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MAIA'S finger ran across the mantle, and when she looked down, she found dust clung to it. She had never thought – in all her years of being so average and normal – that she would be here: in another universe; in Winterfell.
Windows surrounded the common room on all sides, allowing big strobes of light in. A large table sat in front, with a cold hearth just behind it. Feet echoed loudly against the stone floors. Four chairs wobbled when touched, and Maia glanced backwards, noticing Jon was sliding his hand on the tops of the vintage wood. Melisandre stood near him, but his focus was on nothing but his environment, for he hadn't been in this room for so long. His eyes casted towards the ceiling, remembering all the times he'd spent in this very place, almost as if it were yesterday.
He laid two hands on the chairs, looking forward in Maia's direction, who stood at the other end of the room. Just the sight of him – in amazement; the way he looked awestruck – almost made her weak in the knees, and for a second, Maia wondered what would happen if they were to make love on top of the ancient table. Jon watched her laugh softly to herself, already knowing what promiscuous thoughts she was thinking.
"When we had feasts, my family would sit up here." He pointed his finger towards the end of the room, where Maia stood. "And I'd sit down there."
Maia frowned, making her way over to the front with Melisandre. "That seems cruel," she murmured. "Men and women; bastards and highborns: everyone should be treated equal."
"Not everyone has come from a world with morals such as yours, Lady Maia." Melisandre mused. "Could've been worse, Jon Snow. You had a family. You had feasts."
He cracked a smile, an expression Maia enjoyed to see. "Aye, you're right. I was treated luckier than most."
Maia walked about, moving behind the table towards the hearth. Antique carvings were etched into the stone, creating a beautiful artistic peace on the mantle. She was so amazed by the authenticity of the common room, she almost didn't hear Ser Davos stomp inside.
The three turned at the sound of his steps. Maia didn't know what to think of his normally grey eyes – for once, they held such anger. She hadn't seen him so furious before as he stumbled towards them. He lifted his hand once he was near, throwing a small, black object to Melisandre, who caught it quickly. She smiled at first, and then looked down, her face falling flat. She glanced from Davos to the object.
"What is that?" Jon asked.
Maia furrowed her brow, trying to get a better look from her spot next to Jon. "Is that a wooden horse?"
"Tell them." Davos ordered the witch. His fists clenched as he glared.
Melisandre bit her lip and glanced at Jon. Her mouth didn't move.
