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AFTER four long, tiring months, Maia finally had her last appointment with her psychiatrist. She had lied her way through it, making the professional trust that she was completely normal, that she didn't believe the things she wasn't supposed to.
Her psychiatrist, Dr. Paige, deemed her healthy, and let Maia be on her way with her life. She had somehow convinced Dr. Paige that everyone was right: her version of coping from her kidnapping (of which she could barely remember) was believing she had been transported to her former fiancé's favorite show. But little did the doctor know that in her spare time, Maia wasn't busy looking up listings for a new job, but researching the art of time travel – specifically, traveling within alternate universes.
Maybe Derek was right. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she had gone absolutely bonkers, but she was most definitely good at acting like she was better.
Sometimes she glanced at Derek's old Facebook page to see what he was up to, though she could only see his most recent profile picture since he defriended her. He had moved out of her apartment, got a new girlfriend now, and he was happier. Maia had no doubt that the engagement ring that used to rest on her finger would pass on to Derek's new girl. This was better for both of them.
Maia's heart yearned for Jon again. During the early stages of coping, Maia found herself banging on the glass of her TV as Jon Snow appeared on repeats, screaming at him if he could hear her. He couldn't, and Maia knew that Derek's works were right.
She was completelyfucked up.
But Maia was certain that everything she experienced was real, and through one way or another, she was going to return to Jon's universe.
•••
The investigation Maia had conducted reigned true, even though she wasn't entirely sure of it herself.
Alternate universes were as real as your favorite brand of toothpaste bought from a local supermarket. Imagine a world where your favorite television characters were real, and to them, your world consisted of the characters. There were universes just like that, or others with different clothing choices or times. It was all real, but little to none believed in such a theory.
Maia may not have traveled within the show of Game of Thrones itself, but possibly wormed her way into a universe where the world of Westeros was real. Thus, this initiated her concept that she could possibly journey between different universes, as long as she had a source of passage. She didn't understand how she – Maia Sanders, the seemingly normal girl – was allowed to do this. She had been living her life as an ordinary being, not knowing she had a greater purpose with her new talent.
In this said universe, Melisandre was currently gliding her hands through a dead Jon Snow's course hair. Ser Davos, Ed, and Tormund stood behind, watching as she extracted materials to wash the wounds and blood that coated the corpse before them. Her dark red hair was unusually frizzy, for she had been dreading this moment since the Onion Knight had approached her. She had thought so many things, and now she came to the realization that she was nothing. Davos assured that they at least had to try, if not for them, but for the destiny of the Watch.
She had trimmed his facial hair before taking a blade to cut his long curls and threw them into the cup of flames to her right. She began mumbling words of her God, taking note of how each stab thrust into Jon's gut was unique in it's own way. The three men looked around at each other as Melisandre continued her words of prayer, drowning Jon's hair with water from a steel pitcher. She ran her fingers through the locks and moved in front of his chest one again.
Bags hung heavy over her eyes. Doubt plagued her mind, but the Red Woman took a long moment to believe that her Lord would guide her – just this one moment. She rubbed her hands together before laying them on top of Jon's torso.
"Hen sendruro oños. Hen ñuqir perzys. Hen morghot glaeson." She retracted her words from the Red God, looking at the men that surrounded her with tired eyes. She cleared her throat before continuing. "Hen sendruro oños. Hen ñuqir perzys. Hen morghot glaeson."
Melisandre opened her eyes to look at Jon's dying corpse. He didn't move, but really, the witch didn't know what she was to be expecting. She breathed in, repeating quicker and firmer, "Hen sendruro oños. Hen ñuqir perzys. Hen morghot glaeson."
She glanced again. Nothing. "Hen sendruro oños. Hen ñuqir perzys. Hen morghot glaeson." Maybe she only had to whisper. "Hen sendruro oños. Hen ñuqir perzys. Hen morghot glaeson."
Ser Davos's eyes met Tormund's as Melisandre slowly lifted her hands off the corpse. She couldn't do it. She had no power. Her God didn't believe in her.
Her orbs bore into Davos', and he immediately saw the look of failure in them. The woman, who was usually so proud, was disappointed in herself. Tormund shook his head and left the room that had been so heavily guarded from Jon's traitors before.
The Red Woman leaned over Jon's body in agony. The Lord of Light helped those who were promised, and though she had also believed Stannis was the Azor Ahai, the death of Jon Snow rocked her to truly see the reality of what was in front of her. The Prince Who Was Promised had to be as real as Lady Sanders disappearing into apparent "thin air" after Jon was murdered, but she wouldn't let anyone know this information. Magic and power existed, she just didn't have enough of it.
She shook her head before passing through the open door with Ed. The flames flickered on Davos' aged face as he approached Jon's carcass, tilting his head. He let out a sigh as he took one last look at his former Commander, and walked out of the rickety cabin.
Ghost had been sleeping soundly next to Jon's body, enjoying the warmth of the fire, and oddly sat up when the others left. His glowing crimson eyes looked at his owner, who lay on an old table above him.
And as the direwolf started pawing at the floor, Jon Snow's eyes flashed open. He took his first breath. Then another. And another. He began gasping, searching for air that he thought he couldn't have. He wasn't looking through darkness anymore. He was seeing color. This couldn't be happening. He took the air in his lungs like he had reached paradise.
While his eyes adjusted to the real scenery around him, Jon's conscious only repeated one name: Maia Sanders.
