WE MIGHT FALL (J.SNOW 2)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JON SNOW IS ALIVE. That, in itself, was impossible. Yet here he was, at Stillwater, gathering forces to do yet another impossible task. Taking down the Boltons was not going to be an easy battle, and it was unlikely Jon had properly thought it through beyond gathering those sworn or friends to House Stark. House Bolton was much bigger than any of the Northern houses, or all of the combined, and they had the backing of the South. Cynthia's own husband distantly included in that - given the Tarly's were sworn to House Tyrell. It was madness to think that Jon, a bastard and, though a good fighter, not a renowned warrior, would be able to gain enough support to defeat such a huge enemy. 

Cynthia could not help but think of the politics in it, as she sat in her room alone that afternoon. If she thought about how Jon was alive, or that she had just come face to face with him for the first time in three years, she might actually have some sort of a breakdown. The politics were facts, no emotion needed to think them through, whereas the matter of Jon - her whole heart shattered and sparked at the mere thought of his name, let alone him or the fact he had just stood but a few feet away from her. So many emotions, conflicting and confusing, had been ignited upon seeing him; the most prominent being relief. Relief that he was not dead, relief that he had thought to come to Stillwater in looking for assistance, even if it was from Cynthia's father more than her; relief that he had actually spoken to her. Part of her fear had been that he would hate her enough to never regard her again; but that fear had been somewhat settled having upheld at least part of a conversation with him earlier that day. 

At that precise moment, Cynthia had shut herself in her room. Very mature, she knew, but it was the only place she thought she would go undisturbed for a relative amount of time and would stand no chance of bumping into Jon. At least it seemed very likely she would not find him there. 

She had been sat there for almost thirty minutes before someone interupted the silence with a heavy knock on the door. Alec, she guessed, and was correct as within seconds he had already let himself in and had walked towards her with a concerned expression. She had thought about a lot while sitting there, staring out of her window, one of which being her brother and his bizarre behaviour recently. So his concern was not greatly appreciated. 

"You knew." She said it very quietly, and with no spite in her tone. Not that she could register anyway. That was the only explanation for why he had been so desperate for Cynthia to stay at Stillwater for another few days, why he had been acting so strangely and why he had not been nearly as surprised as his siblings when Jon finally arrived. "How long ago did you find out?" 

Alec looked puzzled, but it was all for show. He was not a good enough actor, and Cynthia was too good at detecting when he was feigning his reactions. "He wrote to me the day after Livia's wedding." He sighed, she wondered if the disappointment in his voice was sincere, if he genuinely regretted having not said anything or whether it was merely because he had been caught out on it. 

"And you thought it best not to say anything? To not tell me? Your sister?" She snapped. All that had been welling up inside of her for the last few hours, for the last few days - hell, for the last few years, actually. She had loved Jon, unconditionally she realised. Only to lose him to the Wall. Then, when she thought, perhaps, there was a chance at finding him again, she lost faith in her own ability to face him and fled. Not to mention she got married. And to make matters worse, she lost him again - he died. Now that she had him back, her wise and all-knowing brother had taken it upon himself not to tell her, his heartbroken little sister who had lost the love of her life, that he was not actually dead. "Should we be expecting news of Robb anytime soon? Or will you keep that to yourself as well?"