds her anyway and wishes there were more he could do as she sobs and screams and rages, pounding his chest in her grief, tearing at her clothes. He holds her until she is still, until she cries silently, eyes closed, and her head resting against his chest. Then he lets her go.
When he looks up, the Blackfish is watching them with a thoughtful expression.
“You’ll leave tonight.” Her great-uncle announces, “We don’t know how soon they’ll move against Riverrun now that your brother’s forces have been defeated. Go tonight and go as far as you can, somewhere out of their reach. I’ll arrange to get Robb’s wife to safety, it’s too dangerous to send you together.” The Blackfish pats her head gently as she sits up, wiping her eyes. “Dry your tears now, Sansa, and pack what you need. We’ll not let them have you too.”
She nods, her expression turned to steel, and sets her sorrow aside for another time.
Sandor leaves to gather his own things and the Blackfish follows.
“Take her across the sea, to Essos.” Her great-uncle tells him, “Her safety is paramount. I trust you, Clegane. I know that you’d die to protect her. Keep her safe and keep her alive and one day when the time is right, bring her home again.”
“You have my word.” Sandor promises him, “Nobody will harm her, I’ll keep her safe.”
The Blackfish pauses, thinking on his next words with great care. “She is the last of them now, unless Arya can be found, the last of the Starks.” He fixes Sandor with a fierce gaze. “The bloodline must continue. She is young now and her grief is fresh but in a year or two… she must marry, and bear children.”
The thought of it stings him but he knows the truth of it. “I will see that she is found a good match, a worthy one.” He promises her great-uncle.
The Blackfish shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good man, Clegane, a better man than I thought. I have seen the way you look at her, the way she looks at you. If she should choose you… it would not be a bad thing. You have the look of the North, you have the strength and the will to do what needs to be done.”
It is not what he had expected, it is more than he had ever hoped for.
“There is time yet to worry over that,” He rasps, “Let her have her time to heal and then make her own choices. Should she choose me… whatever happens I’ll ensure that her children are brought up as Starks and that one day she brings them safely home again.”
They shake upon it, an agreement that he will not tell her of. Let her make her own decision, in a year or two or three, when she has seen the world and knows more of it. Perhaps by that time it will be safe for her to come home, to choose freely among the highest of the land.
The last of her house, the Queen of the North.
Before the dawn light breaks, he steals her away.
Yes sorry, there you go, depressing person that I am, while I favour happy endings occasionally these things won't go away.