Sacrifice Is a Beautiful Thing (Jojen Reed)

C H A P T E R 9

Mara POV

No roads ran through the twisted mountain valleys where they walked now. Between the grey stone peaks lay still blue lakes, long and deep and narrow, and the green gloom of endless piney woods. Giant grey-green trees loomed above them in endless profusion. The undergrowth was sparse beneath them, the forest floor carpeted in dark green needles. 

Meera led us single file, guided by the stars. First came Meera, then Hodor bearing Bran, then Jojen, then I, walking silently behind.

"Up and down," Meera would sigh as we walked, "then down and up. Then up and down again. I hate these stupid mountains of yours, Prince Bran."

"Yesterday you said you loved them."

"Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say."

Bran grimaced at her playfully. "But you just said you hated them." 

Meera shrugged, "Why can't it be both?"

"Because they're different. Like night and day, or ice and fire."

Jojen said, the first time he had spoken for days, "If ice can burn, then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one."

Meera spun gracefully around and said cheerfully, "One, but overwrinkled."

"If we took the kingsroad we could be at the Wall by now," Bran kept saying. I knew he wanted to find the three-eyed crow, so he could learn to fly. Half a hundred times he said it, until Meera took to teasing by saying it along with him. 

"If we took the kingsroad we wouldn't be so hungry either," he started saying then. Down in the hills they'd had no lack of food. But now, here in the mountains, the streams were smaller and more icy, and the game scarcer. Meera still hunted and fished when she could, but it was harder, and some nights even Summer found no prey. Often we went without food.

But Jojen remained determined to stay well away from roads, and I agreed with him whenever Bran attempted to call a vote. "Where you find roads you find travelers," Jojen said in that way he had, "and travelers have eyes to see, and mouths to spread tales of the crippled boy, his giant, and the wolf that walks beside them." And so we struggled on.

It didn't help that my greendreams were becoming more and more frequent. Most of the time they didn't make sense. Occasionally, I caught snippets of Jojen among weirwood trees, or him stumbling in deep snow. One time, I witnessed an exceptionally clear episode in which he was kneeling over a body in a pool of red-stained snow. But I didn't understand the significance of those dreams. 

Each time, they left me physically exhausted and with a pounding headache. Every so often, I would become winded and have to lean against a tree for support while I caught my breath. The same thing was happening to Jojen. Meera watched us worriedly and called frequent breaks.

***

The most terrifying greendream happened when we had just made camp for the night.

Meera was prodding the smoking fire tentatively, chatting to Bran. All of a sudden, Jojen began to shake uncontrollably where he lay. I crawled over anxiously. Then my vision blurred, and I lost control of my body, collapsing painfully into the hard forest ground. Vaguely I heard Bran ask what was wrong before I was submerged entirely in the greendream.

I found myself on a rooftop, watching a clamoring crowd surge towards - what was that? A chopping block? I spotted Sansa, dressed richly as always, standing by Prince Joffrey. Arya was there too - swept along in the mob. She was in the guise of a boy, and she looked panicked. I could just discern Jojen in the shadows of an ornate building. What was happening?