#lysa baelish

[writingsofwesteros]

Imagine if Lysa Baelish had seen Cersei and Jaime being slightly too intimate (like a kiss on the lips that lingered when they thought they were alone).

They don’t see her and Lysa just moves on with her day. Until Cersei tries to say something nasty to her about Petyr. They’re alone in a corridor and Cersei grins saying, “Your brother should exercise more caution. He’s always so, so close to you. It might frighten your suitors. Unless of course, that’s what he wants.”

And Lysa innocently replies “My Queen, you and I both have brothers that adore us. And I know that Ser Jaime loves you just as deeply as Petyr does me.”

“What exactly are you accusing me of, Baelish?” Her taunting smile is now a vicious scowl.

Lysa puts up both hands in defense “Nothing at all! I just know that a brother who kisses his sister’s lips would only ever accept a King as his brother-in-law. I find it all very sweet, your Majesty.”

Cersei is pale now, and whispers “Kiss?”

“In the garden, my Queen. I didn’t mean to see you. I know such affection is a private matter and I have no interest in sharing the information you others. I only brought it up as I am a sister who relates!”

And Cersei is just left spiraling because maybe she has blackmail on Petyr now, but she can’t even use it! Is Petyr Baelish actually bedding his sister, or is this girl just ruined by him?

!!

The idea that Cersei doesn't even know if he's bedding his sister is maddening. She tries to have her own little spies but they never work out.

[thebeesareback]

Very funny that Lysa doesn't recognise Sansa when she meets her and Littlefinger in Littlefinger's hall. Like, here is a teenager who you last saw about five years ago, she looks a lot like you and your sister, oh, and coincidentally there's a nationwide manhunt for your niece, but we won't think about that for too long because fucking Littlefinger is here and requires full attention

[melrosing]

my girl Sansa really been stuck in that place like. 25 years???

[motorway-south]

in petyrs defense he did think cat gave him her virginity so the order of events is fall in love with childhood best friend -> she gives u her virginity -> she’s betrothed to another guy -> u challenge him to a duel and she begs him to spare you -> war breaks out -> she marries someone else and you don’t see her for 16 years. like in his mind his psychosexual obsession is actually very logical

[amaltheas-garden]

A song so sweet and sad...

Sansa was still drowsy from sleep. It took her a moment to remember that she was Alayne.

"That Royce glimpsed this pretty face I do not doubt, but (...) Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is...

Now she donned a lambswool overtunic and a hooded fur cloak, fastening it with an enameled mockingbird that had been a gift from Petyr.

"Sers, may I present you the Lady Alayne Stone."

He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him.

"Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?"

"Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

It was promised to... another.

Sansa Stark/Alayne Stone + Vale Plot

Romeo & Juliet 1968

ASOS, Sansa VII// ASOS, Sansa VI// ASOS, Sansa VI// AFFC, Sansa I// AFFC, Alayne I// AFFC, Alayne II// TWOW, Alayne I//

[goodqueenaly]

Do you think there's any weight to the idea that Sweetrobin isn't Jon Arryn's child (and is possibly Littlefinger's bastard instead)?

We know that, as a young man, Jon resembled Harry the Heir. Assuming that means he also had blonde hair and blue eyes (like Harry), it doesn't make sense for Robert Arryn to be his son. After all, ASOIAF genetics always has a character looking like one of their parents, or combination of both. It doesn't make sense for a blonde, blue eyed, broad shouldered man and a red haired and blue eyed woman to have a small, brown haired son. It make much more sense if his father was a small, dark haired man (Like LF)

(now, I'm in no way suggesting that Robert is the original baby that Lysa was forced to abort. I'm talking about a later pregnancy that was conceived at a later time with LF)

It would make sense that Robert isn't Jon child, it's pretty clear that Jon and Lysa had some severe issues surrounding fertility. The fandom usually assigns these fertility struggles to Lysa, but it's possible that Jon maybe had the issue conceiving healthy children. After all, he had one stillborn child from his first marriage, no pregnancies in his second, and his third marriage had five miscarriages, two stillborn children, and Robert. It would also be possible that Robert could have been LF's child, as he was conceived and born in Kings Landing, where LF and Lysa would've been in close contact and we know they has started an affair.

