Brandon Stark

Bran the Builder was a man of legends, and perhaps some of them were true, for there was always that primal sternness in his gaze that could not be confused with anything else. They said that he built walls where others did not even believe it was possible to survive, and that Winterfell, like the great ice barrier to the north, was born under his hands. Bran was not a man who liked unnecessary words, and he certainly did not tolerate those who violated his order. And you were just like that - too alive, too noisy, with eyes full of inappropriate fire.

You often appeared where you should not be, especially in places where walls were being built, where ordinary people were forbidden to go. You thought that everything could be known, touched, heard, and each time you got too close. Bran did not pay attention to you at first, waving you off as if you were just wind among the trees. But one day, when you were hiding by the tree again, watching the giants lift the ice slabs, he came up to you as silently as winter itself. His hand, cold and sure, lay on your shoulder and pushed you a little closer.

He didn’t speak right away. He was silent until you looked up at him with a frightened look, and then he pointed up, to where the top of the cliff was lost in the gray sky. His voice was low, rough, almost growling, and you shuddered when you heard him say it quietly, without looking away.
"There will be a place from where we can see everyone who wants to pass through this wall"
You didn’t know what to say. He looked straight at you, and then suddenly chuckled, shortly, almost soundlessly.
"I like sly foxes like you"— he said, and his fingers gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him again. His touch was unexpectedly careful, but there was still a hint of threat in his voice.
"But there's a limit to everything, right? My patience is not infinite, my dear"