You've Seen Me

just to be alive is a magic art

"Your notion about the bastard may have merit, Bran," Maester Luwin said after. "One day you will be a good lord for Winterfell, I think."
"No I won’t." Bran knew he would never be a lord, no more than he could be a knight. "Robb’s to marry some Frey girl, you told me so yourself, and the Walders say the same. He’ll have sons, and they’ll be the lords of Winterfell after him, not me."
"It may be so, Bran," Ser Rodrik said, "but I was wed three times and my wives gave me daughters. Now only Beth remains to me. My brother Martyn fathered four strong sons, yet only Jory lived to be a man. When he was slain, Martyn’s line died with him. When we speak of the morrow nothing is ever certain."

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings; kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings (Richard III - Act V, scene II)

“The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother’s milk. Darkness will make you strong.”

♔ Bran as King in the North for londongrayskies
Our land protects it’s own

"Never fear the darkness, Bran. The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother’s milk. Darkness will make you strong."

Eddard Stark lifted his head and looked long at the weirwood, frowning, but he did not speak. He cannot see me, Bran realized, despairing. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but all that he could do was watch and listen. I am in the tree. I am inside the heart tree, looking out of its red eyes, but the weirwood cannot talk, so I can’t. Eddard Stark resumed his prayer. Bran felt his eyes fill up with tears. But were they his own tears, or the weirwood’s? If I cry, will the tree begin to weep?

The red priestess closed her eyes and said a prayer, then opened them once more to face the hearthfire. Visions danced before her, gold and scarlet, flickering, forming and melting and dissolving into one another, shapes strange and terrifying and seductive.
A face took shape within the hearth. Stannis? she thought, for just a moment … but no, these were not his features. A wooden face, corpse white. Was this the enemy? A thousand red eyes floated in the rising flames. He sees me. Beside him, a boy with a wolf’s face threw back his head and howled.
The red priestess shuddered. 

I have a soft spot for cripples, bastards and broken things.

I won’t be afraid. He was the Prince of Winterfell, Eddard Stark’s son, almost a man grown and a warg too, not some little baby boy like Rickon. Summer would not be afraid.

The maester touched his brow. “I am so very sorry, Jon. Your brothers died at the command of Theon Greyjoy, after he took Winterfell in his father’s name. When your father’s bannermen threatened to retake it, he put the castle to the torch.” […]  “There’s some mistake,” he insisted. “At Queenscrown I saw a direwolf, a grey direwolf… grey… it knew me.” If Bran was dead, could some part of him live on in his wolf, as Orell lived within his eagle? - A Storm of Swords

The singers of the forest had no books. No ink, no parchment, no written language. Instead they had the trees, and the weirwoods above all. When they died, they went into the wood, into leaf and limb and root, and the trees remembered. All their songs and spells, their histories and prayers, everything they knew about this world.

In the midst of w i n t e r, I found there was within me an invincible  s u m m e r

The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran’s second home. His mother often said that BRAN COULD CLIMB BEFORE HE COULD WALK. Bran could not remember when he first learned to walk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must be true.