Of course, Lysa naver suggests that Robert is anything but a true born child, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wasn't born of her affair. She may simply not have realized who the biological father of her child was, or she might not have brought it up to protect Robert.

This also adds an extra level of drama to the fact that LF is essentially poisoning Sweetrobin. Of course, I don't see that as being out of character for him. If anything, I think LF would have a lot of trouble caring for any children he had by anyone other than Catelyn, and especially any children he had by Lysa. He may see Robert as acceptable collateral in his scheme, whether or not he actually knows that's his biological son

I thought I had answered this before, but either I didn't or it got deleted.

Anyway, no, I don't believe that Robert Arryn is Littlefinger's biological child. Even if Jon Arryn did have blond hair and blue eyes - and that's only based on the single statement Sansa-as-Alayne hears in TWOW, that "[m]en old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look" - I don't think it is some smoking gun to say "wait, Robert has brown hair, obviously he cannot be Jon's son". No one, for instance, seems to be suggesting that Gwyneth Yronwood was some sort of dynastic interloper because her "dark eyes and brown hair set her apart in that house of blue-eyed blondes", or that Princess Rhaenys could not have been her Baratheon mother's daughter because she had lilac eyes instead of blue; while GRRM often ascribes similar traits to members of the same family, he is also willing to break these patterns when he wishes or feels the need to do so. Nor does Robert's brown hair lack ancestral precedent, as indeed his maternal grandfather Hoster Tully also had brown hair (not, notably, the red of both his children as well as at least some of his Tully antecedents). Too, given that Robert may well have been born premature (as reflected in his "weak eyes" and "painfully thin" physique), I think there is a viable alternative explanation to his small size without needing Littlefinger to have been his father.

As far as Lysa's gynecological history goes, I think we as readers are given ample evidence to suggest that, whatever Jon Arryn's fertility may have been coming into the marriage (and we simply know too little of his prior two marriages to speculate), there are very good grounds for assuming Lysa's ability to carry a pregnancy to term had been severely compromised by the abortion forced on her by Hoster. Not only did GRRM himself confirm the incredible danger of the tansy concoction ordered by Hoster to be used on Lysa, but Hoster's deathbed anguish over "the blood" seems to suggest a significant hemorrhage, and the consequential high likelihood of permanent damage. This, I think, is the horrible irony of the situation - that Hoster, so desperate to eliminate Lysa's extramarital child so that she would give her husband (and him) "sweet boys, and trueborn", would actually so severely injure his own daughter that of all her pregnancies only one child would survive infancy. (And note that at least Lysa's first miscarriage, to say nothing of an unclear number of the subsequent miscarriages and stillbirths, happened before Lysa and Littlefinger were living in proximity to one another.)

(I also don't think there's any evidence that Robert was conceived and/or born in King's Landing? His WOIAF app article only lists his origin as the "Vale of Arryn", with no birthplace, and given that Lysa miscarried a few times in the Eyrie, it seems possible if not probable that Lysa could have conceived and/or given birth to Robert in the Vale, rather than in King's Landing.)

More to the point with everything, I really don't see any evidence that Lysa and Littlefinger actually had a sexual affair during Jon Arryn's lifetime. Indeed, Lysa complains of how hard it was "to see him [i.e. Littlefinger] every day and still be wed to that old cold man" - hardly the words of a woman, I think, who felt satisfied in an affair with a man she loved. Lysa underlined this sentiment ahead of her wedding to Littlefinger: she stated that she had "waited so long [that she] could not bear to wait another moment" to marry him and declared her intent to "scream" during their consummation "after all these years of silence and whisperings". Moreover, when Lysa was admitting everything in the moments before her murder, she never admitted either to sleeping with LIttlefinger between the forced abortion and their marriage or having any child, including Robert, with Littlefinger; indeed, her only note was that she and Littlefinger "made a baby together, a precious little baby", but that "they stole him from" Lysa herself, and to the end Lysa seems to have genuinely believed Robert was her late husband's child.

