If I were to allow myself to contemplate the last week, were I to find myself mortified by my actions? Maybe. But would I do it again? Each time I ask myself this, I hang my head in almost shame at my weak will, knowing I would have done so, over and over again.

But I also know I would never allow myself to get caught up in the memory, it would help no one, and I was playing against time.

We - Tyrion, Bronn, Podrick, and myself - had all agreed it would be prudent to continue to be silent about the incidents, after all, knowledge is power and we did not deign to empower our foes with the knowledge of our efforts. Bronn was fast growing insufferable, with his teasing words and smug grins whenever he sighted me, and unfortunately for me, he sighted me frequently now. Podrick has thankfully continued to be his quiet self, offering me some respite in the company of these bawdy men. And Tyrion...

Tyrion continued to plague me, mind and body, and were I a more flighty woman fettered by tradition and such patriarchal nonsense, I would have flown into a fit of madness at the possibilities our actions created. As it were, I was extremely grateful at the impending bloom of my "flower" and the ending of doubt that surely plagued every whore and lover. I was not fit for childbearing, and I would not bring forth a bastard into this world, knowing full well the suffering it would endure.

He was due to wed the Stark child within the fortnight and each day passed like a deathknell upon him, his brow growing heavier with each passing day and his nights were increasingly more and more restless. The king mocked him at every opportunity and whatever I witnessed first-hand strengthened my resolve and whatever I had heard just made me contemplate increasingly creative methods of vengeance. Were I to stop and contemplate my reactions, I would question the reasoning, but my unadulterated loathing for the tyrant threatened to blind me to reason, and so I disallowed myself the luxury of seething.

In addition to all this fracas was the issue of his cherished whore; nowhere in my life was I plagued with irrationality as when that raven-haired mystery came to mind. She held his mind, and in his mind at least, his heart, and although I was comfortable not having his love (or anyone else's) it irked me no small amount that she had his perceived love.

I should not have danced with glee upon hearing of her angst from my cousin, but I never claimed to be mature, simply distant and mostly indifferent. It did please me magnanimously to hear that the whore loved the child selflessly, however; the Stark child had and would suffer greatly for a while yet, to have an ally was a comfort she deserved.

l had little to no love for that insufficient excuse for a human, but Lord Baelish did prove not completely unworthy of living, even if his motives were not completely noble; more importantly than his self-serving whims, Lady Sansa would be safer, and free to strive towards a life of her own making. Never confusing my sentiments for the child - this wasn't generosity, or pity. No child should have to suffer as the Stark child was almost destined to.

Whatever the case, I was growing weary of this castlehold. This game was one for which I had no taste for. Oh, what cruel fates, the Gods be merciful.

AN: I've been beyond stuck and holy ass do I ever wish I could go on, but I'm as uninspired as a hollywood rom-com. I don't know, leave me reviews? Yell at me, express your disappointment, anyhting. I need fuel