"How did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve being in this place? My body felt too light, too small. I looked at my thin arms, my small legs. Am I not fat anymore? Why am I a child?"
"This 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 I had, or rather the ones I just got, have started to align slowly. I think I'm about eleven years old, more or less. My name is also Robert, or Twig, as I've always been called. But this time, the nickname actually makes sense. I'm skinny, small... almost too fragile for a child."
"Hey, Bob! What are you doing here?" — a sweet voice cut through my thoughts.
Twig looked up and saw Jenny, Saul's daughter. A young girl with slightly dirty skin, messy hair, but bright and kind eyes. She was always helping him steal food from the inn, hidden from her father. She is an 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 his hand.
"Damn, I have to get rid of her," Twig thought. "I need a place just for myself, to understand what's happening. Oh, oh, oh… how am I going to fix this now?"
Before he could pull away, his stomach growled loudly. RRRONC. Hearing the his stomach noise Jenny laughed, her smile sincere and mischievous. She pulled him toward a secret spot, a small hiding place where she always kept food. It was her refuge, her little piece of peace.
Sitting there, eating slowly, Twig felt a strange mix of relief and shame. He was starving, but the girl's kindness gave him a sense of safety. For a moment, they both forgot the world outside.
The silence broke with heavy footsteps. Aron, Jenny's older brother, appeared. Taller and stronger, though still small for his age — a product of a hard childhood. He looked at them and smiled.
"Ah, how nice, huh, folks?" Aron said, looking at Twig and Jenny. "You're here eating and resting while I'm out there listening to my father nag me about not having enough firewood for the inn."
He grinned and extended his hand toward Twig.
"Come on, Twig. You're not going to leave me hanging, right? Let's get this work done. If we finish quickly, maybe we'll still have time to eat something afterward."
Despite the confusion still in his head, Twig began to calm down — even more so after eating the food Jenny had shared with him. He remembered how Aron had always been kind. Despite being older, he never picked on him.
The nickname Twig had been Aron's idea. It was always affectionate, never mocking. Saul might be an ogre disguised as a man, but his children were kind — products of their late mother's gentle upbringing.
Twig thought to himself, "No use stressing. This won't change anything. It's not like, by some miracle, I'm going to wake up in my old home. And if I do, pretending this is just a dream doesn't hurt. Better go with the flow."
He remembered how much he liked Aron, how caring he had always been.
"All right," he said finally. "Let's go get that firewood."
Following the path toward the pile of logs, Aron walked a little ahead while Twig trailed behind, lost in thought.
"Well, since I'm in Westeros… where exactly am I? If I remember right, this should be the Riverrun region, near the Kingsroad. I'm practically in the middle of the continent — in the middle of trouble. This place is famous for wars… I'm screwed."
He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.
"No need to panic. It's just a dream. Calm down, Twig. Go with the flow. Everything's fine. Nothing bad will happen. Just enjoy the ride."
As they walked, Twig couldn't help reflecting on his relationship with Saul's children. Aron had always been kind and protective, while Jenny, with her lightness and cleverness, was a source of comfort. Even in the middle of a dangerous world, he felt he could rely on them. It was a small refuge amid the hostility of Westeros.
The distant sounds of the inn, mixed with the wind and the crunch of branches underfoot, created a quiet yet constant backdrop — a reminder of the world's weight. Twig knew he needed to learn, adapt, and survive. Every breath, every step, every glance mattered.
"Hey, Twig! Wake up! Grab the axe!" Aron nudged him. The sound of chopping echoed through the woods — tac, tac, tac.
Twig gripped the axe tightly, feeling each impact reverberate through his arms. It was primitive — a rough, uneven tool with a wooden handle. "Why can't I have a chainsaw?" he thought. "This would be done in minutes."
"Careful, Twig. If you fall, I'll make firewood out of you too," Aron joked, laughing.
Twig's hands tingled, his back ached, but he kept going. The feel of sweat, the smell of cut wood, the dry rhythm of the axe — all reminded him that he needed to focus.
When they finally gathered a decent pile of logs, Aron called out, "Hey, Twig! Let's organize this and take it back to the inn. My father won't wait forever."
Twig nodded and started stacking the wood carefully. As they worked, his mind drifted between past and present, dream and reality. The world of Westeros was harsh, but it still held moments of kindness. Aron and Jenny were proof of that. Even Saul, for all his harshness, had flashes of care beneath the gruff exterior.
Twig thought, "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 old life… at least I'll have learned something."
As they carried the firewood back, Aron suddenly asked, "What's your dream, Twig? Still want to be king of Westeros?"
Twig widened his eyes. His old self had been quite the dreamer.
"Dreaming costs nothing," he replied with a shy smile.
"Yeah, you're right. My dream is to be a knight," Aron said, sighing. "But that's impossible for us. We're doomed to chop wood and cook for others until we die — just like my father."
Suddenly, Saul's voice cut through the air.
"What are you two talking about, boys? Why isn't that firewood by the kitchen yet? We need to light the fire!"
He was in a foul mood, as always.
"All right, father, we're bringing the firewood," Aron replied.
"Move it! And you, Twig, help Jenny with the food afterward. I'm not hitting you only because I'm busy!" Saul barked.
The two boys hurried off, carrying the firewood carefully — both aware of the risk of another scolding… or worse, a smack to the head.