For his part, too, I think Littlefinger would have preferred to dangle the promise of romance, and perhaps sex as well, with Lysa without actually fulfilling such a promise. Littlefinger's complete lack of attraction to Lysa was clear - not only in his reluctance to marry Lysa, but in his cynical admission to Tyrion (after the latter confronted him with the possibility that he would need to marry Lysa) that "when you find yourself naked with an ugly woman, the only thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it". Between engaging in a physical affair that would not have gained him any more control over Lysa, and which at worse could have landed him in hot water (as a relatively low-ranking aristocrat engaging in an extramarital affair with a much higher born woman and wife of the king's Hand), and leaving Lysa with only "whisperings", I think it would not have even been much of a choice for Littlefinger. Just as he had dangled the promise of home to Sansa, only to snatch it away as soon as she had done what he wanted in King's Landing (and just as I think he had dangled the promise of Sansa to the Tyrells, only to snatch her away after the Purple Wedding), so I think Littlefinger would have dangled the promise of love to Lysa so long as he needed her (and needed her to murder Jon), and was fully prepared to abandon her if and when it was expedient to do so.

I don't think there is any conclusive evidence in favor of Littlefinger being the biological father of Robert, and instead plenty of evidence to the contrary. I think everyone, including Lysa and Littlefinger believed or believe that Robert Arryn was and is Jon Arryn's son. I think GRRM doesn't particularly care about making this into a mystery or conspiracy, given his own take on the matter.

[frying-panties]

Origins of Petyr's scar ✨

I love every time they mention anything about this scene and I couldn't help myself!

[sare11aa11eras]

Funniest thing GRRM could do w the Vale plot in TWOW is have someone organize a nice, relaxing, attendance mandatory, good old-fashioned snowball fight to ease tensions and then have Alayne Stone hitting Littlefinger in the gourd w that Patented Starkling 500mph Fastball TM and killing that man stone dead.

[nasnasnasta]

We lost the road. The branches of the trees were like long skinny arms reaching out to grab us as we passed. Lysa started to cry, and when I shouted the fog seemed to swallow the sound. But Petyr knew where we were, and he rode back and found us . . .

[writingsofwesteros]

Petyr Baelish dry humps his sister Lysa in bed, a lot.

He'll slink into her rooms and insist he's just there to bid her a goodnight and have a quick kiss. Next thing she knows, he's teasing her with his fingers and asking for "Just a little more time for just us, hm?" She nods her head quickly as he settles his clothed hips between her thighs. Petyr is so hard, and the cloth of his underclothes is so thin... sometimes she worries he could still get her pregnant.

"Not enough," he groans into her ear. "I need more of you. More skin..."

She bites her lip, "Last time you slipped inside, Petyr."

"Only the tip, Lysa. You're a maiden still," he frees his cock from his underclothes and gives it a pump, "all I need is to feel your pretty cunt against me. I won't go inside."

Lysa reaches down to hold him and moans, "Not even the tip, Petyr. I mean it."

He smiles, "My sweet little sister, the day you marry will break my heart."

Oh you know he is always begging for just the tip, such a perv he is .

But she feels so good so how can he not desire such a thing ;)

[turtle-paced]

Why wasn’t Lysa able to form any friendship over her years at Kl or at the vale? Was it littlefinger isolating her?

I think it's partly that, yes - but I also think Lysa was shy, uncertain of her place in her husband's household (and therefore lacking confidence), and traumatised from first a forced abortion, then from repeated stillbirths and miscarriages. Between those factors, I don't think there was a whole lot Littlefinger had to do to ensure Lysa remained essentially friendless.

[polysucks]

Forever thinking about how when Tyrion asked Petyr about Hoster Tully’s girls, Petyr’s first response was “oh the girls who I fucked? The ones who were virgins before I met them? Those girls? Hmm yeah I seem to remember them. I totally fucked them. Like both of them. Did filthy things to them. They can suck the chrome off a bumper. I definitely know what pussy looks like. I totally touched one. Kinda. What about them?”

and Tyrion was all “didn’t ask but ok. Anyway,,,,”

What a LOSER. Disgusting LOSER.

