[ She does not know the true extent of his crimes, though Sansa has grown familiar enough with Littlefinger's ways to hazard a guess. Even then, her least generous of suspicions would not so much as approach the farthest depths of his depravity; the one crime that can never be forgiven, irregardless of how much love and resentment and shed blood bind the two of them together. Before Petyr Baelish was her father, Sansa had another father a well; a father who sacrificed his life and his honor so that she may live.

From time to time Sansa wonders what Ned Stark would think of the Iron Queen, if perhaps he would rethink his decision had he known what treachery it would give birth to. No doubt, in the moments before his death, he had imagined a better life for her and her siblings, one lived in eventual honor and dignity. And instead, look what as become of them — scattered, dead and mad; the devil's dam and the assassin's knife and the forest's feral madness.

No longer kneeling, Sansa stares at her once-guardian, now-advisor and never-once lover. If he is proud of her, then she most certainly pities him, though he spares him that suffering by keeping the sentiment from her veiled eyes. ]

Sincerity does not suit you, Petyr Baelish, [ she says at length and then touches the side of his face one last time before drawing away, her skirts swishing past him. ] I relinquish you from your obedience now. Act once again in accordance to your own will, and not mine.