Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Bran Stark was happy.
He often was.
He wasn’t the heir, just the spare.
Enough to warrant some attention, but not to lead to constant control. Although his mother thought differently. But luckily, his father didn’t think so.
Although there was one thing his parents did agree on when it came to his adventures. But it was his favorite game! He wouldn’t stop! He couldn’t!
Why couldn’t they just understand?!
But they didn’t!
And so he did it anyway!
Because they will see!
They will!
He will be the best!
He will be!
And they will not ban him from climbing the towers any more!
They will be proud!
He knows they will be!
And now the King is here! But he only noticed Robb and Sansa! That is so unfair! He might not be the heir, or be pretty but at least he isn’t stupid!
But he is happy he isn’t Sansa. Because Prince Joffrey?
He scares him.
But that is mostly because of his dreams. Or nightmares.
He keeps seeing dead Wolves and mating Lions. Butchered Stags and rotten Fish…
But then there dreams he isn’t allowed to talk about. The ones about Dragons.
One Dragon killed by a Lion.
Another by a Stag.
Two hit a Mountain in the beginning of their flight.
An Old female traded for a Young.
A mad Young Dragon was took a swim in molten gold.
And the last?
The young female?
She was mad as well.
Sick.
Frothing at the mouth.
And barren.
There would be no more Dragons now.
Pure ones, that is.
Because somewhere far, a young Fox-Dragon, covered and hidden by its long, silver fur, slithered through the sands.
And somewhere near, an old Raven-Dragon lurked. Watching. Waiting.
And Bran was scared.
Because the Raven-Dragon cowered in black feathers was watching him.
So he tried not to think about those things.
Just as his father told him not to.
After asking about a Wolf-Dragon, that is. But Bran doesn’t understand why. Why would there be a Wolf-Dragon in the first place?
But it mattered not.
Because the Wolf-Dragon his father sought out didn’t exist.
But father thought differently.
For some reason…
But after that question, father didn’t ask about his dreams again. He said that was all they were. Dreams.
And they didn’t matter.
And neither did Bran…
Because from that moment, his father stopped noticing him. It was like Bran Stark wasn’t there. And it hurt…
So he climbed.
Because that was the only way to be noticed these days.
Even if it was to receive another reprimand…
But Bran Stark was always curious.
So when he heard voices in the tower, he listened.
And fell.
Down, down, down…
To the ground.
When he saw his mother, he thought he would be fine. He will be alright. Alright to tell her that he was pushed.
But he wasn’t alright.
He couldn’t say a word.
And maybe in another life, Bran Stark would have lived. Had the bastard everyone shunned subconsciously lent him his energy, the power sleeping in his veins that he didn’t live to know about…
But there was no Jon Snow in Winterfell.
There never was.
So when Bran Stark closed his eyes, he saw his mother for the last time.
Because the next time they opened?
They no longer belonged to Bran Stark.
He was the Bloodraven.
And forever will be.
And he now has a beautiful Fox-Dragon to find.
Everything else is secondary.