Author's note: Welcome readers! How are y'all?
A little bit about me - I'm a fan of genderbends and I desperately wanted to try my hand at a female Jon Snow, specifically because I enjoy them and unfortunately there aren't many.
Snow was originally going to be a oneshot series of shorts, snippets and outtakes that were all unconnected. But as I started writing the first chapter, I realised I wanted to make that into a larger story. So here we are, a rewrite of season 7, essentially cannon but with some differences along the way given the genderbent nature of this story.
Snow features Lorna Snow (female Jon Snow) as well as Daeron Targaryen (male Daenerys).
In case anyone's wondering, my face claim for Lorna Snow is Hayley Atwell. If anyone has ever seen Pillars of the Earth, you'd probably say she could have even been Lyanna Stark. Daeron Targaryen, I'd imagine, is played by either Charlie Hunnam or Joel Kinnaman - odd choices, but you'll see why, i hope - it does have to do with Daeron having a back story rather different to Daenerys, specifically with regards to their childhood and early adolescence and it will be explored further into the season, as Lorna and Daeron begin to get to know one another.
Please leave reviews! Flames will not be tolerated.
Now.. onto the first story...
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of its characters. They are the property of George RR Martin and HBO.
SANSA
The older girl slams through her chambers doors. Sansa's soft hands barely catch on the wood before it can close on her face. Pushing against the door gentler than her sister had done, she enters the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Before it can close she catches sight of Lady Brienne and Ser Davos turning into the private hallway; their steps falter, Ser Davos stumbling when Podrick lumbers into him from behind. Ignoring the young squire, the two knights share a brief look with the young Lady of Winterfell. After a moment they nod and turn away but make no move to leave.
Sansa's glad for it. Lorna needs her space and Sansa would prefer not to be interrupted.
Tully blue eyes watch the dark figure, pacing before the fireplace like a predator stalking its territory. Like a wolf.
She is the White Wolf.
Longclaw is discarded on the bench, along with her cloak - the one Sansa had made her. Lorna is silent, her gaze fixated on burning embers within the fireplace. She's silent for so long, Sansa begins to wonder if the older girl had given up the old gods of their father, to worship the Red Woman's Lord of Light. She may have sent Melisandre away, but there is no denying the suspicious amount of time the red woman spent with her sister, watching her, whispering to her. Of course Sansa doubted anything or anyone could easily persuade Lorna; baseborn or nor, she's still a Stark. And Stark's are too stubborn for their own good. Sansa knows that better than anyone.
Eventually her sister does speak her mind, and it's what the younger girl had been expecting... "You should not have done that."
"What other choice did I have?" Sansa replies.
Lorna turns on her. She may look more Stark than Sansa, but her Northern eyes betray none of the fire in her spirit - a fire Sansa had not known existed anywhere outside of battle. If she were anyone else, she might be afraid. But she knows Lorna. Well... she knows enough to know that her fire burns with bitterness and sadness, with the guilt of all her burdens and not any true wrath. Sansa can see the fear in her sister's storm grey eyes. She grits out a steely, "Why?"
Sansa doesn't know if Lorna hears the command in her voice. She'd only known Cersei to speak like that in perfectly ordinary conversation.
Unflinching, the red-haired girl answers, "Because you deserve it. After everything you've done for them. Defeating Ramsa-"
"But I didn't defeat Ramsay," Lorna cuts her off. "It was you. The Knights of the Vale rode for you. They stay for you. We won because of you, Sansa," Lorna says emphatically as she had done on the bridge that morning, moving closer to her sister. Her dark gaze softens then in a way she only reserves for those closest to her. A few years ago this would not have included Sansa, and for that, the little bird feels blessed. It's been so long, so many years, since someone has looked at her with such genuine warmth and love. Lorna's fingertips trail over Sansa's hair, curving around her cheek, reminding her of how her mother had once done the same. "You're father's daughter trueborn daughter. His heir."
Sansa feels her heart cease with an anger and guilt. "You heard what I said. What little lady Mormont spoke. You may not have his name, but his blood still runs in your veins. You're as much a Stark as I, Lorna."
Lorna shakes her head. "You should be queen. Not me."
'Not some baseborn bastard,' are the words unspoken from the elder girl's lips.
Sansa pulls the hand at her cheeck away, weaving her fingers with her sisters. She fixes Lorna with a determined look. "I declared you the true Queen in the North, because I believe in you. You have overcome so much Lorna."
"And you have not?" the girl asks skeptically. She doesn't mean to wound Sansa's pride. And truthfully, she doesn't. Sansa's learned to withstand a lot. Familial concern does not bother her anymore than how foreign it feels to her after all this time.
Clicking her tongue, Sansa curtly replies, "I have. And it has taught me a lot."
"Like what?"
Suddenly she feels the elder sibling, with the wide-eyed look Lorna's giving her. Suddenly Sansa can see how the woman Arya would have grown to be, and her heart aches for mischievous, dirty little sister. Sighing, she leads Lorna to the table. They sit side by side, Sansa watching the flames, Lorna watching her. Quite a shift from only a few moments ago.
