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Does anyone believe Jojenpaste?


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I don't believe it because I don't find the evidence very convincing but I have recently realised that I wouldn't mind if it was true. It's a very creepy prospect and extremely uncomfortable but it makes sense because obtaining great magical power should requires some serious and questionable sacrifices.


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The theory is light on direct evidence, but it's certainly plausible. As Lady Flandrensis said, great magic in ASOIF always involves some sort of sacrifice (e.g., all of Mel's significant feats, the birth of Dany's dragons). Also bear in mind that Bran has seen blood sacrifices before the weirwood trees. There is a tradition of blood sacrifices in the religion of the Old Gods.


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Bran III in Dance is so full of stuff that its hard to focus on the stuff that's relevant to Jojen paste. Here it is...

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. ...

Food and fire and rest had helped restore him after the ordeals of their journey, but he seemed sadder now, sullen, with a weary, haunted look about the eyes. ...

"My task was to get you here. My part in this is done."

The moon was a black hole in the sky. ...

"Never fear the darkness, Bran." The lord's words were accompanied by a faint rustling of wood and leaf, a slight twisting of his head. "The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong."

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. ...

"When singers die they become part of that godhood."

Bran's eyes widened. "They're going to kill me?"

"No," Meera said. "Jojen, you're scaring him."

"He is not the one who needs to be afraid.

"The moon was fat and full. ...

And almost every day they ate blood stew, thickened with barley and onions and chunks of meat. Jojen thought it might be squirrel meat, and Meera said that it was rat. Bran did not care. It was meat and it was good. The stewing made it tender....

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. Summer dug up a severed arm, black and covered with hoarfrost, its fingers opening and closing as it pulled itself across the frozen snow. There was still enough meat on it to fill his empty belly, and after that was done he cracked the arm bones for the marrow. Only then did the arm remember it was dead. Bran ate with Summer and his pack, as a wolf. ...

The moon was a black hole in the sky. ...

Under the hill, Jojen Reed grew ever more sullen and solitary, to his sister's distress. She would often sit with Bran beside their little fire, talking of everything and nothing, petting Summer where he slept between them, whilst her brother wandered the caverns by himself. Jojen had even taken to climbing up to the cave's mouth when the day was bright. He would stand there for hours, looking out over the forest, wrapped in furs yet shivering all the same. "He wants to go home," Meera told Bran. "He will not even try and fight his fate. He says the greendreams do not lie."

"He's being brave," said Bran. The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid, his father had told him once, long ago, on the day they found the direwolf pups in the summer snows. He still remembered. "He's being stupid," Meera said. "I'd hoped that when we found your three-eyed crow now I wonder why we ever came."

For me, Bran thought. "His greendreams," he said.

"His greendreams." Meera's voice was bitter.

"Hodor," said Hodor.

Meera began to cry. Bran hated being crippled then. "Don't cry," he said. He wanted to put his arms around her, hold her tight the way his mother used to hold him back at Winterfell when he'd hurt himself. She was right there, only a few feet from him, but so far out of reach it might have been a hundred leagues. To touch her he would need to pull himself along the ground with his hands, dragging his legs behind him. The floor was rough and uneven, and it would be slow going, full of scrapes and bumps. I could put on Hodor' s skin, he thought. Hodor could hold her and pat her on the back. The thought made Bran feel strange, but he was still thinking it when Meera bolted from the fire, back out into the darkness of the tunnels. He heard her steps recede until there was nothing but the voices of the singers.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. ...

"It is time," Lord Brynden said. Something in his voice sent icy fingers running up Bran's back.

"Time for what?"

"For the next step. For you to go beyond skinchanging and learn what it means to be a greenseer."

"The trees will teach him," said Leaf. She beckoned, and another of the singers padded forward, the white-haired one that Meera had named Snowy locks. She had a weirwood bowl in her hands, carved with a dozen faces, like the ones the heart trees wore. Inside was a white paste, thick and heavy, with dark red veins running through it. "You must eat of this," said Leaf. She handed Bran a wooden spoon. The boy looked at the bowl uncertainly.

"What is it?"

"A paste of weirwood seeds."

Something about the look of it made Bran feel ill. The red veins were only weirwood sap, he supposed, but in the torchlight they looked remarkably like blood. He dipped the spoon into the paste, then hesitated. "Will this make me a greenseer?"

"Your blood makes you a greenseer," said Lord Brynden. "This will help awaken your gifts and wed you to the trees."

Bran did want to be married to a tree but who else would wed a broken boy like him? A thousand eyes, a hundred skins, wisdom deep as the roots of ancient trees. A greenseer. He ate. It had a bitter taste, though not so bitter as acorn paste. The first spoonful was the hardest to get down. He almost retched it right back up. The second tasted better. The third was almost sweet. The rest he spooned up eagerly. Why had he thought that it was bitter? It tasted of honey, of new-fallen snow, of pepper and cinnamon and the last kiss his mother ever gave him. The empty bowl slipped from his fingers and clattered on the cavern floor. "I don't feel any different. What happens next?"

Leaf touched his hand. "The trees will teach you. The trees remember."...

"But this time, go into the roots instead. Follow them up through the earth, to the trees upon the hill, and tell me what you see."...

And through the mist of centuries the broken boy could only watch as the man's feet drummed against the earth but as his life flowed out of him in a red tide, Brandon Stark could taste the blood."

ETA

And now it seems to me that Jojen must have told Meera what Leaf and Snowy Locks were fixin to do.

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The theory is light on direct evidence, but it's certainly plausible. As Lady Flandrensis said, great magic in ASOIF always involves some sort of sacrifice (e.g., all of Mel's significant feats, the birth of Dany's dragons). Also bear in mind that Bran has seen blood sacrifices before the weirwood trees. There is a tradition of blood sacrifices in the religion of the Old Gods.

That's a colorable argument but to my mind, Bran would have to know for that to work.

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Is the Jojenpaste theory a weird but serious one that for whatever reason some of you actually believe, or a brilliant attempt at trolling that took off? I really can't tell.

Yep it is right up there with Bran is going to use Hodor to get it on with Meera, Meera by the way is of age with Jon.

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Thanks for the quote Lost Melnibonian. It's been a while, and it's an interesting passage.



Setting aside the jojenpaste theory, it's interesting that the taste of the seed paste parallels the taste of shade of the evening. At first, the taste is disgusting, but then it becomes a melange of flavors, including honey and tastes associated with fond memories. In Bran's case, it's honey, cinnamon, etc., and his mother's last kiss. In Dany's case (with the shade of the evening), it's honey, anise, cream, and "Drogo's seed." The experiences are remarkably similar.


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