[The last thing Littlefinger recalls is burning the midnight oil, dipping his quill in ink, and scribbling statements of account for the upcoming tournament on His Grace's name day. Say what you will about the mockingbird but he's a hardworking man at his core. The past few days have worn him down and there are times when he finds gaps in his memory, forgetting why he's a certain place. It's dangerous for a man like him but he fathoms that sleep will cure it soon enough. Perhaps it's a consequence of one too many cups of wine at supper...
There's a woman standing before him and he has to blink and squint and rub his eyes at the sight. No, it can't be. She left this world but a fortnight ago. She's the reason he's been in his cups for the sake of numbing himself to grief.]
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There's a woman standing before him and he has to blink and squint and rub his eyes at the sight. No, it can't be. She left this world but a fortnight ago. She's the reason he's been in his cups for the sake of numbing himself to grief.]
Catelyn?