THE KING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE THE - well, there wasn't exactly a successor, nor was there really anybody left fit to rule the North. But it was a funny thought, to Cynthia at least, a fleeting thought that she dare not speak aloud, though it was ironically amusing in her own mind. The reason she dared not say anything of Robb's death out loud was simple; this was the first day in which she had awoken to the sound of cheerful birds beyond her small window panes, this was the first morning she could see the sun casting golden patterns on her stone floor, this was the first morning Livia wasn't crying when Cynthia looked at her. It had been 18 months since they left Winterfell, 18 weeks since Alec had rode off to fight alongside Robb Stark and 18 days since Robb Stark had died. It had also, incidentally, been 18 days of Cynthia being forced to awake to Livia's heartbroken wailing in the bed beside her. She'd started spending nights in Livia's room since Robb went off to war, only because they both feared the next morning would be the one when a raven would arrive with news of Robb's death. They waited for that morning for months; and that morning had come 18 days ago. So, in refusing to leave her sister alone, Cynthia had given up 18 nights of sleep while her sister mourned her love. This morning, however, was the first that no such sound could be heard from that side of the room.
When it came down to it, their mother wasn't all that sympathetic to the fact that Livia had actually been in love with Robb, and that Robb had actually been in love with her, and that their union was not just one of mutual benefit for their families, but rather a match made in heaven. At least, it would have been. So since Robb's passing all their mother seemed to mourn was the loss of a successful alliance with House Stark, bound in blood. But these days it didn't seem like there were many Starks left to be in an alliance with. Sansa Stark had sold her soul to the Lannisters, first supposedly marrying Joffrey, and now in union with Tyrion - who, though belonging to the enemy's name, Cynthia was quite fond of. Arya Stark was presumed dead, or otherwise just missing; and Bran and Rickon were killed by Theon Greyjoy - not that that had been too much of a shock to Cynthia, Theon was always the odd one out - even compared to Jon - she just hoped he suffered for it in the future.
What Cynthia worried about now was that if Jon was dead as well, or grievously injured, or missing, there would be no raven. The men on the Wall didn't have families, or friends, or loved ones, they had no one to send ravens too. That was the point in taking the oath, they gave up the right to families and friends and loved ones when they said those words. Jon gave up the right to Cynthia knowing if he was dead, or injured or missing when he'd said those words. He had left her, and because of that she wouldn't ever know if he was all right. She worried about that because with Robb gone, she was reminded how fragile their lives were, and right now Jon was all alone in his family - she didn't want him to feel alone, not if she could help it. But at the same time, there was very little she could do about it from Stillwater, without so much as a raven to notify her of his well being.
"How are you feeling?" Cynthia dared to ask when she saw her sister sit up in the bed next to her. Her blond hair fell around her like poison ivy from the walls around their Keep, not in the silky curled, curtains Cynthia was used to seeing; on top of that, her face was pale and gaunt and lacking it's usual glow that was uncommon among those in the North. Her eyes were hollow, swollen in red blotches that didn't seem to allow for much colour beyond that. She didn't look like the perfect sister Cynthia could remember vividly, she was more like a husk.
Livia let out a long, heavy breath, which normally would've been used for dramatic effect but was now all the energy she could muster. "Like shit." Were the only words she said in a feeble, breaking voice that didn't sound like it belonged to her at all. Livia never swore either, their mother had raised her to be a proper lady, unlike Cynthia who was very much the image of their father with a mouth as dirty as the horses' stables, but that was how Cynthia knew she really wasn't herself now.
"Somehow I could tell." Cynthia jested softly, which she saw almost made a crack of a faded smile appear on Livia's ashen complexion but not enough to actually be deemed as a real, genuine smile.
"Why thank you, dear sister, how kind you are." She snapped, and though her voice was bitter it was still the closest to any trace of humour Cynthia had heard from her in some time. She was also impressed at her sister's ability to use sarcasm which, before now, Cynthia had not seen much of unless it were aiming to be offensive in some form or another. "How long have you been awake?" She asked quietly a moment later, the silence spilling between them like a breeze through a nearby window.
"Nearing an hour." Cynthia shrugged, realising she'd been much too consumed in her own thoughts of late.
"You are thinking of him again, aren't you?" If there were one thing Winterfell had encouraged from these two Iris girls, it was that they knew each other better than they'd ever thought, and now that they accepted their abilities to do so, they read one another like books.
"Was it so obvious?" They both knew who Livia meant by him, and Cynthia found she was almost grateful Livia had not said is name, as she feared it might hurt too much to hear someone speak of him. Though Cynthia thought of him often, to hear his name out loud, in reality, might just be too real to cope with under the current circumstances. "I just worry, is all."
"It is always obvious to me." Livia placed her hand on top her sister's, and enclosed her fingers tightly around it, affectionately. "You have every right to worry -" Livia said, but her voice was too solemn to sound encouraging, "- but you know that he is a member of the Night's Watch now, and though I understand your love for him, you know better than any of us what that role entails."
"Yes, I do." Cynthia replied, hoping not to sound too cold in response. "Thus why I worry." They sat in silence for a moment longer, dwelling on their lost loves. Cynthia hadn't lost her love to death, she hoped not at least, but she'd lost him to a fate worse than death in her eyes. He was the living dead, still alive but no longer so to those that care for him. Those like Cynthia. And she mourned his presence because though he may be living out his days elsewhere, he would not return to her again.
"Girls!" A shrill voice called from the corridor, one which they both recognised in a horrifying instant, and one which made them both cringe at it's sound. "Get dressed at once, we have visitors." Their mother banged on the bedroom door, but did not bother to enter, she no doubt had more flustering to do before facing the guests she spoke of.
"Who would come to visit us?" Livia thought out loud, grudgingly vacating the comfort of their king-sized bed for the first time in a couple miserable days. "It is not as though we are a particularly exciting family." She sounded intrigued, though not enough to be excited about the new turn of events.
"Only time will tell," Cynthia said hesitantly, also curious as to who had arrived at Stillwater Keep.
YOU ARE READING
WE MIGHT FALL (J.SNOW 2)
Fanfic(THINKING OF SNOW 2) "Now that we are older, I remember you. Reaching out to show me all the things that I must do. Now that we are older, I remember youth. Now that were are close to death and close to finding truth, we might fall." Continuing with...