[motorway-south]

the main ill hoster tully has brought against me is forcing lysa to abort the baelish baby. can you imagine if in the main series lysa and petyr had a son a few years older than robb? potential pervert creep of all time... 1000% munchausen by proxyed...... rip sweetpetyr we hardly knew ye

[sofikiii]

More of young Catelyn, Edmure, and Lysa Tully of Riverrun 🐟

Seeing as Minisa died when Edmure was just a child, I can see him asking his older sisters to do stuff with him, and always looking for their approval <3

+ other version featuring Littlefinger’s hateful self (come on man, who brings a book to the River!!)

[marwyn]

Featured in but two chapters of George R.R. Martin’s multi-volume A Song of Ice and Fire, brutish Craster may seem a minor character, peripheral to the larger thematic concerns of Martin’s sweeping and bloody Game of Thrones. Indeed, entrenched in his ramshackle keep in the Haunted Forest, well north of the Wall that marks the end of Westerosi civilization, defined by a predatory incest that leaves him with nineteen daughter-wives and no living male heirs, Craster appears in every way a figure beyond the pale, the very antithesis to the more courtly domains of Starks and Lannisters. Yet even if he is, in the words of Dywen of the Night’s Watch, “a kinslayer, liar, raper, and craven,” such crimes fail to distinguish him from leaders of Westeros’s noble families. Lannisters, Freys, and Tullys do not balk at stratagems or kin-murder; cravens can be found in the white of the Kingsguard. Even in his incest, Craster breaks taboos wildlings acknowledge, only to emulate both Targaryen rulers who “married brother to sister” and the scandalous love of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, whose illegitimate fruits become the seeds of the Song’s protracted wars. It may well be true, then, as wildling Ygritte tells Jon Snow, that “Craster’s more your kind than ours.”

It is precisely this hypothesis I propose to take seriously here. Indeed, I maintain that Craster, far from being a minor addition to Martin’s formidable gallery of grotesques (on par, say, with Vargo Hoat), is a crucial cue to what the novels treat as the pathological self-regard of the Westerosi dynasties. In its endogamous self-reproduction and its dedication to cruel self-culling, the House of Craster discloses, I argue, the true economy of the Game of Thrones, highlighting how the great Houses’ insistence on purity and power sees them not only devouring their own, but reducing the realm to a feast for crows. Craster distils the truth of great seats like Riverrun or Casterly Rock, not just because his paternal incest evokes a fraternal form central to such great lines as Lannister or Targaryen. Rather, the Craster who takes all his female issue to wife and leaves the sons he sires on them to “[t]he white shadows,” reveals a deadly social narcissism that lies at the heart of Martin’s great families, one that establishes them as institutions at odds with themselves and as effective allies to the forces that threaten Westeros.

What lies at the heart of the Houses’ strife and the realm’s ruin, Craster’s example teaches, is not merely incest nor even the Oedipal strife of fathers and sons, but a foundational narcissism that can imagine both family and society as only the pure extension of self. Martin offers Craster as a stark illustration of this phenomenon so as to highlight how the whole of Westerosi society is rooted in and ravaged by this violent narcissism. It is not only Craster who refuses to brook any rival master, or libidinal agent, under his roof; it’s nor just he who enforces an identification of self with House, with society, through familial bloodshed. If the Targaryens wed their siblings, it was in service to purity of blood, after all, and if Tywin’s twins are pledged to one another, it is because, as Cersei says, “Jaime and I are ... one person in two bodies.” In both cases, love of kin only as self involves ready violence against both relations who thwart such identification and those alien to the bonds of blood: Dany must fear waking the dragon, and Bran’s fall is very long, indeed.

The narcissistic cast of familial ties and its tendency to ruin both Houses and the realm is, I argue, the very pith of the bloody Game of Thrones, a fact well delineated by three consequential instances: Samwell’s repudiation and near-murder at the hands of his father, Randyll Tarly; Tywin Lannister’s sadistic dissolution of Tyrion’s marriage to [Tysha]; and Hoster Tully’s destruction of his grandchild, Lysa’s unborn bastard, for the crime of having lowly Petyr Baelish as sire. In each case, a drive to purity tears Houses apart. Moreover, the latter two examples highlight how such narcissism stokes civil war and so abets the mortal threats of rising winter and the Others’ return.

