The people of Westeros, specifically the North, are becoming fed up with Bran Stark being completely unsure of everything.  Stark is the new Three-Eyed Raven, or the true Lord of Winterfell, or not, or nothing, it’s difficult to explain.  “He doesn’t even know what he wants for breakfast anymore, it’s always too difficult to explain for him,” explained Maester Wolkan with relatively no difficulty at all.  “I desire a Pop-Tarts for breakfast.  See how easy that was?”  Stark stared into the distance with no facial expression at all, almost making everyone who viewed his actions hate him despite wanting to see him fly, which they had been promised ages ago.

Sansa Stark, sister to Bran, also chimed in.  “I haven’t seen him in so long and all he does now is look weird and not explain anything because it’s ‘difficult’ or whatever.”  She let out a sigh as Bran, being useless and not emoting in any way, shape, size, or form, pissed her off simply by looking at him.  “Ugh,” she managed to get out.

When asked for comment about his alleged flying, his purpose, his emotionless face, fucking anything, he replied in a way no one was satisfied with.  “I told you…it’s difficult to explain,” he said, not really trying to explain the difficulty, more just brushing it off.  Maester Wolkan, seething with unfiltered hatred, had knocked over most nearby tables.  “We fuckin’ know it’s difficult, that’s why we’re asking you to explain it!  Do you even know what’s happening?”  Bran, stone-faced and stupid, opened his mouth.

“It’s…

…difficult to explain.”