CHAPTER 46 | BEGINNING OF THE END

WARNING: SMUT

JON didn't remember much from his childhood, other than Catelyn Stark hating him. In fact, one of his most important memories was one he managed to push so far back in his skull, he never thought of it again.

Tucked under the furs and covers of his cot at night, a young Jon Snow struggled to sleep. He tossed and turned, but nothing seemed to work. Given the fact that he was around the age of ten, it was an early time of the night to go to bed, for he could still hear the adults of the castle causing a commotion downstairs. He didn't want to be held up in his room; he wanted to be down there, with the people. But Catelyn forbade it.

When he finally managed to rid himself of consciousness, Jon dreamt himself flying. Bran once told him he had started to have flying dreams of his own, but Bran had not experienced one of Jon's. He sped through wind and water. He sped through land and time. He often had dreams such as this, and they enticed him, causing him to hope for a better tomorrow – one where he could sore and be alone.

In a split second, Jon felt his body start to fall. He barely had sense of what was going on around him as he dropped to the snowy ground below. The chill of the air hit the back of his head, and he almost didn't believe the moment was actually happening before him. His dreams always felt too real.

Jon didn't know how long he lay there, buried in the deep snow. He felt droplets hit his head and he blinked them away. The sky was so clear, and to think that he had just been soaring through it made him excited. Dark, black locks fell around his face, and before Jon could lift a hand and push them away, he caught the slightest glimpse of an arrow spiraling just above his head.

He sat up quickly, locking eyes with a pair just a few feet in front of him. He wasn't alone. A bow was lowered. A hand pushed back the bushes covering it. A figure emerged.

Through the heaviness of his lids, Jon watched a blonde head reveal itself from the darkness. It was a woman, with hair as white as snow, and eyes that captured a mixture between a muddy brown and an emerald green. She stood tall against his trembling form, buried within a mound of snow. They continued their stare towards each other as she slung her bow across her back.

Jon noticed the way her brow furrowed then at her surroundings. She blinked away the small snowflakes that cascaded on her long lashes, and she began to shiver from the cold. The silence was deafening, but Jon couldn't take his eyes away from the older woman. She was beautiful; not like any other lady he had seen in Winterfell. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Her head spun to his again. She cocked it to the side. "Where am I?" She finally spoke, her voice light and airy, but full of integrity. Her accent was nothing he'd ever heard of. She adjusted the bow on her back, wrinkling her nose. "How did I learn to use this?"

"I ..." Jon's lip quivered. His tone was high, for he hadn't hit the age of manhood yet. He must look like a scared child in front of her. "I do not know" was all he could muster.

The woman took a step towards him, and despite Jon urging himself to go back, he couldn't. He was curious, to say the least. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours. The woman then knelt in front of a young Jon Snow, and when he saw her reaching out, he moved back an inch. He realized she was grabbing for the arrow that punctured the tree behind him. He watched her play with it between her fingers. Her brow furrowed again, and Jon guessed that she was contemplating on how she managed to shoot the bow. The reason for her confusion, he would never know.

Her muddy eyes connected with his again. A smirk graced her chapped lips. "What is your name?"

"I was told not to speak with strangers," Jon blurted. He hated himself for saying it, but it was only the truth.

Her lids narrowed, for even she was skeptical of their exchange. She looked down at her hands, before staring at his young face. He grew uncomfortable under her gaze, but at the same time, he had never felt more at ease.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong," she uttered, "but I feel as if we are not strangers at all."

Jon wanted to respond. Though, he couldn't fathom a sentence. He wanted to ask her name as well. He wanted to ask where she came from, and why her accent was so foreign. He wanted to know why she could blend in with the snow around them, almost as if she were made of the storm itself. He wanted to know why she was confused on how she could shoot an arrow. He wanted to know everything about this older woman in this moment, but his thoughts were cut short when he, unwillingly – by probably some higher being and not of his own consciousness – plucked the arrow from her hands and stabbed it through her gut.

He looked down at his hand in horror. Why had he done that? He never wanted to. He didn't have control over his own body, and yet, he continued to shove the large arrow through her stomach. The woman stared at him oddly, as if she were expecting this to happen. Her hands – cold to the touch, but warmer than his own – then wrapped around his, helping him plunge the arrow deeper.

He finally was able to force himself to let go of the weapon. Blood dripped from his hands to the snow, staining the ground red. He screamed at the top of his lungs, watching the woman collapse to the ground.

It was then that a young Jon had awoken, with blood no longer covering his fingertips. What he didn't know is that somewhere – deep in another time or universe – a child named Maia Sanders had the same dream, featuring an older – yet wise – Jon Snow. Both quickly forgot the exchange.

•••

Maia's eyes opened with a flash. Light beamed in through the windows of her bedroom in Winterfell, causing her to rub at her lids. Maia felt odd about the dream she had, seeing as this was the same dream that had recurred during her childhood. She hoped it wasn't coming back, though she couldn't help but be amazed that she had somehow predicted her meeting with Jon Snow years ago.

