[A Song of Ice and Fire]: To the North
It took her a while to realize that she was being watched, and then she turned slowly, not feeling worried or threatened. Here, other than the lizard-lions, they were more or less safe. This was their place, these marshes, and no one else belonged here. No one else, she thought with a quirk of her mouth, would understand the appeal.
Indeed, it was only Meera’s brother, and she relaxed, just watching him. He wasn’t really looking at her. Jojen was staring up at the sky, his gaze far away from Greywater Watch, she thought. She set the butt of her trident on a hummock of grass and leaned on it, catching her breath, and waited.
Jojen always talked when he felt like it, and only then, though he was much more talkative with her than with anyone else. He just preferred to keep his thoughts inward. Meera didn’t mind.
“I had a dream last night,” he said suddenly, voice almost vague. Meera raised her eyebrows with a smile.
“Good or bad?”
“Neither.” Jojen focused on her, slowly. “It was a green dream.”
Meera straightened and turned fully to him, her heart sinking. She knew what he meant, though it wasn’t precisely common knowledge. She didn’t understand the greensight, and didn’t really want to - she liked her world grounded in the physical, the reasonable, things that made sense to her five senses, that she could touch and taste. But she believed in it. However it had come to Jojen - most children didn’t show any such ability after almost dying from a fever, so far as she knew - it seemed real, and the fact that he had total faith in his dreams was enough for her.
On the other hand, Jojen’s green dreams never seemed to make sense, not to her anyway, and never seemed to bode well. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am,” Jojen said, almost indignantly. “The green dreams feel different. I know them.”
Meera shifted from foot to foot, waiting, but he said nothing. She wondered if he wanted to talk about it or not, but he looked troubled, so she opened her mouth. “What was it?”
Jojen took a deep breath through his nose and huffed it out shortly. He looked at Meera, then panned his eyes around the marshes. He looked even less happy and she wondered if she’d been wrong to ask. “I saw,” he said, finally, “A winged wolf chained down. There was a three-eyed crow pecking at the chains, but he couldn’t get the wolf free, he didn’t have the strength.”
Meera blinked, not even bothering to try to hide her puzzlement. “Do you know what it means?” she asked, cautiously. Jojen looked at her for a long time.
“I'm not sure. But I have seen the three-eyed crow before. It was in my fever dreams.”
Meera shuddered. Greywater fever was nearly always deadly. Jojen had never been a very robust child, and when he’d contracted it - Meera had been defiant and furious, and her father had been stoic and steadfast as ever, but everyone else had resigned themselves to grief.
She remembered sitting by his bedside, fearless of getting sick herself, holding his clammy, hot hand and insisting that he get better, but she had done nothing, and Jojen only worsened.
And then he opened his eyes, the fever broke, and he was well. And greensighted. But he had never mentioned the crow. She frowned at him.
“You never said that before.”
Jojen shrugged. “It didn’t seem important before. Only a fever dream, I thought. But maybe not.” He frowned more deeply, eyebrows drawing together. He was only thirteen, her little brother, but sometimes he looked much older than that. It would have made Meera uneasy if she didn’t know him so well. It did make others uneasy, and Jojen didn’t have many friends, but he didn’t seem to mind.
She opened her mouth to say something, she was hardly even sure what, and he cut her off. “I think we need to go north,” he said. “I think it has something to do with the north, with the Starks.”
It made sense. The Stark sigil was a wolf, and the Reeds had been even more closely tied to the Starks since Robert’s Rebellion; her father was close to Eddard Stark, or as close as you could be. She didn’t know the full story. On the other hand…
“What do you think it has to do with the Starks, and why do we have to go?” She asked. When Jojen cast her an annoyed look, Meera held up one hand defensively. “I'm not saying no. We’d have to ask our father anyway. I just want to know why.”
“It’s just a feeling,” Jojen said, and she wondered if that frustration in his face was for her or himself. “This dream was sent to me for a reason. They always are. And if it’s important then I need to be there. If you don’t want to go,” he started to say, and she snorted loudly to cut him off.
“Of course I would go if you did. I'm not going to let you wander off on your own, even to Winterfell.” Meera picked up her trident and paced over to ruffle his hair in a way she was well aware he hated. “So you don’t know who the winged wolf is? Or why you’re needed?”
“No, I don’t.” Jojen looked at her, and she got the impression she had sometimes that he was looking right through her. “I know you like to know everything before doing anything, but I need to trust this. Even if I don’t understand right now, things will come clear.”
Another thing Meera didn’t understand about her brother: his faith. He seemed to just expect that things would work out, that things would make sense and reveal themselves in time. It used to exasperate her, but as long as she was there to balance it out, to be the planner and the practical one - well. If Jojen thought it was important…
“Let’s wait,” she said, though. “Just a couple days. Maybe you’ll have another green dream, or it’ll make more sense. If nothing happens…then we can go to father and talk to him about it. All right?”
Even her father, Meera thought sometimes, was better with Jojen’s greensight than she was. Perhaps he had his own senses, she thought sometimes, and she was the only one in their little family with her feet squarely on the ground.
She was all right with that, though. Her father was a great man and a great leader. Their people trusted him, and so did she.
Jojen considered her for a few moments, and then nodded, turning toward the north, his gaze far away. “I think that’s all right,” he said. “Though only a couple days. I think it’s very important. I wouldn’t have dreamed it if it weren’t.”
“I know,” she said, and looked with him, as far out as she could see.
“Something’s stirring,” Jojen said, softly. “Something’s changing. I can feel it. Like a storm coming. Or winter, I suppose.” His smile was barely a ghost, but she was used to that; Jojen rarely smiled.
