learned_to_die | (Reply)

Custom Text

we will call this place our home,
the dirt in which our roots may grow.
though the storms will push and pull,
we will call this place our home.
we’ll tell our stories on these walls.
every year, measure how tall.
and just like a work of art,
we’ll tell our stories on these walls.
[ NORTH, sleeping at last ]

From:

learned_to_die

If he'd agree to sit and speak with me. The tension between us was hard to miss, even over the electronic network this place has.

[What an odd request. Ned's brows furrow slightly with confusion, but he ultimately nods.]

I wouldn't dream of it. Though he'd been my ward under less-than-ideal circumstances, I'd never once wanted to bring about harm to the boy. I've no intention of breaking that promise now.