"Do you remember what I told you the night I arrived at Castle Black? About wishing we could take it all back?" Lorna nods silently, prompting Sansa to go on. "I wanted to be a queen. I wanted to marry a handsome and gallant prince and rule the seven kingdoms. No one told me what it truly meant to rule. No one told me the ugliness of the world. No one told me politics was built on lies and backstabbing. All I had were stupid fairytales. My time in King's Landing taught me how to survive. By lying. By cheating. By playing the game." She pauses, taking a moment to meet her sister's gaze. With a sad smile, she confesses, "I learned I don't want to be queen anymore. I don't want to rule. I don't want to play the game."
"Even though you're good at it? Better than I could ever hope to be."
"Especially because of that."
Lorna studies her a moment, before saying, "You know I wasn't raised like you and Robb. I wasn't raised to lead. My lessons with Maester Luwin taught me little of how to be Lady of a Keep, let alone politics and nobility and least of all how to rule."
"And yet you've sat on war councils, lead thousands of men into battle and made peace between wildlings and the Night's Watch, and now the Northern Houses. You are the youngest person to ever rise to the rank of Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, not to mention the first woman to take the black since before the Targaryens' reign," Sansa gushes with pride, though her expression betrays disbelief at her sister's doubts. "Your black brothers chose to follow you. The wildlings chose to follow you. The Northern houses choose to follow you-"
"Because you instigated it-"
"If they took such a displeasure, they would have no problem in voicing out, especially after you tried to abdicate the title to me-"
"Which you would not let me-"
"Because I believe you'd make a good queen!"
Lorna shakes her head, bemused. Once again, she asks, "Why?"
"Did you question your sworn brothers this much when they elected you as Lord Commander?" Sansa asks, with an exasperated sigh.
"No." Lorna is utterly serious. Sansa's about to question her when she realises it. Lorna spent years working her way up the ladder, from being a steward. She'd fought and sacrificed so much and earned her command on the Night's Watch. Even then, she was only a leader, someone to look up to and follow into battle. She didn't rule the Night's Watch, had little control over their laws except where it mattered. Even then her little act of rebellion was received with great hostility, and Lorna had paid the ultimate price.
Sansa sighs, her expression a cross between pity and exasperation at her sister's stupidity. "You idiot," she jokes, shaking her head tiredly. She ignores Lorna's affronted expression. "Lannisters. Baratheons. Greyjoys. Even the Targaryens. They all wanted to rule for the sake of ruling. They all thought that sitting on a throne meant ordering people about. Ruling with fear and intimidation, making sure those below them are sated enough to not thirst for freedom beyond their reach nor realise they are little more than slaves, just pawns in someone else's game. But you're like father. Perhaps better than him, even. When you were Lord Commander, you were in service to the realm. Before that you were a steward, serving another. Before that a bastard, who my mother never hesitated to use as an extra serving hand when other lords visited, if only to appease father's insistence you dine in the Great Hall. You have always been a servant. And that is what those others will never know. A good king or queen doesn't rule their people... they serve them." Sansa squeezes Lorna's hand. "You will make a good queen, sister." She sees some emotion flicker behind Lorna's eyes, a gratitude and acceptance but not for Sansa's rousing speech. No, simply for the acknowledgement of being her sister.
Lorna looks at her then, her eyes imploring. She asks, "But what do you want?"
Sansa feels the ice in her veins. She may look like a Tully, but winter is in her blood. "Cersei. Walder Frey... Little Finger. I want them all to pay. I want them to hurt." Lorna's eyes harden, nodding ever so slightly, her silent show of support, of understanding, of the blood in her veins crying out for revenge. Sansa doesn't stop. "I want the Northern Houses to unite as they did for father and for Robb. I want there to be peace in our lands as there once was before the Usurper and Lions descended upon and tore father away from us. I want to protect our people from the Army of the dead-" she takes a deep breath, letting all the tension and ice melt away, before finishing, "I want our family back... I want to rest."
Lorna looks at her with such compassion and pity, she hates it. Sansa hates Lorna for it because she hate her at all. She doesn't realise she's shedding any tears, until she feels arms wrap around her, pulling her close to rest her head against her sister's breast, her tear drops landing on the black material, shimmering like small crystals in the dim firelight. Sansa's hands curl around Lorna's waist, while the older girl settles her chin on the crown of her head. Sansa feels her eyes flicker closed, lulled by the tattoo of Lorna's heartbeat.
For a moment, all that can be heard is crackle of the fire, Lorna's soft breaths in time to Sansa's muffled whimpers, and the low whistle of the winds of winter outside the window.
Lorna inhales deeply. "We've never been particularly close. I know I'm not enough. But I promise you, they will burn for what they've done to our family. For what they've done to you. I won't let them hurt you again."
Sansa doesn't correct her this time. For a moment she wants to believe in something. For a moment she wants to trust someone. Sinking further into her sister's embrace, Sansa replies, "You are enough."
AN: Sooo... I hope y'all like. Please leave a review it will be much appreciated:D