D. Marcel DeCoste, “Beyond the Pale? Craster and the Pathological Reproduction of Houses in Westeros,” in Mastering the Game of Thrones: Essays on George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire (eds. Jes Bettis and Susan Johnston)

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE .

Masterlist:

cast + author's note

parts:

1 2

CHAPTER ONE , A NEW FRIEND.

Hooked on a dream that is reeling me in. Oh, is this how we begin? Flowers on fire in black and white film.

— Count Me In, Early Winters

Lyarra Stark had always been a wolf, for all intensive purposes. Frost coated her blood, winter exuded her very being. From the day she came into the realms of men, she was cold to the touch. As her mother went to caress her cheek for the first time, she couldn't help the instinctual flinch. Her babe all but frozen, with pink cheeks — and warm breath. When they took her to the Maester, they discovered there had been nothing wrong with her — not at all. She was born of Winter, and Winter she would remain.

When her hair began to grow in, it was thick — black curls, that cascaded down her. She stood out from the snowy wasteland of the North. As did her personality. While her eldest brother Brandon had always been described as a hot-head, she was cold. Not unkind, but her words were sharp. She did not speak often, and never to those outside of her family.

Her sister, Lyanna, carried the very thought of love with her everywhere she went. It was impossible to hate her, unthinkable to not adore. The two were halves of one whole. In that same breath, they were also almost identical. Lyarra's features were just a bit sharper than Lyanna's. To the naked eye, one could hardly tell the difference. While it was expected of ladies to think naught of anything but life — but love, childbearing, and marriage — the twins would spend their nights sparring. No one else would ever come close to raising a blade to them, wooden or not -- so they knew it was their own task to see through. The two, previously alike in everything but name — had only one staggering difference. Lyanna would spend her nights blissfully thinking of her life ahead, of flowers and life. While Lyarra knew all too well of what was to come.

She wasn't blind to the life that was expected of women. What was expected of her. It was at the age of eight that she began sneaking out of the walls of Winterfell — at the very peak of night. When one could see nothing but wisps of snow coating the ground — and stone surrounding them. She'd been beyond the walls a few times, but not often. Her own curiosity took hold of her, pushing her further and further — until she came upon a forest. It was nothing frightening, by any means. Lyarra could see the end of the tree-line, if she stood up. The trees almost seemed to form a circle, with one solitary stump in the middle. Again, Lyarra's feet seemed to carry her before her mind could argue — and in a few short steps, she was perched on the stump, watching the snow fall above her.

Every night that she could, for the years to come — she would spend her hours gazing up at the trees on that very stump. Sometimes she would bring a book, sometimes her sword. But she would never share it with anyone else. If she had to live someone else's life — a ladies life — she would need something to her own. Even if it stung to keep something so precious from her sister.

At age ten, she traveled with her brothers to Riverrun — and as it was her first time making such a journey, she spent most of it clutching her sister's hand. The two did not hold one another close very often. Lyanna would scold Lyarra for how cold she was, and rip whatever Lyarra was holding onto out of her grasp. It wasn't meant to be cruel, and she knew very well how her touch felt to others — but she could never help the scowl that followed. This time, though, Lyarra would not let her out of her grasp. For all of her curiosity, she couldn't help but long to be back within the walls of Winterfell.

The more that she cowered to her sister's side, the more attention from her brothers she drew to herself. This was not the first time that Brandon had made this journey — as they were going to visit his intended, after all — nor Eddard, for that matter. Though it was Benjen's first time traveling this far, he walked ahead of the two girls. As Lyarra noticed this, she couldn't help but pout in the slightest. She longed for her brother to be by her side, making her laugh — taking her mind off of the journey. Eddard, as if he knew what she was thinking, glanced towards Benjen's retreating figure. His jaw fell open, as if to call for his brother, but he shut it just as quickly — thinking better of himself.

