Okay, now is when I say that I just wrote this just to get it out of my system, and suddenly I saw myself with several pages of relatively related scenes that could go somewhere. I have no pretensions other than to feed the long abandoned hobby of writing. Alls, it might be a good time to warn you that I've read a lot of fanfic and hence I got this urge of making a Jon genderbend. Moreover, it is basically a general study of characterization, in which I will try very kindly not to destroy GRR Martin's characters.

I always intended to translate this monster one way or another. I'm not quite certain how accurate this came to be as english is not my first language. I apologise in advance for any mistakes. Anyway, if you speak portuguese or want to make an attempt to read it, you can search in my profile (Under "Uma canção de Gelo e Neve"). There are more updates, as I write in portuguese and then I translate to english.

The disclaimer is that I do not own ASOIF book series or The Game of Thrones Tv Show. I'm just here for the fun and the drama.

Oh dear. Let's go!

Ok, so someone named "t" just questioned about the ages. I'm responding the questions on 2 briefs notes:

Note 1: My primary guide here are the books, hence I posted the fic on ASOIF. But I'll be using some elements for the TV series. Some will be reasoned, some will be arbitrary and I personally don't think it is enough to put under the crossover category. If this mix bothers you, you can read the story on AO3, where it will be within a broader classification. I'm sorry. I should have warned you in advance.

Note 2: I'm disabling the anonymous reviews. The website doesn't allow me to reply them, which forces me to address the review's subject publically, on an update, consuming space that should be destined to creative (ish) writing. Regardless, opting to recieve them opens an opportunity for someone to just bestow unilaterally commentaries upon a work (done as a hobbie and free of charge) that are not constructive or useful to improve said work or the overall reading experience. Let's make the fandons a safe place, identifying ourselves, being constructive and civil in ours comments and giving the opportunity to the author to contact us back if we ask something, ok? Okay.

There it is. To the story then.

A Song of Ice and Snow

Part I - Summer is over, and our childhood with it

Chapter 1

Lyarra

Lyarra Snow stared at the horizon. She was at the top of the battlements waiting for her father's entourage to appear on the road.

Just that morning, information had come that a deserter from the Wall had been captured. Lord Stark had assembled some guards, as did his ward, Theon. The party was joined by her brothers, Robb and Bran, before setting out for the execution.

Lyarra bit her lip apprehensively. She knew how a decapitation could be something impressive, and it was the first time for Bran, her 10-year-old half-brother. Even if Robb was with him, she still preferred to make sure everything was alright.

She sighed in exasperation. She would have gone, if not for the commotion of earlier. Robb had helped Bran train with the bow and arrow in the yard (with some of Lyarra's assistance, it was true) and their sister Arya - wild, incredible Arya - had come out of nowhere, insisting that she was better than poor Bran. When news of the execution arrived, the 11-year-old girl had tried to get into the entourage by using Lyarra's presence as an argument. This provoked a pointed look of disapproval from Lady Stark, who was sure to blame the daughter of her husband for the lousy example. In the end, the girls had been forbidden to go, Lady Catelyn still reproaching Lyarra for lack of common sense and propriety.

As is usual of bastards were the words not said, but that hovered heavy in the air.

Long ago, Lyarra tried to adapt to the idea of her father's wife hating her for being a bastard. However, it was not because she tried that such recriminations hurt less. In fact, they seemed to increase the feeling that Lyarra did not belong to Winterfell.

Because you are a bastard and bastards are stingy, thieves, traitors and whores.

Lyarra bit her tongue, swallowing a cry from escaping. To weep for old wounds would not do any good, no matter how much her guts ached to do it. So much better to wait for the brothers she loved so much, and make sure Bran had been able to do his duty with as little trauma as possible.

And maybe ... she thought, maybe she should go first to Arya, who had cast a look of contrition at the older sister when both had been punished. Getting in the middle of the towers without saying anything to the younger girl was not right, even though after Lady Stark's admonishing Arya had disappeared through the corridors of the castle.

"Lya?" and as if conjured by magic, there was the rascal herself, a mass of dark hair escaping from the tangle of braids. Arya's tone sounded unsure, as if she were assessing whether Lyarra was angry with her - which was absurd, Lyarra could not stay upset for five minutes with her youngest sister.

"Hey." said Lyarra with a smile, signaling that everything was fine "Escaped the lessons?"

