The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 8

Bran has been awake for about 3 days now, his awakening had brought a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded our lives lately. It was a welcome surprise. However, any sense of relief was swiftly extinguished when Maester Luwin delivered the crushing blow: Bran would never walk again. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air when he told us, casting a shadow over our fragile optimism and reminding us of the harsh reality we now faced.

(Flashback)

With my wooden sword poised, I lightly tap Bran atop his head, prompting him to straighten up with a frustrated look. "Quit hitting my head! You might be taller now, but I won't always be this short," he remarks, eliciting a chuckle from me.

"Alright, alright. Get back into position," I reply.

Bran readies himself again, and as we circle each other, I notice his right arm twitch, signaling his intention to strike. Instead of dodging, I allow his blow to connect, then dramatically collapse to the ground.

"Oh no, I've been vanquished by the mighty Ser Bran!" I exclaim, provoking laughter from Bran.

As I lay on the ground, Bran's laughter fills the air, contagious and playful. He pokes me with his wooden sword, pretending to check if I'm still conscious. "Are you okay there, mighty warrior?" he asks making his voice deep with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

I groan dramatically, then suddenly grab his ankle, causing him to yelp in surprise and stumble. "Gotcha!" I exclaim, laughing as Bran tries to wriggle free from my grasp.

He giggles uncontrollably, his face lighting up with excitement. "You're quick, but not quick enough!" he declares, attempting to tickle me with his free hand.

I squirm and laugh, trying to fend off his playful attacks. "Alright, you win this round, Ser Bran!" I concede, finally releasing him.

Bran grins triumphantly, then gets up. "Until next time, fearless warrior!" he declares.

Laughing, I rise to meet Lady Catelyn's stern gaze, my smile faltering at her disapproving tone. "Aida, what have I told you about dueling in your dresses?" she admonishes.

Forcing a smile, I meet her gaze. "I promise, Lady Catelyn, I'll be more careful next time," I say, trying to sound contrite while struggling to suppress a giggle.

Her eyebrow raises skeptically. "You promise?" she questions.

With an exaggerated nod and an even wider grin, I assure her, "Absolutely!" Glancing over her shoulder, I catch Bran's eye and give him a conspiratorial wink, eliciting a bright smile from him in return.

(Flashback Finished)

As I make my way to Bran's room, a heavy sigh escapes me as memories flood my mind. Bran had always harbored dreams of becoming a knight, his ambition burning bright like a flame that refused to be extinguished. It's strange to think that the countless hours we spent sparring and practicing swordplay would now be nothing more than distant echoes of the past, rendered obsolete by his inability to walk. The realization hits me like a blow to the gut, a stark reminder of the cruel twist of fate that has robbed him of his dreams.

As I approach Bran's room, I spot Robb leaning casually against the door frame, his eyes fixed on Old Nan as she weaves another of her fantastical tales. I sidle up next to him, offering a small smile. "What do you think she's telling him now?" I whisper.

Robb grins mischievously. "Something ridiculously absurd, I'd bet."

A light laugh escapes me as I nod in agreement. "We should save him," I suggest.

Robb nods, stepping forward to interrupt Old Nan mid-story. "What are you telling him?" he asks with a playful smirk.

"Only what the little lord wants to hear," Old Nan replies.

Robb gestures toward the door. "You should get your supper. I want some time with him."

Old Nan nods, shuffling past me with a parting comment. "Well, girl, don't you get prettier the more I see ya."

"And you only get wiser," I quip in return, earning a playful scoff from the old woman as she departs bringing a small smile on my face.

Taking a seat beside Bran on his bed, I listen as Robb reminisces about one of Old Nan's more outlandish tales. "One time she told me and Aid the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant named Macomber," he says, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

"Maybe we do," Bran replies somberly, his tone devoid of humor.

I run a hand through Bran's hair, concern etching lines on my brow. "How do you feel? You still don't remember anything?"

Bran shakes his head, his gaze distant. Robb and I exchange a glance, uncertainty clouding our expressions.

"Bran, I've seen you climb a thousand times. In the wind, in the rain... a thousand times. You never fall," Robb insists, frustration creeping into his voice.

"I did, though," Bran admits quietly, his eyes betraying a sadness I've never seen before from him.

The air between us grows heavy with unspoken anguish as Bran voices his darkest fear. "It's true, isn't it? What Maester Luwin says about my legs?"

Robb and I exchange a wordless acknowledgment, the weight of Bran's despair settling heavily upon us.

"I'd rather be dead." Bran declares, his words cutting through the silence like a knife, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Don't ever say that," Robb implores, his voice tinged with desperation.

But Bran's resolve remains unshaken as he repeats his heartbreaking declaration. "I'd rather be dead."

I sigh, searching desperately for words to offer solace "Bran, your life isn't over, you could—" I begin, only to be cut off by his terse command.

"Get out," Bran says, his tone leaving no room for argument, stunning me into silence.

Despite the knot of frustration tightening in my chest, I refuse to give up. "Bra—" I try to protest, but Bran's insistence is unwavering.

"I said get out, the both of you," he declares, his voice edged with a hint of desperation. "Please."

Feeling Robb's comforting hand on my shoulder, I reluctantly concede defeat. "Let's go," Robb whispers. With a heavy heart, I turn away, leaving Bran to wrestle with his demons in solitude.

As we step away, the weight of Bran's words hangs heavy in the air, pressing down on us like a suffocating blanket as we close the door behind us and tread slowly through the corridor.

"What are we supposed to do?" I finally break the oppressive silence, my voice laced with frustration and uncertainty.

Robb lets out a weary sigh, his breath mingling with the tension that surrounds us. "We do the only thing we can: give him space and time."

"But space and time aren't enough," I argue, the frustration evident in my tone as I nervously bite my fingernail, an old habit that never dies. "I mean, you heard him."

"I know, I'll find a way. I promise." Robb acknowledges, his grip firm as he gently pulls my hand away from my lips and enfolds my hand in his.

I groan, unable to shake the nervous habit, even in the face of our shared concern. "I can't help it," I mutter in regards to the nail biting as we emerge from the corridors and step out into the bustling courtyard.

"Yes, well—" Robb begins, but his words are cut short as Rickon's excited voice interrupts us.

"Robb, Aida!" Rickon's exuberant yell draws our attention, and I can't help but smile at the sight of the energetic young boy bounding toward us. However, my smile fades as I notice not only Shaggydog at his side but also another wolf with white fur and a patch of grey on top of its head.

Robb and I exchange a startled glance, our unspoken question hanging in the air.

"Is that..." Robb starts, his voice trailing off as realization dawns.

"Nymeria,"