"'S alright, Lyarra. We'll be back home soon, I swear it." Eddard grasped onto her shoulder. The boy was only a few years her elder, but she couldn't help the awe she felt in his presence. If she thought her sister carried the thought of love with her everywhere she went, her brother carried honor. It was almost breathtaking, in certain lights. The peace and loyalty that he exuded, that came out in his very presence. She couldn't do much but nod, but even that was enough to bring a calming smile to Ned's lips. He squeezed her shoulder, bending down to meet her eyes evenly, and she couldn't help but meet his smile with one of her own.

For the first few days of their visit to Riverrun, Lyarra did not care to leave her quarters. When she did, she stayed at the side of her sister — avoiding any sort of conversation with those around her. Brandon did his best to introduce her to those around them, but she only spared them a timid smile — before moving to stand behind him. On the third day, however, Lyarra snuck out of her room at the very peak of the night — as she normally would have, had she been home. This time, however, she knew she could not exit the walls. She knew not how to come back in, nor if they would hear her yelling. Instead, she took to wandering the halls. She was unaware of how much time had gone by, stuck in a palace of her own thoughts. After a while, she came across a small stone window. If she tried hard enough, she could stick half of her body out of it — shimmy her way down. But this wasn't a prison, not really. How she longed to return home, though. Her curious stupor was broken then, by a small - almost weasley voice,

"It's a long fall, you know. I've thought of it before. At best, your ankle would snap as you landed. At worst? Your head would cave from the pressure." Lyarra almost jumped out of her own skin, as she twisted her head to find where the voice was coming from. In front of her stood a small, common-looking boy. With clothes far finer than one would assume he would have. His eyes were soft, while the rest of him was sharp. He was, in all, truly a small child. One look at him, and Lyarra knew the boy wasn't royalty. So, he wasn't Edmure Tully then. Unfortunate, that Lyarra hadn't listened much when her brother had described the inhabitants of the castle.

As if he knew what she was thinking, a coy smirk pulled across the boy's lips — with a smile forming just as small as the rest of him. "My name's Petyr. Petyr Baelish." The last part came out as a bit of a ramble, as if it were an afterthought. He couldn't be royalty, or any kind of highborn. The ward, then. Now Lyarra could vaguely recall her brother's words. Eddard had not spoken fondly of the boy — describing him as a leech, for lack of a better term. However, in this light, Lyarra could not see what was so monstrous about him. He appeared to be just a boy.

"Lyarra is mine. I apologize my .. friend, I know I am not meant to be out of my quarters. I only meant to take a short walk. I will return at once." Her words came out meek, and she sounded much smaller than she would've liked. Petyr, who seemed to brighten at the word 'friend' took a step forward, as she meant to make her retreat.

"Please, don't leave on my account. Spend your night roaming the halls, if that is what you wish. That's what I did, on my first night here." Petyr's coy smile melted into something more genuine, and Lyarra could just barely see a glisten of light in his eyes. He didn't want her to go. The further she stepped away, the closer he stepped to her. If it were anyone else, Lyarra would feel threatened. But somehow, she knew that this boy wouldn't hurt her. "If it would comfort you to not spend your night alone, I could walk with you. I was on my way to my own quarters, when I saw you."

Lyarra couldn't help the hesitation that swept over her. She didn't have any friends, beyond her siblings. She had never been outspoken in that aspect, never in the way that she should have been. Yet, here was a boy practically throwing himself at her feet — just for the chance of a friend. She took a breath, before reaching her arm out — giving him the chance to link with her.

"Come then, Petyr. I'd like to see what other secrets this 'castle' has in store for me." She glanced at him expectantly, then, and couldn't help but meet his smile with one of her own as he grasped onto her. Unlike everyone else, he did not shy away from how cold she was. His eyes only widened for a second, before he clutched onto her arm that much stronger. The two spent the night roaming the halls, and for once Lyarra listened as someone explained the meaningless history of these walls to her. She matched his stories with some of her own, describing to him what Winterfell was like — what her first snowfall felt like.

The two only stopped, when they had returned to the window again. The sun was just barely rising, somehow they'd managed to talk through the entire night. As Petyr went to make his leave, Lyarra clutched onto his sleeve before she could stop herself.  At his inquisitive, but not unkind look — she took a breath, before she spoke.

