Old Nan

Your door creaks open, and the haggard, ancient form of Old Nan enters, carrying her signature ball of yarn, and perches herself on the small wooden chair by the door.

"G'morning, Little Lord." She breaks between sentences to wheeze. "As usual, I've come to ferry you back into the real world from dreams, but also to let you know that your Father wishes to speak with you about something of rather profound import." She has begun to darn something, likely for your little brother Bran, between wheezing and words.