I never thought that my life would be different after I fell from the tower, or shall I say, when a stunningly handsome yet evil man pushed me from the tower.
It seemed that I slept for an eternity.
But no, the moment I woke up from a terrible nightmare, my mother was there, still weeping. I do not understand why. I am still alive. For seconds, I just stared at the ceiling, thinking of what to do next.
And then it dawned on me.
I can no longer move my legs. My back hurt a bit. Also, it was excruciatingly hard to move. Suddenly, mother hugged me tightly. At the risk of sounding defensive, I told her that it was just an accident and all of us didn’t want that to happen… or so I thought.
I keep on telling myself that a man did not push me from the tower; that all I heard and seen from the tower was just a figment of my wild imaginations. But no, every time I close my eyes, I always dream that particular moment – the moan of the lady, the telltales about King’s Landing and the rest of the kingdoms and my fall.
Back at Winterfell, I met a tiny man named Tyrion Lannister. He was just half of my size but has a soul bigger than any dire wolves of The Haunted Forest. I surmised that he was a brave and cunning man. He gave me this improvised machine that would allow me to stand for a while; and I am thankful for that.
I know that I can no longer move my legs but that does not mean that I can no longer fulfill my dream, to become a knight of Winterfell.
I am Bran Stark, and the Starks do not give up easily, no matter how hard their ordeals were.
That’s it for now. Off to the archery to meet my brother, Robb.
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