"Back home, I would do this every night. I would sneak out of my chambers, beyond the walls. Past the guards, into the woods. And every night, I would go to this forest. A small thing, really. But in the very center of the forest stood a stump. Yet it isn't frayed, like someone cut it themselves. It's as if it just grew that way. Small, never growing any larger. Content. And when I would sit there, for once it felt as if I knew my place. As if I was meant to be there." Lyarra finished her ramble as quickly as it began, as she delicately placed her free hand onto the stone at the bottom of the window. She had never told anyone that before, and here she was — prattling her secrets off to the first stranger she'd met. Petyr took a beat before answering, and Lyarra couldn't help but realize how ridiculous she sounded. She'd only just gone to correct herself, when he spoke up.

"Should I ever make that journey, I'd like to see that. If you'd have me." His words were soft, and as her head snapped to him for the second time that night — she saw in his eyes then what she had never seen before. Understanding, wholly and completely. He knew how it felt to not have a place in the world, to not know where you belong. The value of having somewhere entirely to yourself. She couldn't help the small grin that graced her lips.

"Well, of course, Petyr. You're my friend, aren't you?" For the second time that night, Lyarra watched as the boy all but glowed at the word. He needed a friend just as badly as she did. Maybe even more. The two held onto one another for a beat longer than necessary, before saying their goodbyes. As Petyr began to walk in the other direction, Lyarra called out for him. "Petyr, if you wouldn't mind? Keep what I told you between us. I haven't told anyone else.." He said nothing, but the previous coy smile that she'd been introduced with covered his lips once more. With a slight nod, the two went their separate ways.

The rest of Lyarra's stay passed in all but a blur. She spent her day with Lyanna — or one of her brothers, if they weren't busy with the Tully girls. She hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak to her brother's intended, herself. Catelyn Tully intimidated Lyarra, for some reason that she couldn't place. While Petyr's features were sharp, Catelyn's words carried that weight instead. She exuded a sense of responsibility everywhere she went. Lysa, on the other hand, didn't carry herself the way that her sister did. Though, admittedly, Lyarra had only gotten glimpses at her — and each time, the girl was already glaring at her. A petulant child, then. Lyarra spent her nights roaming the halls with Petyr. Some nights they would go to one of their respective quarters, both sitting on the floor — in a way unbecoming of their station — as they talked about their lives. About things they'd never seen, and the things that they wanted to see. Some nights, Lyarra would have supper with her family as well as the Tullys — and throughout the night she would make faces at Petyr, forced to contain her laughter at his reaction. She caught Edmure giving her a strange look more than once, and each time she would simply look back at him blankly.

Eddard caught on all too quickly, though her other siblings remained oblivious to this newfound friendship. He'd made his disapproval quite clear. 'Littlefinger' -- as he'd so delicately named him — 'was not to be trusted', he'd argue. Every day, the two siblings would get into the same quarrel. She loved her brother, and trusted him beyond words. But she wouldn't allow his bias to go against her care for her new friend. Too quickly, she became all too aware of Petyr's feelings for Catelyn. When she was braced with the news, she couldn't help the slight sting in her chest. Of course, she would never be allowed to marry someone as lowborn as Petyr (though, in her eyes, a ward was far from below her) but he was the first boy who had taken an interest in her for her. Her own bitter feelings subsided eventually, though, as she saw her friend longingly staring at the Tully girl.

On the final day of their stay, Lyarra spent her night at the very window where she was introduced to Petyr. As she waited for him, staring up at the sky, she couldn't help but think about how different things were. She dreaded going home, after all this time. Losing her one friend, being forced to return to a life that didn't feel like her own. Reminiscent of their first meeting, Petyr broke her out of this thought by lightly grasping her shoulder. This time, she knew exactly who it was without looking. She'd become familiar with the boy's almost-too-soft hands. His spindly fingers.

"There's something I want you to see. Something I think you'll like." Was all he said as a greeting, gently moving to spin her towards him. Her brow furrowed almost instantly, and without a word she nodded — moving to follow him silently. The two didn't say much to one another, Lyarra still stuck in her somber thoughts. Petyr, as if noticing this, clasped onto her arm as he had on the first night. Before she knew it, the two were outside — walking along the battlements. This was the furthest outside she had been since her stay began, even when she walked through the castle with her family. Lyarra's eyes cascaded over the water below, as she marveled at the land in the distance. As she turned to look back to Petyr, she noticed he was already looking at her.

