Sansa's heart raced, but she refused to betray her unease. She stood tall as Lady of Winterfell, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath her skin.
"I smell lies, red priestess," she declared, eyes fixed on Maelle. Her gaze then flickered to the crimson gown that draped Maelle's form, its neckline low, revealing the shadowed valley between her breasts.
Maelle's lips curved into a faint smile at the title bestowed upon her, though she bore no recollection of Melisandre herself.
Drawing nearer, Maelle's presence enveloped Sansa, a breath away, her voice a whisper tinged with the mysteries of distant Asshai. "My lady, my head is yours should a single word I speak prove false."
Aware of the closeness between them, Sansa subtly shifted back, a deliberate move to regain her composure. "Assuming your truth, why aid me? What do you seek in return?"
Maelle smiled enigmatically, her tone cloaked in mystery. "Nothing that could harm you," she replied calmly.
Sansa regarded her with a skeptical eye. "So there is something in it for yourself."
Maelle remained silent, her gaze locked with Sansa's, an unspoken affirmation in her eyes.
Sansa deliberated for a moment, her mind racing through the implications. "I want you to stay here in Winterfell. That's my command. If you attempt any deceit, execution will be swift."
Maelle's response carried a hint of gratitude. "You trust me, my lady?"
Sansa asserted her authority firmly. "Do not twist my words, priestess."
Maelle lowered her gaze briefly. She looked at the flowing blue gown enveloping Sansa's feet.
Looking back at Sansa, Maelle asked tentatively, "May I express my gratitude? It is a new tradition in Asshai."
Sansa said with a casual shrug, "You may."
In response, Maelle gracefully knelt, gently lifting the hem of Sansa's gown to reveal her leather boots.
Sansa glanced around nervously, whispering with a hint of caution, "What are you doing?"
Maelle proceeded with quiet determination. She delicately untied Sansa's boots, her fingers moving with practiced ease.
"Allow me, my lady," Maelle murmured softly.
With gentle care, Maelle lifted Sansa's foot, sliding the boot off and setting it aside before repeating the gesture with the other.
Sansa stood barefoot on the snowy ground, a shiver passing through her. "It's cold."
Maelle bowed her head respectfully, pressing her lips reverently against Sansa's instep.
As Maelle rose, Sansa regarded her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Your Asshai tradition feels rather unconventional."
Before Maelle could offer any further explanation, Brienne of Tarth appeared, her silver armor gleaming as she approached Sansa with urgency.
Bowing respectfully, Brienne addressed Sansa, "My lady, your chamber. You should come and take a look."
Turning to Maelle, Brienne inquired, "How is she…?"
Sansa felt Brienne's troubled expression. "What happened to my chamber?"
Following her duty, Brienne gestured urgently, "Come with me."
Maelle hesitated, feeling it might be intrusive to accompany them to Sansa's private quarters. "Should I?"
To Brienne's surprise, Sansa nodded decisively, granting Maelle permission to join them.
With haste, Maelle, Sansa, and Brienne hurried away, leaving questions hanging in the air like the cold breath of the northern winds.
When they arrived at the chamber, Podrick Payne stood solemnly at the doorway, his expression haunted by what lay inside.
Sansa didn't hesitate. She glanced briefly at Podrick before entering her chamber, where everything appeared as regal and unchanged as it should be.
As Sansa took a few steps toward her bed, her gaze fell upon a disturbing sight: dozens of ravens strewn across the floor, lifeless and arranged in a deliberate pattern.
Maelle stood nearby, observing the eerie arrangement of the ravens, a sense of foreboding creeping over her.
The ravens formed a symbol — a triangle.
Sansa murmured to herself, "Who could have done this?"
Brienne stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Sansa's shoulder. "Don't panic, my lady. I will personally see to the punishment of whoever committed this atrocity."
Sansa's voice grew slightly louder, her tone tinged with frustration. "I am not panicking, Ser Brienne!"
Turning to Maelle, Sansa searched her eyes as if seeking answers amidst the unsettling scene.
Maelle surveyed Podrick, then Brienne, and finally Sansa, her expression contemplative, as if piecing together a puzzle. "The real question is not who... It's why."