How he hoped his lord father was telling the truth. Bran, since reawakening in Kit's mind, had been waiting to see his family once more - and finding out that those once dead and lost were back... well, that had only fueled the desire further. Finding out Arya was Nell had been the push Bran needed to get Kit through the door. And here he was. - For fear of more tears, Bran simply nodded as a response, his face scratching against Ned's rough clothes as it always had.
At the mention of his beard, the boy - no, here he was a man - the man felt at the thing on his face, reflecting his father's smile. He counted his name days in his head, before confidently replying: "I'm 20." But his father looked the same. He hadn't aged thirteen years. Then again, Kit reminded him, he'd also died. It was likely time didn't apply the same to him.
"Yes." Bran looked down to the chair he sat in, Ned's hands on the arms. It was such a strange thing, really, but he'd grown more used to it, riding in Kit's head. It gleamed, very out of place among the dull browns and rough textures of Westeros. Neither Bran nor Kit were sure how to get down stairs or whether the wheelchair would even be useful when not on flagstone.
Suddenly, Bran remembered - "Father, have you seen Summer?"