WE MIGHT FALL (J.SNOW 2)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE DAY HAD FINALLY ARRIVED. Livia was, as ever, going out of her mind with the stress of her dress and hair, and all that would have to be done in order for the festivities to be as perfect as she had been envisioning since before she could walk. Meanwhile, Cynthia, the doting sister that she had always intended on being, was doing her utmost best not to chug the entire decanter of wine which sat beside her and her brother as they watched Livia prattle on about downstairs's decorations. This day would be so much easier with the assistance of alcohol, Alec had mused, staring longingly at the smooth red liquid, but Cynthia had responsibly removed it from his grasp before he, or she, had the chance to indulge. They had promised both Livia and themselves that they would remain sober today, at least until the ceremony was over. No matter how much they dearly wished to down out Livia's unnecessary ramblings with the buzz of what remained, full, in the decanter. 

"Do you think she has thought of him at all today?" Alec asked. Livia had disappeared beyond the screen to tend to her corset with her handmaiden, while her siblings then had a chance to talk without the likelihood of her overhearing.

"I am sure her husband to be has crossed her mind at some point today, among the fauna and pastries." Cynthia chuckled with a soft exhale. She was also sure that wasn't whom Alec had meant in his inquiring, but she had been too afraid to talk of said person on such a happy occasion. 

"You know what I-"

"Yes I did." Cynthia smiled a sad sort of smile. She had certainly been trying not to think of Jon, and that had not even been a week prior to this day. No doubt Livia, whose wedding day should have been taking place at Winterfell with a different man whom she loved much more than Daryn, was doing just the same - distracting her mind with idle things so not to focus on the depressing reality that Robb would not be waiting at the alter for her. "She misses him still, I know. But let her pretend that everything is all as it should be - that every one, including she, is happy and content with the situation we find ourselves in. She is hurting, but she is also doing everything in her power to hide it. Let us pretend we do not know our sister well enough to have noticed. Just for today." 

"You miss him too." Alec leant back in his chair, the light from the sun shone in and caught the blond streaks in his beard, making them shimmer like gold. 

"Of course." Cynthia felt her heart ache. She feared they were no longer talking about Robb Stark, but she did miss him. She missed him more now because if things were as they currently were, only he had not died when he had, she would have someone to turn to - someone that would still resembled Jon, and still remind her of him. But with him gone, and Jon joining him, there were no Starks left to remind her of the brief two-week-paradise in which she had found love. "Everyday." 

"You know I meant -"

"Yes I did." Cynthia's stomach curdled with a yearning which would never disappear, not now. "The answer is the same." 

"I'm coming out." Called Livia, diminishing the sad light from both of her siblings' eyes. They could not be sad in front of her, for she was likely already struggling with her own emotions, to see her siblings in such a state would surely push her over the edge. And on her wedding day, that was not an option. 

Livia Iris had, forever, been the most beautiful girl Cynthia knew. Perhaps because Cynthia did not, in any case, see herself as pretty or beautiful like a lady should be. She did not see herself as such because she was not; not when she looked in the mirror, and not in the eyes of anyone she had ever met. But also because she was nothing alike her sister, and her sister was beautiful. All golden hair that fell down her back like a metallic waterfall, and porcelain skin with a rosy flush and alluringly dark eyes. All high cheek bones and a strong yet delicate jaw. Cynthia shared such traits, they were traits of their mother's family, but Cynthia did not, by any means, display them in such a stunning manner as her sister. Cynthia was short, with stubby legs and dirty cheeks - usually - her eyes resembling the colour of muddy puddles, not chocolate, and her skin more sickly pale than fair. Her hair was usually matted, curly but in an unrelenting and unruly way, not one that looked like it had been styled by anything more talented than a bush or the claws of a dog. But she accepted all of those traits about herself, because she was not a lady. She would rather be dirty and unkempt than pretty and perfect. Because pretty and perfect was exactly what her sister was; beautiful as ever when she appeared in that ivory gown, her hair combed and braided in a breathtaking array, and her face glowing in the mid-morning sunlight. She was beautiful.