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Jon hears her before he sees her. His sister—no, she is his cousin now—has always had such a distinct voice, to his ears at least. It flows nicely as any trained singer’s voice is meant to, and before her dreams of going south, she allowed herself to sing with a northern lilt. It is that exact lilt he hears now as Prince Oberyn leads him to a secluded part of the palace.
A northern jewel, the prince had said when explaining why he wanted to whisk him away from his queen and her retinue, and now he is glad he had gone by himself because he fears nothing could keep his face in that solemn mask he’s adapted at court at the sight of Sansa, and it is Sansa.
He can only see her side profile, but he could recognize her anywhere. She’s kneeling, and there is a child in front of her, whose hands are in her own as she sings a Northern tune meant to ease a child’s pain.
“My love,” Prince Oberyn calls, stepping forward, and Jon stays behind him by a few paces. Both Sansa and the child turn their heads to look, and his breath is taken away as he sees Sansa’s face light up and the child forget their pain as they launch themselves at the prince.
Sansa stands up, and he realizes that she has grown, perhaps even taller than he is, and sees she has adapted to Dornish fashion. It suits her, the light silks and bold styles. She dresses in Martell colors which is unsurprising, seeing as it is where she has found herself. Then, she does something that shocks him. She saunters up to the prince and cups his cheeks, kissing him as the child groans dramatically.
“Welcome back, my heart,” his cousin says once she pulls away. “We have missed you dearly.”
The child, who he believes is a girl and shares most of the prince’s features, butts in, “You were gone for so long, Father. I thought you’d never return!”
“Oh, my beloved girl. I could never leave you," Oberyn tells his daughter—and Jon hadn’t known he had young children—as he leans down to place a kiss on her forehead after brushing her hair away.
“Have you brought me the gift you promised?” Sansa asks. Prince Oberyn nods, and Jon supposes that is his cue to enter further.
Jon enters the room, and he can see the way Sansa’s eyes widen and then become teary-eyed. He can faintly see Prince Oberyn pick his daughter up and walk out of the room, and Sansa sits down on the sofa, twiddling with the rings on her fingers, as she stares at him with wonder.
It’s only when it’s just them two does she ask, “Is that you, Jon?” Her voice thick with emotion, and he only nods. “Oh, where are my manners? Forgive me, Your Grace.” She stands to curtsy, and Jon steps forward because it feels surreal, seeing her alive and here she is trying to bow to him.
“There’s no need for that, Sansa. No need for pomp and circumstance between us. I—I thought you were dead. We all did.”
“It was for the best that everyone did. It still surprises me that no rumors escaped this place though because I have kept my name, my given one that is. It is not a common one," she says, confirming what he had assumed to be true.
“There were rumors of a new princess, but the details of said princess always changed depending on who told the tale of the Red Viper’s bride, and never were you mentioned by your name.”
She smiles. “It seems I have some people to thank for that. It hasn’t been safe being a Stark in so long that I became a Rivers.” A bastard, she doesn’t say. “And then I became a Martell.”
She beckons him to sit beside her, and so he does. He doesn’t think he can deny her anything after thinking her dead for so long. He is still so amazed that she is real and alive. He has so little family left these days, and Sansa’s survival warms his cold heart more than he thought any good news could.
“I’m sure you know all about that, though. I hear they call you Jaehaerys Targaryen. Is that what you would like to be referred to as?”
He shakes his head. “No. It is just my official name, but know that I will always be Jon Snow above all else, especially to you, sister.”
It is here, with the slip of his tongue, that she finally launches herself at him, and he wraps his arms around her, nose burrowing in her head of red hair. She trembles in his arms, but her grip remains true as she cries onto him. His sweet sister, always so gentle, what she must have endured in this last decade, but surely she has found happiness. She must have.
Marriage had been her greatest desire as a child, and now she is a wife, to a prince to boot. It is everything she deserves, but should she not want it, he will make certain to take her far away from here.
Once they have both settled, she wipes away her tears with a handkerchief she pulls out of her dress and then does the same for him. Always so courteous, Sansa. He is glad to see her stay mostly the same.
“Tell me Sansa, are you happy here?”
“I didn’t think I’d ever grow to be this happy after everything that happened, but I fell in love. A true, deep love, and I knew I was gone for.” She closes her eyes, happiness etched into her expression. “Dorne and its people have healed my broken heart. I have been made anew.”
“And Prince Oberyn?”
She turns to look at him and takes his hands into her own. “He is everything I have ever wanted. The kind of man Father promised me. His family has welcomed me with open arms and accepted me as one of their own without complaint. He rescued me, you know? Without him, I don’t know where I’d be. And you, Jon, are you happy?”
He thinks of Dany, his queen and aunt and wife. He thinks of Rhaegal, the dragon he has bonded with. He thinks of King’s Landing and the way they’ve remade it for the good of the realm and thinks of his accomplishments.
“I’m getting there," he answers truthfully and it must be the right answer because Sansa nods with a small smile.
“That is all I can wish for, but mayhaps to speed along the process, I shall introduce you properly to my children.”
Children?
Sansa laughs, and it is a wild, untamed thing.
“What did you expect, Jon? I have been married for years and we all know my mother’s fertility. Besides, you saw my firstborn not too long ago.”
“She was yours?” He asks, incredulous because he had only seen Oberyn in the girl.
“Oh, yes. She’s an absolute terror, my firstborn.” And then she begins to tell him all about her, and he thinks he loves her already.
Myriah is her name, after the queen of old. Though the way that Sansa describes her, she sounds more like Arya, wild and bold and unyielding. She has Sansa’s nose and lips, but the rest is all Oberyn.
Next, she tells him of Brandon. Her second child and Prince Oberyn’s only son, named after Bran when she had been informed of his death. She tells him that he looks most like her, Tully red hair, Stark gray eyes, but with tanned skin, like Oberyn. He is a reserved child but gets up to more mischief that way.
Then, she tells him of her third child, placing his hands on her stomach. She is four months pregnant and has been waiting for her husband to come back to inform the court, and now he is the first to know. Well, the second to know. The first to know was Ellaria Sand, Prince Oberyn’s paramour and Sansa’s too if he’s reading the situation properly. It seems he is more like his sister-cousin than he’d thought.
“Would you like to meet them?” She asks once she has rambled about their lives from birth to now.
“I would love to, Sansa, and the same goes for Lady Sand.”
“I have no idea what you mean, Jon.” She blushes as bright as her hair but nods demurely and so they go.
Sansa leads him deeper into the palace where eventually he sees Prince Oberyn and his gang of children as they all try to talk to him. Sansa walks past him to greet the woman, presumably Ellaria, and says something to her which has the woman grinning widely. She brings her fingers to her mouth and whistles loudly and that grabs everyone’s attention.
“Sansa has brought someone she would like you all to meet. He is her brother.”
And just like that all eyes are on him, and they slowly begin to inch away from Prince Oberyn to him.
“This is Jon Snow,” Sansa introduces, mirth in her eyes and smile. “He is also the King Consort of the Six Kingdoms.”
She throws him out to wolves, that wicked sister of his. Though he supposes it could be worse. After all, these wolves were an extension of Sansa and surely he wouldn’t be hurt too badly in their rash excitement at the smell of new blood.
Maybe.