It seemed to work, for Arya shot at her and sat down beside her, forming an expression of desolation.

"Sewing is unbearable!" She exclaimed, energetically. "Even more so with Septa Mordane saying every half a minute how Sansa's work is beautiful and how Sansa has a born talent and how I should try to mirror myself more in my big sister!" another grunt of impatience. "You are my older sister and you do not sew!"

"This is not true. I only had my classes when you were younger." Lyarra corrected gently. Honestly, she did not care so much about needle and embroidery, being better at adjusting and mending something rather than doing anything from scratch, and not in a thousand years could she do with as many embellishments and details as Sansa.

But gods forbid her from saying it out loud in front of Arya, for then the girl's rebellion would never end.

"It would have been better if you were with us! I was alone with Sansa and Jeyne!" Arya said gruffly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Oh, thought Lyarra. Now we come to another kind of trouble.

Arya had no knack for sewing and usually found the songs about princesses and summer loves stupid, preferring to run and play, wrestling with the boys or riding a horse. She was not like Sansa, always praised for her Tully beauty, or like Lya herself, remembered for her resemblance to her long-dead Aunt Lyanna. No, Arya had the Stark's long face, with most of it screaming for Ned. She also never seemed to get clean, with holes in her skirt and dirty, skinned knees.

For Lyarra, none of these things mattered, but she knew that every now and then the other girls took advantage and made fun of her sister's weaknesses. Like most probably now.

Lyarra let out a sigh. "What did they say this time?"

When she got nothing but a sullen expression. The older girl tried to catch her attention a second time, making her voice a little harder.

"Arya ..."

Arya exhaled impatiently and seemed to think for a moment, until she decided where to start; "They did not say anything, actually. But when Septa corrects me, they always keep giggling, looking at me!" and then the girl threw her arms up in exasperation, "What's the point of knowing how to do these things with cloth, after all!?"

Lya bit her lip to keep from laughing at the intensity of her speech. She knew how to understand her sister's afflictions, but the melodramatic approach was always amusing at one point.

At last Lyarra adjusted her skirts and said in a soothing tone: "Well, it's helpful to know how to fix your own clothes. And you should not compare yourself to Sansa, who is ridiculously good at those little things and does pretty much magic with those lines. What did Septa say about Jeyne's embroidery?"

Arya paused for a moment, remembering. It was not too long and a small smile occupied her lips. "That it was too crooked and that the stitches were loose. She would have to redo half the work." The younger one frowned. "But it's not as bad as mine!"

"Oh, but you're better than them in accounting, right? History of Battles too. You also learn dance steps better than anyone else … and fighting. Jory commented to me the other day that you were hiding and mimicking the boys training in the yard."

That seemed to cheer her up. So much so that she exclaimed proudly:

"And I'm the best in horse riding too!"

Lyarra smiled internally and retaliated with a pretend air of arrogance. "Do not overdo it, you're not as good as I am."

Arya's eyes flashed in defiance. "Ha! Just you wait and see! Soon you'll be too old, too dry and too decrepit to ride! More than you already are!"

Lyarra raised one eyebrow in mock outrage. "OLD!?"

"Yup. You even have white hair that I know! A whole lock!"

In fact, Lya had a thick bundle of silvery strands, which she always kept hidden at the nape of her neck or in the middle of the braid. She felt that it attracted too much attention in contrast to her long dark strands. The bastard girl had it as long she could remember, and was ashamed of it from time to time, especially after she had begun cultivating a small dose of vanity.

But because Arya, the possessor of all the world's prerogatives, mentioned the damn hair, Lyarra was not at all offended.

"Oh, you little devil, come here and I'll show you the old lady!"

And without blinking, Lyarra advanced against Arya in a determined round of tickling. The younger girl screamed and tried to pull away, but what Lya lacked in strength was enough to incapacitate and trap someone (something Ser Rodrik and Robb taught her a lifetime ago, claiming that she must know something to protect herself), so the little Stark found herself trapped between the older one's arms and quick hands.

"Aaaah! You witch, mercy, mercy!" Cried Arya, her voice high with laughter, tears streaming out of the corner of her eyes.

"Oh? And since when do old witches have mercy on little monsters like you!?" Lyarra proceeded to unleash even more tickles on the girl's ribs, which were soon followed by the cries of "I surrender! I surrender!"

That is, until both heard the cry of the sentries to open the gates.

