WE MIGHT FALL (J.SNOW 2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

HE PAUSED FOR TOO LONG. His eyes stared carefully at her for several seconds, as though judging whether the answer was appropriate or not, and his face was back to a cautiously straight line. All of which scared Cynthia more than the initial thought of an engagement ever had; this had become real, possible, a potential life which, though she had considered it, she hadn't ever thought about it as though it were actually going to happen. Not this soon, not this quickly. But now he was here, stood but a foot away, staring so carefully at her, that all she wanted was to take back the question and pretend as though she'd never thought of this being real. She wanted Jon, no matter how practical an alliance with the Tarlys would be, all she wanted was Jon. 

"My father had business to discuss with Benedict - the two go back some time." Dickon stumbled over his words like a child lying to a knowing parent, his eyes now darting to the dark horizon, or anywhere else that did not meet Cynthia's own. 

"They do?" She frowned, momentarily distracted by a fact she had been unaware of until now. 

"A couple decades at least." Dickon replied quickly, his head still turned too far away to be able to see Cynthia in his peripheral vision. 

"The business must have been important for you to have travelled so far." Cynthia said as more of an observation than an encouragement to continue, though she did want him to continue. But she was getting the implications that he did not wish to, or could not talk about it. 

"Yes, very." Dickon stated bluntly. "You'll forgive me if I do not say anything more, I fear my father would not be too pleased if I discussed his affairs so openly."

"Of course." Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he had not imposed the question of marriage on her at that moment like she had feared earlier. "We had best get back before they miss us." She turned back to the corridor and began walking, not too concerned with whether he walked at her side or not, she just needed to get back to other people before she lost the capacity to breathe.

"I'll be right in." Dickon said from behind her, but she didn't turn around to acknowledge it. She just kept walking, straight past the door to the Great Hall and eventually up the stairs. 

Her lungs felt as though chains were being wrapped around them so tight that any last drop of air was expelled in a gust of wind, and her throat was beginning to feel raw and dry from her attempt to gasp for a breath. All she could think about was Jon; she missed him too much to see past the tears in her eyes, though they could have been from the inability to gain oxygen they could have easily been from the pain in her heart that was yearning for him while he was so far away. It hurt so much, and the idea that her parents could be conspiring to send her as far south as possible, as far away from Jon as she could get, was as gut-wrenching as it was predictable. They didn't want their daughter to love a bastard, or marry one for that matter, but knowing Frea Iris, she just didn't want Cynthia to be happy either. 

"Cynthia?" Livia called from the bottom of the stairs, where, unknowingly, Cynthia had stopped, clung to the banister and bent double trying to breathe. "What's the matter?" Her fair-haired sister dashed to her side in a flash, her tender arms enclosed around her shaking frame in seconds as her voice began to sooth whatever attack had sent Cynthia into a frenzy. 

"I c-can-n-ot b-breathe." Cynthia gasped, strangled for the ability to talk while her body slumped down on the steps and her mind raced too fast to comprehend. 

"Calm down, all right, try and stay calm." Livia sat down beside her, keeping her body wrapped around Cynthia's, comfortingly. "Deep breaths, ok, with me?" Livia inhaled and exhaled slowly, her dark eyes locked onto Cynthia's, which were now fully overflowed with tears that she could not control. She tried to copy her sister, and it worked to some degree; air flooded her system a bit at a time, but the tears didn't stop. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I miss him." Cynthia sobbed, her head burrowing into her sister's arms. "By the gods, I miss him so much." She felt Livia's body tense, she felt bad for crying the way she was when Livia had it worse, but she couldn't contain it anymore, not with everything that happened today. "You don't think he's really here to marry me, do you? Father wouldn't do that."

"Oh, dear sister." Livia stroked a strand of hair from Cynthia's damp cheek and smiled a sad smile. "It is not father in control of this, you and I both know that. And mother...Well, she's -"

"A bitch." Cynthia growled softly, her lungs aching in her chest, but then that could have equally been her heart shattering too. 

"Precisely." Livia sighed, her grip tightening around Cynthia's still shaking body. "Come on, let's get you upstairs." 

Livia stayed with Cynthia all night, as she had done to her when Robb had died. They talked for a while, about growing up and inevitably about Winterfell; they didn't talk about Robb and Jon though. They pondered about Arya, and Sansa, and Bran and Rickon, but they didn't mention the two boys. Not once. 

Alec came in at midnight to say goodnight, by which point Livia had dosed off, but she was still there, and Alec stayed for a while talking to Cynthia about Dickon's weird behaviour after he came back into the Great Hall. 

"What should I do?" Cynthia asked. 

"I know you love J-"

"Don't." Cynthia shut her eyes tight, not wishing to hear his name again tonight. 

"But you know its not plausible." Alec let out a heavy breath, his large hand enclosing around that of his sister's for reassurance. 

"Yes, I do." She kept her eyes closed. "But I also know that the South is not where I belong. And Dickon is not a man I want to marry." She was sure of that much at least. She was a northerner. Always had been, and by the gods she always would be. If she was going to be dumped into a marriage of convenience then she'd at least like for it to be on her own soil. 

"That's my sister." Alec winked, before he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. He didn't say anything else as he left the room, but he didn't need to. That was enough for her. 

"Why don't we go to The Wall?" Livia mumbled quietly after several moments of dull, nighttime silence had passed. At first, Cynthia wasn't certain she had heard that correctly, or even heard anything at all, until she turned her head to find Livia looking gently up at her. 

"Because he is not there." Cynthia felt her heart strain again with a painful longing. How tempting an idea that would be, and how quickly she would do it if she thought she would see him, waiting for her up there. Or at least if she could be partially sure that, if he were there, he would be happy to see her. But she couldn't be. Because he had been the one to leave, and he had been the one to give up on what could have been something worth staying for. 

"You don't know that." Livia sat up sleepily. "He might have returned by the time we get there." Cynthia shook her head; maybe she just didn't want to face him, maybe she was in love with the old him, and maybe she was scared that what she would find at the Wall wouldn't be the same as what she remembered.  Or maybe she just didn't have a better excuse than the hearsay of her sister. "If someone had given me the chance to go to The Twins before the Red Wedding, before he -" Livia choked on the words, the breath in her throat catching before the tears began to fall in slow streams down her pale and fractured cheeks. "Before I lost him - I would have run there, barefoot." Her hand gripped Cynthia's tenderly, but with enough force to prove her point. "If you love Jon, then what are you waiting for? Go."