"How did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve being in this place? My body felt too light, too strange. I looked at my thin arms, my small legs. Am I not fat anymore? Why am I a child?"
"The world around me seemed too real to be a dream, yet at the same time, too surreal to believe it was true. Every stone, every piece of wood in the inn seemed to scream memories I didn't have."
"The memories began to align slowly. I was about 11 years old, more or less. My name was Bob, or Twig, as I had always been called. But this time, the nickname made sense. I was skinny, small, almost fragile."
"Hey, Bob! What are you doing here?" — a sweet voice cut through my thoughts.
I looked and saw Jenny. Saul's daughter. A young girl, with slightly dirty skin, messy hair, but lively and kind eyes. She always helped me steal food, hidden from the inn. She is a angel in this hostile world.
"Come on, Bob. Are you just going to dawdle? If my father catches you, you'll get scolded… or worse, a few whacks," she said impatiently, pulling my hand.
"Damn, I have to get rid of her…" I thought. "I need a place just for me, to understand what's happening. Oh, oh, oh… how am I going to fix this now?"
Before I could pull away, my stomach growled loudly. RUMBLE! Jenny laughed at me, and I could see her smile, sincere and mischievous. She pulled me to a secret spot, a hiding place where she always stored food. It was her refuge, her little piece of peace.
Sitting there, eating slowly, I felt a mix of relief and shame. I was starving, but the girl's kindness gave me a sense of safety. For a moment, we forgot the world outside.
The silence was broken by heavy footsteps. Aron, Jenny's older brother, appeared. Taller, stronger, yet still small for his age, a product of a hard childhood. He looked at us and smiled:
"Ah, how nice, huh, folks?" — said Aron, looking at Twig and Jenny. "You're here eating, resting, while I'm out there, listening to my father nag me about not having enough firewood in the inn."
He smiled and extended his hand to me:
"Come on, Twig. You're not going to leave me hanging, right? Let's go do this work. If we finish quickly, maybe there's still time to eat something afterward."
Despite all the confusion, my mind began to settle, even more after eating the few things Jenny had given me in the hideout. I remembered how Aron had always been kind to me. Despite being older, he never picked on me.
The nickname "Twig" had been his idea. Always with affection, never with disdain. Saul could be an ogre disguised as a human, but his children were kind, products of their late mother's loving upbringing.
Twig reflected on his current situation:
"No use stressing. This won't change anything. It's not like, by some miracle, I'm going to wake up in my home. And if I do, it doesn't hurt to pretend all this is just a dream. Better go with the flow."
He also remembered how much he liked Aron, how caring he had always been.
"All right, Aron. I'll come with you. Let's go get this firewood."
Following the path to the pile of logs, Aron walked a little ahead, and Twig followed a few steps behind, lost in thought.
"Well, since I'm in Westeros… where exactly am I? If I remember correctly, we're in the Riverrun region, near the Kingsroad. I'm practically in the middle of the continent, in the middle of trouble. This region is famous for wars… I'm screwed!"
He took a deep breath and tried to calm down:
"No need to stress. It's just a dream… Calm down, Twig. Go with the flow. Everything's fine. Nothing bad will happen. Just enjoy the ride."
Meanwhile, Twig couldn't help reflecting on his recent past and his relationship with Saul's children. Aron had always been kind and protective, and Jenny, with her lightness and cleverness, was a comforting presence. Even in the middle of a dangerous world, he felt he could count on them. It was a small refuge amid Westeros' hostility.
The distant sound of the inn, mixed with the wind and branches breaking underfoot, created a quiet but constant backdrop, reminding Twig of the urgency of the moment. He needed to learn, adapt, and survive. Every breath, every step, and every attentive glance at the surroundings were necessary.
"Hey, Twig!""Hey, wake up! Grab the axe!" — Aron nudged me. Tac, tac, the sounds of the axe echoed on the dry wood.
I held the tool tightly, feeling each impact reverberate in my arms. It was primitive. A rustic axe, almost a chipped stone with a wooden handle. "Why can't I have a chainsaw?" I thought. "This would be done in minutes!"
"Careful, Twig. If you fall, I'll make firewood out of you too," Aron joked, laughing.
My hands tingled, my back ached, but I kept going. The feeling of sweat, the smell of cut wood, the dry sound of the axe… all reminded me I needed to focus.
When we finally gathered a considerable pile of logs:
"Hey, Twig!" — Aron called, interrupting the chopping of a log. "Let's organize the wood and take it back to the inn. My father won't wait forever."
Twig nodded and began carefully gathering the logs. While helping place the firewood near the fire, my mind wandered between past and present, dream and reality. The world of Westeros was cruel but full of small kindnesses. Aron and Jenny were proof of that. Even Saul, despite his roughness, had moments of protection.
"I can't despair. It's just a dream… or maybe not. But for now, I'll survive. I'll learn. I'll adapt. And if I ever return to my previous life… at least I will have learned something I think."
Carrying the wood back, Aron asked:"What's your dream, Twig? Still want to be king of Westeros?"
I widened my eyes. My old self had been quite the dreamer.
"Dreaming costs nothing," I replied, with a shy smile.
"Yeah, you're right. My dream is to be a knight, but that's impossible for us. We're doomed to chop wood and cook for others until we die, just like my father," he said, sighing.
Suddenly, Saul's voice cut through the air:
"What are you two talking about, boy? Why haven't you placed the firewood near the kitchen yet? We need to light the fire!"
He was in a bad mood, as always.
"All right, father, we're bringing the firewood," Aron replied.
"Move it! And you, Twig, help Jenny prepare the food afterward. I'm only not hitting you because I'm busy," Saul added, grumbling.
The two boys went out, carrying the firewood carefully, aware of the scolding and the possibility of a whack in the head.