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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.
