Then a ghost stepped into the room. The shade looked so like the father that had left so many years ago, it was startling. It's not a dream. Bran grinned stupidly at his father, feeling as giddy as a child. He remember he'd been just that - a broken child - when Sansa, Arya, and Lord Eddard went to King's Landing. Jon had left for the Wall. Then, Robb went to fight and his lady mother went with him.
As his father's hands found his face, Bran's thoughts derailed. He smiled again. He and Rickon had both dreamt of his death. They had known it before the raven brought word. Bran had even seen Ned through the eyes of the weirwood, once, but hadn't been able to speak to him. The past was the past. Or so the three-eyed crow had taught him.
But now he was in the past. Now he could change it. And he would. Fiercely, he returned the embrace. "You have nothing to apologize for, Father," Bran replied, voice muffled by his father's cloak. It felt so strange to hug him. The last time Bran could remember putting his arms around his father, he'd been so small, he couldn't even reach around his father's stomach.