CHAPTER 45 | DESTINY

DAARIO looked out at the ships crossing into the waters. He stood atop the Great Pyramid of Meereen, watching one of the greatest lovers of his life lead an army of boats across the seas to King's Landing. He was heartbroken, to say the least. He didn't care about Meereen. He did everything for her, but here was him, and out there was her.

"There's finally peace in Meereen." Daenerys had uttered, in her beautiful, soothing voice. "You will keep the peace while the people choose their own leaders."

Where was his say in the matter? "Fuck Meereen," he had spat. "Fuck the people."

His words reigned true. He absolutely did not care. He was there for Daenerys, but clearly, she could not be there for him – no matter how much she wanted to. Maybe she had truly never cared about him. Maybe she had, though Daario did notice how easily she was able to withdraw him on coming to King's Landing with her.

As Daario continued to watch his Queen ride away and dwell on his matters, he hadn't noticed the sound of a bird squawking to his right. Suddenly, a raven perched itself on the ledge of the pyramid, and began staring at Daario. The man finally realized this and lofted a brow as he made his way over to it. He untied the letter from the raven, watching it immediately fly back to it's sender. He unraveled the scroll, scanning the contents in disbelief.

A new King in the North? Why the fuck would anyone in Meereen care about such a thing? Perhaps Daario was still bitter about his breakup, but reading the letter meant for Daenerys made him miss her even more. She was wanted in the North – apparently – by this Lady Maia of House Sanders, whoever that was. She was needed for the Great War, he read.

What type of threat could possibly be made of winter? If it was any monster that could brave the cold on the perimeter of the Wall, having three dragons could surely help their cause.

Daario viewed back up, observing the lead ship sailing off into the distance. The sender had just missed the Queen before she rode off to King's Landing. For once, Daario hoped that this said threat would not make it's way South.

•••

With a hearty chuckle, Maia pulled back on the elastic of her bow. Though the war was over, Tormund suggested more practice on their part everyday would make both stronger. Maia took interest in the archery range Winterfell had, remembering a time when she used to fly arrows at her childhood summer camp.

"Move a little bit more to the right," Tormund advised as he watched from the side.

Maia nodded, doing as he said. Her grip on the bow tightened, while her other hand grasping the elastic pulled back farther. She squinted her eyes, making sure she was going to be precise. "Any day now," Tormund muttered.

Instantly, Maia released the elastic, watching the arrow soar directly into the middle of the target. She turned to the Wilding, a smirk plastered on her face. He scoffed, "I'm telling you: hesitation will be your downfall."

"Oh, bite me." She shook her head, loading in another arrow. This time, she managed to let it fly faster, but it pierced the target just a little bit off from the center. She frowned, though kept up a quick pace as she let more arrows puncture the target. Maia knew she was no swordsman, but perhaps her use of archery could help in the wars to come.

"Maia!"

The blonde spun at the call of her name, almost sending an arrow in the direction. She looked up and saw Sansa on the uppermost level of the castle. She lofted a brow in interest, and Sansa continued, "I think Jon wants to see you in your chambers."

Maia nodded, ignoring Tormund's reply, "Oh, going to fool around with the King in the North. Does that now make you a mistress?"

She narrowed her eyes in his direction before shoving the bow and arrow onto his chest. "Try to get better than me while I'm gone," she sneered.

"I think I'll have a lot of time to do that." The Wildling chuckled as she walked away.

Migrating through Winterfell was even more complicated than the halls of Castle Black, but at least the structure was so much nicer. There was something so exquisitely antique about the castle, and Maia loved the fancy adornments that hung amongst the corridors. She made her way to the second level and headed towards her shared room with Jon. He had the Lord's chamber prepared for Sansa, so Maia and Jon took over the next best room, which used to be supposedly owned by Robb Stark.

She pushed open the door, almost blinded by the overwhelming amount of light around the room. Jon laid on their mattress, one hand over his eyes as the other gripped a bouquet of dying flowers. Maia laughed softly when she noticed snores erupting from his mouth. He had the right to be tired, after all he'd done.

She sat on the bed, poking his arm. Suddenly, Jon jolted up, eyes wide as they adjusted to the scene around him. "Seven hells," he muttered sleepily, "you frightened me."

"You have your sister ask for me to meet you," Maia recounted, "and yet, here you were: sleeping. Something is wrong with this scene."

Jon realized he still had the pile of wilted flowers that clearly weren't made for the harsh conditions in the North. He had found a small patch of them growing in the mud on the edge of the castle, but now noticed they were dying so quickly. He thrust his hand forward. "These are for you."

"Thank you," she smiled, releasing a chuckle. "You ... made a good effort."

Jon rubbed at his eyes. "I don't think I was thinking correctly when I picked those."

Maia nodded in agreement. "So, what do you need?"

He sighed, looking into her dark eyes. She got her answer from just the glance. She knew what he wanted, but there was a nervous feeling still shifting inside her stomach. There was so much pressure. Maia hadn't felt this type of force when she agreed to marry Derek, but maybe that was because she had been settling, and didn't know where her true fate lied.