Father and the others had arrived.

Arya went through the floors and staircases like an arrow and, not for the first time, Lyarra cursed her clumsiness when having to run with the layers of skirts of the dress.

"Arya, slow down!" She tried to catch her sister's attention with a whispered shout as they crossed the wing where Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane usually stayed. It would not do any good if both of them intercepted the girl.

"Come on, don't you want to know how Bran did?" Arya answered halfway up the flight of stairs, her skirts raised to a level that would make Lady Stark's complexion pale. "I bet he was disgusted with the blood!"

"Oh, what a thing to say!"

But the little girl was already far away. Lyarra sighed and slowed, admitting she could not reach the lightning that was her sister. Oh, well, best to arrive with some dignity intact down to the courtyard. Lya might not be as meticulous as Sansa about personal cleanliness, but she liked to be at least in order.

Lyarra met Sansa on the way, and when they reached the courtyard, they could see Bran, Rickon, and Arya congregating in a small cake of people, while her father and Robb gave the horses to the stable hands.

"Lya! Sansa! Come and see!" Bran exclaimed, full of energy, which already gave life to Lyarra's heart.

Lyarra nodded and murmured a timid "Lord Stark" to Father, as she always did when they were in public and took one of the reins, stroking the back of one of the animals before giving it to the groom.

"Was everything alright?" she asked.

"More than you know," Robb turned to her, a smile on his lips. It was then that she noticed the small ball of fur that he held.

"Oh, look at you!" Lyarra heard herself whispering, all the tenderness she had for animals taking over for a moment. The pup on her brother's lap was grey and seemed to be distracted, nibbling the thick leather of Robb's gloves, his yellow eyes gleaming with what seemed to be intelligence. It was then that she noticed the reason for the commotion: there were a group of wolf pups at the feet of the siblings, sniffing and trying at the same time to recognize the new place and to cuddle each other.

Incredibly large wolf cubs, Lya could tell. The girl turned to Lord Stark, an interrogation ready about to leave her lips but her father having seen her quizzical expression answered:

"Direwolves. We find them on the road, near the mother's carcass. It was knocked down by a forest deer."

"Bran found them." Robb said. "Father allowed us to bring them home if we each took responsibility for one."

Lya raised one eyebrow.

"Each one of us...?"

"There are six pups, Lya! One for you too." Bran exclaimed happily, clearly already with the chosen one in his arms, as Arya and Rickon looked uncertain with which one would be the next victim of a flood of crushing hugs.

Lyarra looked from Bran to Robb, who nodded happily, confirming that yes, she too had been included.

Her chest swelled to the point of exploding and she could not hide her smile. "Thank you," she murmured, kissing the older brother's cheek, then crouched down and doing the same with the younger one.

Closer, she realized how different the litter was from each other, both in size and temperament. In an exercise of creativity, Lya wondered if each of the pups would be like their owner: two wild and restless as Rickon and Arya, another as refined as Sansa, one as calm as Bran or one such as Robb ... Or even as she.

A tug at her skirts caught her attention, and the girl looked down, seeing a pile of filthy fur in the greenish fabric of her dress.

The youngest of the litter, with a coat that would be white if it were clean and red eyes that stared at her as if searching her soul.

"Hello", she said, and the creature's ears trembled as if understanding the words. The little head immediately followed, leaning to the side inquisitively.

Lyarra drew her hand closer to the pup, realizing how much larger it looked than the little animal. She scratched at its ears, watching the little wolf close his eyes in contentment.

"It's the runt of the litter." A shadow covered her, Theon materializing at his side. "That one is yours, Snow." He said sarcastically, as he always did.

Lyarra had the impression that the ward of Winterfell took it as a personal sport to find new ways to provoke and torment her. At least Robb came to her rescue most of the time.

"Theon," the redhead said in a serious tone, very much like Lord Stark's.

"It's alright." She assured him, for it was. Although Lya cherished every defense that Robb made in her name, she had already developed some resistance to the Iron Born's tirades. It was not worth it, to be carried away by every provocation raised.

But she turned to the smaller puppy, who was still tucked in her skirts and kept on staring at her with its bloody eyes. He looked so small and less fed than the others, with eyes that looked less alive, as if it were a creature from another world, like a ghost. She caressed the baby wolf once more. And once more he seemed more than happy to receive it.

Maybe Theon was right, after all. That really was her wolf.

TBC