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When you imagine yourself up there, how do you look?
Does the crown fit? Do all the lords and ladies
simper and bow, the ones who sneered at you for years?
It's hard for them to simper and bow without heads.
A man with great ambition and no morals
I wouldn't bet against you.
And what would you do, my friend,
if you found yourself sitting up there?
I must be one of the few men in this city
who doesn't want to be King.
You must be one of the few men in the city
who isn't a man.
Oh, you can do better than that.
When they castrated you, did they take the pillar with the stones?
- I've always wondered. - Have you?
Do you spend a lot of time wondering what's between my legs?
I picture a gash
like a woman's. Is that about right?
I am flattered, of course, to be pictured at all.
Must be strange for you, even after all these years
a man from another land,
despised by most,
feared by all
am I? That is good to know.
Do you lie awake at night fearing my gash?
But you carry on, whispering in one King's ear
and then the next.
I admire you.
And I admire you, Lord Baelish.
A grasper from a minor house with a major talent
for befriending powerful men
and women.
A useful talent, I'm sure you'd agree.
So here we stand
In mutual admiration and respect.
Playing our roles.
Serving a new King.
Long may he reign.
- My King. - My King.
My Lords. Shall we begin?