CHAPTER 39 | BLOOD OF MY BLOOD

IF there was anything Maia craved in that moment, it was a hot shower. She desired to have warm water rushing down her face, cleansing her body of grime and work. (Lest we forget, she had fallen into a pile of mud over seventy-two hours ago.) But here she was, changing into a pair of underclothes to sleep while feeling the dirt cling to herself as if she were a magnet.

She needed to just not think for a moment. She wanted to not remember that Jon somehow wanted to marry her, or his goddamn prophecy. She didn't want to think about the things she shouldn't be apart of. She was a Traveler, not a part in some God's game. At least, that's what she thought.

Maia stared at her naked body, picking out the points she wished she could change – or clean, for that matter. Her hair felt greasy. Her body felt filthy. She stared at the large, metal pot nestled in the corner of her tent, thinking it could be used as a tub.

The blonde gathered together two Wildling men to help her, after she had clothed herself. She advised them to take the tub, carry it to the stream to fill, and return. They happily obliged, for they couldn't fall asleep either. Maia remembered Davos saying the stream was of perfect use for the horses, but he hadn't fallen in mud.

The men came back no little than a few minutes later, sending droplets of water to the floor as they carried the full tub. They set it back down in the corner of the room and Maia thanked them, realizing that for a group of people so talked down, they had their good moments.

Maia instantly threw off her clothes and cascaded herself into the tub, immediately feeling the soot on her skin wash away. The water was cold – dreadfully cold – but as she sat in that tub by the fire, she wanted nothing less. She needed to not think about what she'd heard from Melisandre's conversation. She sunk herself into the small pot before coming up again, running her fingers through her hair. When she opened her eyes, she saw Jon standing in the tent's entryway, staring at her.

"Where did you –?"

She smiled. "Water from the stream. It's cold, but it does the job." She brought the water up, brushing it over her arms. "I needed this ... mud off of me. It was starting to feel too disgusting."

"Understandable," he muttered, removing his chest plate and cloak.

Maia watched him with ease. He took his hair out of the small bun he kept it in, allowing the short length to fly freely. She laid her arm outside the tub, leaning on it as she said, "You wanted to ask me something?" She hoped – more like, prayed – to whatever fucking god was in this world that it wasn't what she was thinking of.

Jon had realized Melisandre's words had struck a chord within him. He knew of the prophecy; the witch had only spoke of it a thousand times. But at the same time, Jon knew this was his life, and he was going to lead it in the way he wanted. He didn't understand how Melisandre found out, though people in his party were known to be eavesdroppers. He was going to do it anyways. Jon had spent so long in pain – in agony – and Gods forbid, that he actually wanted to do something unlike himself for once. He wanted to feel peace, to feel secure. After Ygritte, it was hard, but he had finally found something with Maia, and he knew Ygritte would've wanted him to be happier.

He slid his hand through his hair, allowing the black strands to fall over his face. Jon's heart began to beat fast as he made his way over to her.

Maia smiled as he knelt in front of her, trying to hide her terror when he held her hand. "I did. I have something to ask of you, Maia."

The blonde released a huff. "I would suggest on making it quick. It's so close to being the next day already."

Jon chuckled, almost as if it were a nervous mechanism. "I know ..." He began, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. His grip on her hand softened. "I know we haven't known each other for a long time. I know that when we met, you were promised to another. I know that the time we met, I was in grief over a lost lover. I don't know many things, but I also know that I am madly in love with you."

She looked down at their hands joined together, before glancing up at his eyes. "Jon, you don't have to –"

"Now, I'm tired of people telling me not to do things today. At least, let me get this out." He sighed. "It's been a hard life, Maia. I never wanted to become Lord Commander. I never wanted to feel anything for you, because I couldn't. I never ... wanted to die. But here we both are, gifted by something of the Gods and part of some righteous plan. I want us to go down this path together – until the end of time. You are the blood of my blood, and bone of my bone. I have given you my body, so that us two might be one. I have given you my spirit, 'til our life be done.

"I don't have anything to give you. I'm not very sure how these things work exactly. Albeit to all of this, I want to feel whole again, and I'm sure I feel that way around you. You remind me of wholeness, security, and passion. You remind me of things I miss. You remind me that there is still good in this horrific world we live in. The Gods gave me a rare woman and I loved her well."

She sucked air in through her nostrils. Here it comes –

"Lady Maia of House Sanders, I would like to ask for your hand in marriage."

He stared at her – desperately, anxiously. Maia finally exhaled, opening her eyes to his own. She slowly shook her head, whispering, "You cannot ask that of me."

"Why not?" He stood, beginning to pace before her tub. "Is it because of the time? Is it our age? Most already wed at age thirteen, and I know you're one year older than me, but –"

She grasped his hand, her damp fingers tangling with his own. "Jon!" He finally looked over at the call of his name. "It's the night before one of the most important battles in the North. I'm sure it'll be written about in history books. You cannot ask me to marry you when we do not know the outcome of tomorrow. If I were to accept, and then you die tomorrow ... It's unfair."

"Are you saying we're going to lose?"

"No, no. But if you fall, I know there is a possibility that you might not come back – for good." She shook her head. "I ... I'll think about it."

He nodded as she used his hand for support to lift herself from the tub. She watched his eyes wander from her head to toes. Before she could think twice, she pushed her dampness against him, caressing her fingers across his face. "What is marriage compared to when two people love each other?" Her lips just about brushed his own. "I've learned that over the years. Maybe marriage and betrothal is what drove me away from my ex-lover. All I know is that I love you, and I think that's enough."

With her bareness pressed against him, he would've said anything in that moment. He bobbed his head at her words. His breath fanned her cheeks, "You're going to be the death of me, Maia Sanders."

"You know what they say," she grinned slightly. "Find what you love and let it kill you."

His hand cupped her cheek as he eyed her prominent bruise. Hate mixed with care. His blood boiled, and he didn't know if it was for his fury of Ramsay or his excitement for his lady in front of him. "I'll kill them all tomorrow, Maia." He whispered before tasting her lips between his tongue. His other hand went to her breast as he locked it in between his calloused digits. Maia's fingers entwined with his locks, bringing her closer to him once again.

And just as he bit on her lip, she heard him utter, "I'll kill him."

•••

Maia tied his collar for him. She helped put on his chest plate and secured it to his body. She fastened his belt and sheath on his waist.

It was hard to get up that morning. Maia and Jon assisted each other in getting dressed, still tired from the night's festivities. Like most evenings, Jon had nightmares, and thus left him physically exhausted for the day again. Initially, their love-making was to be expected, because neither of them knew if they were going to see each other again on this day. Maia hoped that assumption was wrong.

A horn blew outside, followed by dozens of shouts. Jon looked at Maia, who had just finished braiding her hair. "It's time."

She raised a hand and glided her thumb across his cheek. "I love you." She whispered, planting a light kiss on his forehead. "Don't fight to kill today, Jon. Fight to win."

He nodded before they locked arms and made their way outside into the snow. Jon began rallying up all the troops. Sansa stood beside Maia, watching them all get into formation. Jon and the others mounted their horses, ready to move in the early morning sun. As they were about to move, with Jon leading in the front, he looked back, seeing both his sister and lover smiling at him. He gave them one last wave before departing.

Maia watched every single troop pass them. It was moments like these when she wished she knew what part they we at in this story of Westeros and power, but she didn't have Derek anymore to explain. "I pray to the Gods that we have a victory." She mused bitterly.

"Don't worry," Sansa replied. "I have a feeling they might."

•••

A/N: FYI - part of the "blood of my blood" speech is from Outlander!