Sacrifice Is a Beautiful Thing (Jojen Reed)

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Green shadows dappled everyone's faces as we took shelter in the ruins of a tower. 

"We should sleep," Jojen said, once everyone had eaten. He prodded the fire. "Perhaps I'll have another green dream to show us the way."

No one moved a muscle.

I lay down, wrapping myself in my cloak. Jojen and Bran followed suit.

***

I woke up startled to Bran jostling me, looking panicked. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but then I heard footsteps approaching. The footfalls sounded heavy, slow, ponderous, scraping against the stone. I stiffened, reaching for my knife.

Jojen woke. I pressed a finger to his lips to prevent him from making any sound, but his eyes widened immediately at the sounds, the echoing footfalls, the faint whimpering, the heavy breathing echoing through the ruins.

Meera rose, grasping her three-pronged spear in one hand and her net in the other. She kept to the shadows, silent and lithe as a cat. Bran warged into Hodor, controlling the giant.

Just then, from the well came a wail, a piercing screech that reverberated through the still stale air like a knife. A hug eblack shape heaved itself up into the darkness and lurched toward the moonlight. Hodor panicked, screaming and stumbling around blindly. The thing that came in the night was screaming too, and thrashing wildly in the folds of Meera's net. Meera's spear darted out, and the thing staggered, falling heavily on the ground with a thud.

Meera stood threateningly over him, the moonlight shining silver off the prongs of her spear."Who are you?"

"I'm SAM," the black thing sobbed. "Sam, Sam, I'm Sam, let me out, you stabbed me . . . " He rolled through the puddle of moonlight, flailing and flopping in the tangles of Meera's net pathetically.

It was Jojen who fed the sticks to the fire and blew on them until the flames leapt up crackling. Then there was light, and we saw the pale thin-faced girl by the lip of the well, all bundled up in furs and skins beneath an enormous black cloak, trying to shush the screaming baby in her arms. The thing on the floor was pushing an arm through the net to reach his knife, but the loops wouldn't let him. He wasn't any monster beast, only a big fat man dressed up in black wool, black fur,black leather, and black mail.

"He's a black brother." I cringed mentally at how loud and clear and calm my voice sounded in the deadly silence.

Bran added, "Meera, he's from the Night's Watch."

"The Night's Watch, yes." The fat man was still breathing hard like a bellows. "I'm a brother of the Watch." He had one cord under his chins, forcing his head up, and others digging deep into his cheeks. "I'm a crow, please. Let me out of this."

"Are you the three-eyed crow?" Bran asked, a little excitedly.

"No," the fat man looked even more fearful. "I'm only Sam. Samwell Tarly. Let me out, it's hurting me," he began wriggling once more.

Meera rolled her eyes. "Stop flopping around. If you tear my net I'll throw you back in the well. Just lie still."

"Who are you?" Bran asked, directed toward the girl with the baby.

"Gilly," she said, then nodded towards the fat man, "He's Sam. We never meant to scare you."

Jojen peered down the well. "Where did you come from?"

"From Craster's." The girl stared at him curiously. "Are you the one?"

The one. You could hear them in capital letters.