Jon took her hands in his, tracing his thumb over her scabbed knuckles. "You've kept me waiting for days."

"I know, I know." She sighed, refusing to look at him. "I feel slightly pressured."

He lofted a brow. "How so?"

"Jon," she muttered with a frown. Her hand slipped from his so she could run her thumb over the hollows of his cheeks. "I don't want to be Lady of Winterfell. I'm so happy you finally got the chance to be something important – that you can say that you're actually the King in the North. But I do not deserve to stand – or even rule, for that matter – beside you."

He nodded, a huff escaping his lips. "I understand that, but I will not force you to be anything you don't want to." He suddenly kissed her head. "Just give me a simple yes or no. That's all I need, Maia. Don't torture me anymore."

Maia bit her lip, her mind reverting to all memories that circled throughout the past few days. From Melisandre's conversation with Jon, to her own with Sansa. Everything pointed in the direction she shouldn't go in, and yet Maia felt a yearning to accept, just to be by his side forever.

"I believe you are the Prince Who Was Promised, but I hope Maia does not become your Nissa Nissa." Melisandre said.

Though what would happened if she did become Nissa Nissa? Melisandre explained that her path led her to Jon Snow, so he was who she'd follow as a Traveler. The witch wasn't someone any of them trusted very well now, but her prophecies were to be taken seriously. Maia was meant to help him – to guide him, somehow. If she became this Nissa Nissa, would her purpose be diminished? Would she be diminished?

Maia stared into the eyes of her lover, watching him gaze at her with heartfelt intent. She exhaled slowly before muttering, "No."

The air shifted. Jon's heart stopped. He looked down at their conjoined hands, wanting to pinch himself to believe if this moment was real or not. He looked back up. "Was it ... something I did?"

"No, of course not," she replied, shaking her head. She held his face in her cold, delicate hands and prayed that he wasn't too hurt by her answer. "I love you, Jon Snow. I will always love you. I will love you when the mountains turn to ash. I will love you when war has destroyed all fields known to man. I will love you when the Iron Throne freezes over. I will even love you when you cannot stand me anymore, or after death. I will love you – as a bastard or the King in the North – for eternity."

Maia thought of his titles for a moment, the name, Jaehaerys, threatening to fall from her lips. She hadn't found the time to research the name just yet, or why it had occurred to her in a dream of some sort, but she speculated it was of a Targaryen bloodline. The child's eyes – the beautiful, dark brown orbs – were too famous not to realize they were Jon's, so why did the girl mutter, Jaehaerys, as a name? Maia wasn't even sure if it was Jon, because if that fact was true, that would mean Jon was not of bastard status anymore. She didn't feel that she was the one to tell him, for she wasn't certain and had no proof but an odd dream otherwise.

Jon began to furrow his brow at her. "But you won't marry me?"

"I'm not a ruler, Jon. I'm a Traveler." She smiled sadly, her digits smoothing out the tired lines under his eyes. "I'm not fit to be Lady of Winterfell. You're also king now, and to be a rightful leader, you must make alliances to secure yourself. If there's anything I remember from all the books I've read, it's that alliances are made through marriage. You must marry someone from a upper-class house, not one that nobody knows existed. Sooner or later, you must have a child with someone of noble blood, in order to have an heir."

"I don't want to marry for that reason." He frowned. "I've never wanted to marry before, but something urged me to ask you. If I'm going to marry, I want to do it for love."

Maia shook her head. "If only you grew up with me in my time. You could've done that." She pressed a chaste kiss on his mouth. "But you're in the game of thrones now, my Wolf, and this is not a game to be messed around with. Your alliances define you – they save you. You must do this to win in the Great Wars to Come."

Jon stared at her, becoming utterly silent. He knew she was right, and suddenly he became stubborn like her. He didn't want to admit it.

"I'm going to make you a promise." She huffed, holding out her pinky finger. "I don't know if you do it in this world, but where I come from, we call this a pinky promise. Once you lock your pinky fingers, that means your vow is sealed."

He nodded and held out his own finger.

"I pinky promise you, Jon Snow – the White Wolf, the King in the North – that I will forever be by your side. Whether you marry some wealthy princess or fall in love with your ally, I'm going to be right here. My path lies with you now, and I'm going to be here until the day I die. You are my destiny." She then grinned. "Try not to get sick of me anytime soon."

Jon smiled as they locked their pinkies together, sealing the promise. His brow then crinkled in thought as he looked up at her. "At least tell me you'll consider my offer more."

With a sigh, she nodded. His hands brought her closer then, and he kissed her with his heart's content. She was right, and though they were probably not to be wed, their love was something that would last forever. Marriage didn't always protect love; it bargained it. He didn't exactly know what his plans were for alliances and the like, but if there was one thing that remained secure, it was Jon Snow's love for Maia Sanders.

At first sight, she was a stranger to him. But Jon would have never thought that she'd become something so familiar to him today.

END OF BOOK II