Bran’s father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind...“You did well,” Jon told him solemnly. Jon was fourteen, an old hand at justice.

“No,” Jon Snow said quietly... He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest.

Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black... He (Eddard) had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day...

Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword... They watched him (Jon) dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel.

His father knelt and groped under the beast’s head with his hand... They watched him (Jon) dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel.

“Done,” Jon said, kicking his horse forward... “Beyond a doubt,” his lord father said. “Come, let us see what mischief my sons have rooted out now.” He sent his horse into a trot.

He (Jon) put a hand on Bran’s shoulder, and Bran looked over at his bastard brother...“Yes, Father,” Bran told him. He looked up. Wrapped in his furs and leathers, mounted on his great warhorse, his lord father loomed over him like a giant.

Moreover, both act as father figures to Bran, unlike Robb, who acts less mature.