CHAPTER 36 | THE MAN IN MOLE'S TOWN
MAIA'S hair blew in the gust of wind as her arms locked around Jon's waist. Their group of him, Sansa, Davos, and Maia rode through the newly resurfaced camp, looking down at the gathered men from their horses. Maia rested her head on Jon's shoulder, leaning herself against him as he rode her horse amongst the troops of the camp.
"Stannis camped here on his way to Winterfell," Ser Davos mentioned from the right.
Sansa furrowed her brow. "And that's a good thing?"
Maia couldn't help but notice that Sansa's tone was always laced with spite around the former knight. Davos nodded at her words regardless. "He was the most experience commander in Westeros. He chose this place for a reason." He pointed his finger upward. "Those mountains are a natural fortification. There's a stream down there for the horses, and bathing if you please."
"We're not staying here long." Jon muttered, causing Maia to glance at him. "Another storm could hit any day."
Maia stared at a group of Mormont men talking together. "We're in the North. Shouldn't that be a given by now?"
"Aye," Davos agreed, "the snow defeated Stannis as much as the Boltons did."
The four dismounted their horses, allowing a couple guards to hoard them away as they continue their stride through the camp on foot. Maia kept one of her hands locked around Jon's, watching the way some of their men's brows furrowed at the sight of the bruise on her face.
"We have to march on Winterfell now, while we still can." Jon suggested, staring at each and every one of the troops while they walked.
"Two thousand Wildlings," the Onion Knight counted, "two hundred Hornwoods, one hundred and fourty three Mazins –"
Sansa interrupted, "Sixty-two Mormonts."
"It could be worse." Maia replied, noticing Jon's grip tightening on her digits.
"It's not what we hoped for," Davos shrugged as they sauntered in the snow, "but we still have a chance. If we're careful and smart."
Ser Davos began to look back after hearing a couple men shouting profanities at each other. The Widling and Hornwood men got close, bumping their chests against one another for intimidation. Davos groaned, "Oh, for fuck's sake," before stomping over to the circle that surrounded the two troops.
Maia released a huff as the three continued to walk to the edge of the camp. "So he's your most trusted advisor now?" Sansa inquired to Jon. "Because he secured sixty-two men from a ten-year-old?"
The blonde furrowed her brow. "He's more than that, Sansa."
"Ser Davos is the reason I'm standing here talking to you both and he served Stannis for years." Jon tried to reason with her.
"Stannis?" Sansa struggled not to chuckle as shrieks echoed from behind. "Who lost the Blackwater? Who murdered his own brother? Who doesn't have a head?"
Jon grumbled, clearly agitated because he knew his sister was right. Maia sensed the fight growing deeper, but knew it wasn't in her place to say anything.
"It's not enough. We need more men."
The raven-haired commander turned. "There's no time."
"If we went down to Castle Cerwyn, I know that Lord –"
Jon freed Maia's hand from his grasp, leaving her to widen her eyes as he approached his sister closer. "We fight with the army we have!"
Sansa stared at him with tired eyes before Jon looked behind her, finally noticing the fight getting more violent. Davos wrestled to maintain all the men, and Jon sighed as he made his way over to help. The red-headed sister glanced over her shoulder at him and shook her head.
"He's right," Maia mumbled, causing Sansa's vision to rest on her. "We don't have the numbers, but we have time. If we try to gather more support, we will have more houses backing us, though it will give Ramsay more time as well." The blonde ran a hand through her hair, spotting Jon getting shoved to the ground before she began to stalk over to the fight. "You can't stop getting hurt for one fucking minute ..."
Sansa heard a squawking from her spot in the snow. She looked over to where a few men were unpacking ravens for Lady Mormont. Sansa narrowed her eyes at the birds, and almost instantly, she knew what she had to do.
•••
Under the dim light of the flame in her tent, Sansa dipped her quill back in the bottle of ink and signed her name. She held up the piece of parchment in between her fingers, admiring her handiwork. This was her last straw; her last effort. She knew that if this plan didn't work, nothing would.
You promised to protect me. Now you have a chance to fulfill your promise. Knights of the Vale are under your command. Ride North for Winterfell. Lend us your aid and I shall see to it that you are rewarded. – Sansa Stark
She sighed, pouring a splotch of red wax onto the corner of the letter and pushing her Stark stamp into it. Getting Petyr to lend them the Knights of the Vale for the battle would be the cure to a life or death situation. Sansa knew she had no part in the physical aspect of the war, but she was damn sure she would have a part in saving them.
The secret had been bugging Maia ever since they left Castle Black. Her guilt of knowing Sansa left for Mole's Town one day was one thing, but not realizing who she'd seen was eating her alive. Why was this person to be kept secret from her own brother? Did Sansa really trust him?
Maia shoved the flaps of Sansa's tent open, stomping the snow off her boots and the bottom of her skirt. The other girl immediately turned around, cocking her head to the side. "Okay," the blonde huffed, "I need to know, Sansa."
Sansa stood from her desk, sprinting over to Maia and folding the paper in between her fingers. "Maia, great timing." She smiled, handing the letter over. "I need you to send this off with a raven. It's very important –"
"Forget about the raven." Maia spat, closing the entrance to the Stark sister's tent.
Sansa's face fell.
"You never gave me an answer about Mole's Town." The blonde ran a hand through her knotted waves, wincing as her nails dug into the strands. "You've had me keep this stupid, fucking secret for so long, and I can't take it. I've kept a secret from Jon before, and I'm surprised the guilt didn't tear me apart completely. You lived with Jon throughout most of your life. You know that if you keep something from him, he's bound to find out."
Sansa nodded. "It's funny that you ask," she frowned, looking back at the letter in her hands. "This letter is for him – for the man I met in Mole's Town. Have you heard of a lord known as Petyr Baelish?"
The name was familiar. Maia wracked her brain to figure out the significance, until Derek's old voice rang in her head, and she finally realized how much she missed it: Petyr Baelish is one conniving, little man. He's also known as Littlefinger and controls basically everyone he meets. He's been obsessed with Sansa since she came of age, because he was madly in love with her mother, but Catelyn never loved him back. Since then, he's been consumed with using Sansa for his own gain.
Maia turned her head back to the Stark sibling. "Are you sure you can trust him?"
"No," she shook her head, "but who can you truly trust in Westeros?"
The blonde knew she had a point. "Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it, Sansa. Just don't go on keeping secrets from Jon. It's not good to do."
Sansa faked a smile, knowing full well that the paper in her digits held yet another secret from her step-brother.
Maia hadn't slept well in her tent that night, thoughts imploring her that Sansa had lied again, but she tried her best to shoo them away. When she had awoken the next morning, a phrase from one of her dreams kept repeating in her head, for she couldn't relieve herself of it no matter what. Maia held a hand to her chest as she sat up, restating, "Promise me, Ned," and wished to the Gods to know it's true meaning.