Meera felt a prickling across her spine, and nodded, slightly, glancing up at the sky obscured by mist. “That’s not your greensight,” she said, quietly. “I feel it too.”
Indeed, it was only Meera’s brother, and she relaxed, just watching him. He wasn’t really looking at her. Jojen was staring up at the sky, his gaze far away from Greywater Watch, she thought. She set the butt of her trident on a hummock of grass and leaned on it, catching her breath, and waited.
Jojen always talked when he felt like it, and only then, though he was much more talkative with her than with anyone else. He just preferred to keep his thoughts inward. Meera didn’t mind.
“I had a dream last night,” he said suddenly, voice almost vague. Meera raised her eyebrows with a smile.
“Good or bad?”
“Neither.” Jojen focused on her, slowly. “It was a green dream.”
Meera straightened and turned fully to him, her heart sinking. She knew what he meant, though it wasn’t precisely common knowledge. She didn’t understand the greensight, and didn’t really want to - she liked her world grounded in the physical, the reasonable, things that made sense to her five senses, that she could touch and taste. But she believed in it. However it had come to Jojen - most children didn’t show any such ability after almost dying from a fever, so far as she knew - it seemed real, and the fact that he had total faith in his dreams was enough for her.
On the other hand, Jojen’s green dreams never seemed to make sense, not to her anyway, and never seemed to bode well. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am,” Jojen said, almost indignantly. “The green dreams feel different. I know them.”
Meera shifted from foot to foot, waiting, but he said nothing. She wondered if he wanted to talk about it or not, but he looked troubled, so she opened her mouth. “What was it?”
Jojen took a deep breath through his nose and huffed it out shortly. He looked at Meera, then panned his eyes around the marshes. He looked even less happy and she wondered if she’d been wrong to ask. “I saw,” he said, finally, “A winged wolf chained down. There was a three-eyed crow pecking at the chains, but he couldn’t get the wolf free, he didn’t have the strength.”
Meera blinked, not even bothering to try to hide her puzzlement. “Do you know what it means?” she asked, cautiously. Jojen looked at her for a long time.
“I'm not sure. But I have seen the three-eyed crow before. It was in my fever dreams.”
Meera shuddered. Greywater fever was nearly always deadly. Jojen had never been a very robust child, and when he’d contracted it - Meera had been defiant and furious, and her father had been stoic and steadfast as ever, but everyone else had resigned themselves to grief.
She remembered sitting by his bedside, fearless of getting sick herself, holding his clammy, hot hand and insisting that he get better, but she had done nothing, and Jojen only worsened.
And then he opened his eyes, the fever broke, and he was well. And greensighted. But he had never mentioned the crow. She frowned at him.
“You never said that before.”
Jojen shrugged. “It didn’t seem important before. Only a fever dream, I thought. But maybe not.” He frowned more deeply, eyebrows drawing together. He was only thirteen, her little brother, but sometimes he looked much older than that. It would have made Meera uneasy if she didn’t know him so well. It did make others uneasy, and Jojen didn’t have many friends, but he didn’t seem to mind.
She opened her mouth to say something, she was hardly even sure what, and he cut her off. “I think we need to go north,” he said. “I think it has something to do with the north, with the Starks.”
It made sense. The Stark sigil was a wolf, and the Reeds had been even more closely tied to the Starks since Robert’s Rebellion; her father was close to Eddard Stark, or as close as you could be. She didn’t know the full story. On the other hand…
“What do you think it has to do with the Starks, and why do we have to go?” She asked. When Jojen cast her an annoyed look, Meera held up one hand defensively. “I'm not saying no. We’d have to ask our father anyway. I just want to know why.”
“It’s just a feeling,” Jojen said, and she wondered if that frustration in his face was for her or himself. “This dream was sent to me for a reason. They always are. And if it’s important then I need to be there. If you don’t want to go,” he started to say, and she snorted loudly to cut him off.
“Of course I would go if you did. I'm not going to let you wander off on your own, even to Winterfell.” Meera picked up her trident and paced over to ruffle his hair in a way she was well aware he hated. “So you don’t know who the winged wolf is? Or why you’re needed?”
“No, I don’t.” Jojen looked at her, and she got the impression she had sometimes that he was looking right through her. “I know you like to know everything before doing anything, but I need to trust this. Even if I don’t understand right now, things will come clear.”
Another thing Meera didn’t understand about her brother: his faith. He seemed to just expect that things would work out, that things would make sense and reveal themselves in time. It used to exasperate her, but as long as she was there to balance it out, to be the planner and the practical one - well. If Jojen thought it was important…
“Let’s wait,” she said, though. “Just a couple days. Maybe you’ll have another green dream, or it’ll make more sense. If nothing happens…then we can go to father and talk to him about it. All right?”
Even her father, Meera thought sometimes, was better with Jojen’s greensight than she was. Perhaps he had his own senses, she thought sometimes, and she was the only one in their little family with her feet squarely on the ground.
She was all right with that, though. Her father was a great man and a great leader. Their people trusted him, and so did she.
Jojen considered her for a few moments, and then nodded, turning toward the north, his gaze far away. “I think that’s all right,” he said. “Though only a couple days. I think it’s very important. I wouldn’t have dreamed it if it weren’t.”
“I know,” she said, and looked with him, as far out as she could see.
“Something’s stirring,” Jojen said, softly. “Something’s changing. I can feel it. Like a storm coming. Or winter, I suppose.” His smile was barely a ghost, but she was used to that; Jojen rarely smiled.
Meera felt a prickling across her spine, and nodded, slightly, glancing up at the sky obscured by mist. “That’s not your greensight,” she said, quietly. “I feel it too.”