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PART SIX ❦
"A TREE WITH THE MASK OF A MAN," Malaena furrowed her brows as she inspected the peculiar tree, with white bark and blood red leaves— and an elderly gentleman carved into its base as if it had been delicately sculpted through the hands of an artist. "What an odd thing to pray to, don't you think?"
Sansa knelt at the tree's roots, her head hung in prayer, her red hair cascading down her dark-furred cloak—Sansa tipped her head up, ever so slightly, to narrow her light eyes towards Malaena, shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. You didn't have to come."
"I wanted to observe the ways of your old forest gods," Malaena shrugged. She sat down beside the younger girl near the water's edge. "The Drowned God has no real shrines."
Sansa moved from her kneeling position, now sitting cross-legged beside Malaena. "Then where do you go to pray?"
"The water," Malaena spoke softly, her gaze drifting towards the glistening lake before them, rippling in the light wind. "More specifically the ocean. I suppose this lake is the closest I will get to the sea for a long time."
"You worship a body of water and yet you call praying to a tree peculiar?"
"The ocean doesn't have an old, bleeding face."
Sansa's eyes rolled, almost hidden under her long lashes—but Malaena saw and she chuckled at the girl's irate response.
"What are you doing, Lady Greyjoy?" A voice asked, followed by heavy footsteps.
Slowly, Malaena turned and faced Robb Stark, who was stood above her, towering over her as she sat in the grass below. He had a smirk playing off his features, but not one of mocking, one of amusement.
Jon and Theon were close behind him, along with their horses.
"Are you trying to convert my sister to your savage religion?"
"The faith of the Drowned God is not savage."
"Oh, is it not?" Robb continued, his expression light and playful, mocking her—but only in jest. "Then what do you call a religion that only teaches to pillage, thieve, and destroy?"
"My religion may encourage those things," Malaena agreed, her mouth tugging at the corners until a half-smile formed. "But that's because it's an honest religion. Your religion doesn't promote these things but your people still plunder and pillage—ask your father, he'll tell all about what the North did to my home."
Words stumbled out of Robb's mouth, none of them stringing together to make much sense—
"But your father started a rebellion," he finally uttered. "He started the fighting—"
"And your father and Robert Baratheon finished it, I know, ruining villages, knocking down towers—" she paused, nodding in Theon's direction. "And they stole my only brother left standing."
