[So what does he even open with? After hearing of Sansa's predicament, and then finding week old evidence of it on the strange locket, Jon has been turning it over in his hands trying to figure out what ought to be said. Watching it over and over, seeing his half-sister for the first time in three years, long enough to feel like three lifetimes. She looks different, but so does he, he suspects.
And her knight, too. Ser Gendry is a stranger to Jon's eyes, and she offers him no family name, which is just as well because there's nothing to be done about it with both of them so far away. Jon has known bad men from good families, and good men from no families at all, not that it helps.
He is alone in a quiet place (the unnervingly lavish rooms they'd offered him) when he finally speaks her name and the knight's to reply. His words come halting and polite, though he spends them sparingly like each were a golden dragon. He wants to say, the gods were good and you're still alive, no one could tell me for sure. He wants to say, we're all that's left of our father, just you and Arya and I, and none of us Starks in name. He wants to say a thousand things, but all of them are too familiar or too terrible and she has always been the most distant of his siblings, so all that he manages without preamble is an awkward:]
video; forward dated to after the new arrivals start to show up
And her knight, too. Ser Gendry is a stranger to Jon's eyes, and she offers him no family name, which is just as well because there's nothing to be done about it with both of them so far away. Jon has known bad men from good families, and good men from no families at all, not that it helps.
He is alone in a quiet place (the unnervingly lavish rooms they'd offered him) when he finally speaks her name and the knight's to reply. His words come halting and polite, though he spends them sparingly like each were a golden dragon. He wants to say, the gods were good and you're still alive, no one could tell me for sure. He wants to say, we're all that's left of our father, just you and Arya and I, and none of us Starks in name. He wants to say a thousand things, but all of them are too familiar or too terrible and she has always been the most distant of his siblings, so all that he manages without preamble is an awkward:]
How fare you both now?