Maybe it had been destiny working in her favor again. Maia had become acquainted with the history of the Traveler while cooping herself inside Winterfell's library. The Traveler came from the Red God religion, also known as Melisandre's worshipping. The first Traveler was an unknown man and was given his powers from a High Priestess to travel to other worlds. After his death, worshippers of R'hllor believe that the Traveler is reincarnated every 50 years, so they can travel to Westeros from a different universe and help defeat a Great Other. Most Travelers, despite their area of origination, have last names related to families in Westeros, which explained her last name was connected to House Sanders, but this didn't mean that she had ever been part of the family. Fanatics believe that the new Traveler is reborn in the last universe the old Traveler visited.

She learned that the Traveler was made to be a companion of the Azor Ahai, to help he or she through their conquest. Maia remembered Melisandre claiming Jon to be this, and the memory of her former friend caused her to release a sigh. Even when she was gone, Maia was still believing her words to be true.

Maia glanced over at Jon, staring at the light streaming over his bare body. She smiled softly, moving his head to the left to look at her. His lips tugged into a grin at the sight of her underneath the covers as well. "Good morning, my lady," he greeted.

"I am not your lady," she scoffed, releasing his chin from her hold. Maia wrapped her sheet around herself before approaching their window, peering down towards the small folk. "I'm your mistress."

"That will be the term once I am married to another, but for now, you're nothing of the sort." He sat up on the mattress, staring at his lady in awe. "I'm also surprised you haven't mentioned what day it is yet. You've been egging me on about it for days on end."

Maia instantly turned, a smirk gracing her features. She walked back over to Jon and sat herself on his chest before leaning down to kiss him. "Happy name day," she said against his lips.

He hated that she had somehow discovered the date from Sansa. Jon tended to forget his birthday – not like he wanted to remember it anyways – and he never had a celebration for it in all of his life. "Don't say that," he sighed.

"Then what do you want me to say?" She muttered, allowing the sheet to slowly slide off. "Congratulations on another year of skillful death evasion?"

Jon, to her surprise, chuckled. "No, I ... I don't like being reminded of my name day. I don't need it and I don't want anything."

"Nothing, eh?" Maia smirked again and pressed her lips onto his own. Their mouths moved in sync with one another, and though both reeked of sex from the night before, they craved each other more than anyone would understand.

Jon's calloused hands moved from her jaw to her breasts. The light from their window suddenly felt hot against their skin, and every hair on Maia's body began to stand up. Her fingers ran through his hair, of which was getting long again, and lingered towards his shoulders and chest. Maia's breath was hot against his own and she slowly felt his length harden against her back. She even felt the area between her thighs grow slick.

Jon found other ways to help please her. With her mouth lingering to the right of his own, he managed to stick two fingers inside of her, ever so slowly. Maia's warm breath feathered onto his stubble, instantly removing the chill from his body. He repeatedly moved his fingers in and out of her, causing his name to be blurted out in small murmurs from her lips. She wanted him so dearly.

Maia sat up, staring at him with heat in her eyes. The time of the morning was early, but both were too awake for their own good. A drip of saliva still hung from Jon's lip, and Maia rubbed it away. Keeping her eyes on his own, she moved downward on his body before sitting herself on top of his hard member. An inhuman noise emerged from her throat as she gripped his shoulders suddenly. She began moving up and down his manhood as his digits wrapped around her arms.

Jon stared at her – his lady, his lover, his companion – and grappled with the idea that this woman was his, nor was she owned by anyone. As she bounced on his shaft, Jon found it hard to focus on anything but her. Jon's memories reverted him back to the cave, but these moments with Maia were better than the cave. Their love didn't need to be hidden, and he knew this as he wondered if those in the castle could hear them.

Maia breathed out his name loudly as she climaxed at the same time as Jon, allowing his seed to fill her. Her grip on his shoulder's loosened. His eyes closed. Sweat coated both their bodies. She slid off of him and fell atop his chest. Maia released a sigh of relief as her fingers continued to linger across his skin. "Happy birthday," she mumbled again.

Her heart grew bigger at the sight of his smile and no rebuttal, but the thought of children screaming in her ears made a sense of fear grow inside of her. Maia was confused that no matter how many times they laid with each other, she still bore no child. Not that she was asking for one, because that would make his quest to find a marriage alliance quite hard, but it still perplexed her.

The crying of children began to fill her ears more, but before she could stop it, Maia realized it was only Sansa Stark calling their names for breakfast.

•••

A/N: Happy Book III everybody!!!!! It's been too long since I updated this book, and I'm sure you all know it's because I was waiting for Season 7 to start. Now that it has, updates should be coming more frequently! I think I'll be able to keep my same updating schedule: Mondays and Thursdays!

This may seem like a filler chapter for the first update of Book III, but these scenes were necessary in setting up the theme of the final act of "Stranger." Book I was about soulmates; Book II revolved around destiny, and Book III's theme will be secrets. Hope that makes you guys excited, because I know I am!