Arya could have held onto him forever if she was allowed to. Hugging Bran was like being home again. In her minds-eye she could see the courtyard in Winterfell, Bran chasing after her while the two of them tried their best to measure up to their eldest brothers. She'd always felt so out of place - Robb would be Lord of Winterfell and Bran would come next, should Robb have no children. He'd had no children, that she knew of. Bran was now in their father's place, with all that came with it. It was an unfair task that had been put upon of her brother, the little Bran who had loved climbing and mischief just as much as she had. Hearing he'd lived his fall was bittersweet and tasted like ashes in her mouth.

"You're here... I can't believe you're here, Bran." She ran her fingers through his hair, mussing it up a bit as she sat back in a crouch in front of him at eye level. His hair was real. His face was real. Every bit of him was real. "Summer's probably waiting for you."

She got to her feet then, staring at the strange chair he was sitting in. It was a bit like a cart, so she moves behind it, pushing it forward. His legs may no longer work but she would not let him be immobile. With this, he could walk again even if he'd never be able to climb again.