"Figured you would like to get out of the castle, at least once." Was all he supplied, with a small — almost imperceptible shrug. Lyarra couldn't help the smile that overtook her, as she all but threw herself into the thin arms of the boy next to her. He grunted in surprise, as her arms entirely wrapped around the small boy.

"Thank you, Petyr. Oh, thank you, my friend." Her voice was muffled, as she shoved her face into his coat. After a beat, he moved his arms to wrap around her in return. She held him for only a moment longer, before pulling back with a wide grin. Lyarra turned back to the open land, moving to clutch onto his hand then. "There's so much out there.. haven't you ever wondered where it all ends?" At that, Petyr let out a noncommittal grunt. He stepped forward, placing his own hands on the stone wall.

"'Course, I have. These walls, they're all I've ever known. All I'll ever know, if I'm being honest." He sounded almost sorrowful. As if he were a frail bird locked away in a cage, desperate to fly as far as he could away. "The Tullys, they took me in when they didn't have to. My family was nothing, I've yet to forget that. Yet to be allowed to, I should say." Lyarra understood what he meant all too well. She had always been grateful that she was given this life. That her family didn't need to fight for food, that she had a warm hearth. But at night, she dreamt of living another life. A free one, where she was allowed to do as she wished. She was young, still a child of course — but she was soon to be a woman, whether she wished for it or not. Lyarra squinted them, trying to look as far as she could into the distance.

"If you could, where would you go?" Lyarra had never felt as young as she did in that moment. For just a second, the two were only hopeful children — dreaming of a life so far out of their grasp. For just a moment, they were allowed to wish for something else. A beat of silenced stretched over the battlements as the boy thought.

"South. King's landing. Maybe I'd work for the king. Work my way up, until I was his most trusted advisor. Men often overlook what they cannot see." He seemed to spin a web of gold, within his words. He sounded so certain of himself, and it was such a contrast to the timid boy that Lyarra had come to know. Her stomach churned, almost uneasy — but she couldn't feel the burst of pride within her chest as the boy dreamt of a life so far away.

"You'd make a good king, I think. You're smart enough to navigate that sort of thing." Her words showed her own youthful innocence, as she leaned against the stone wall to smile at Petyr. At that, his eyes seemed to narrow with intensity — as if her words alone just gave him a purpose he'd never truly imagined.

"Intelligence means nothing in the eyes of a King. King's Landing itself is chaos — a pit that I'm not quite confident I'd be able to find my way out of." Petyr took this moment to lean against the wall himself, glancing over at the Stark girl as he spoke. Lyarra blinked, her expression more serious than he'd ever seen.

"Chaos isn't a pit, Petyr. It's a ladder. If you're a step ahead of someone else, you're just a step behind another." In just a moment, Lyarra sounded as if she had entirely grown up. Her voice was mature, the word's coming out of it carried that she kept close to herself. Petyr looked at her then, properly, and moved forward before he could stop himself. For the second time that night the two were linked — his arms wrapped around her waist. In an instant, she did the same -- wrapping her own arms around his neck. The two found understanding within one another that they had never found within someone else. Beneath the light of the stars, they held one another close for much longer than they had to — and only began their journey back inside once they saw the sun peak over the hills.

The following morning, Lyarra was back on the road before she was even fully awake. Her goodbyes with Petyr were quick, away from the all-seeing eyes of her siblings. She held him close as she had the night before, and he grasped onto her hand. They made a quick promise to see one another again, and he was gone before she could say anything else. On their way out, Lyarra stuck close to Brandon. She fit into the side of his cloak as he towered over her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. The Tullys bid them farewell, Catelyn smiling softly at her intended -- While Lysa, on the other hand, was glaring daggers into Lyarra. She almost glanced behind her to see if the girl was staring at something else, before she'd realized it was surely meant for her. She moved closer to Brandon, and ignored his inquisitive gaze as they began their journey.

Lyarra tried to ignore the sorrow that threatened to overcome her at the thought of leaving her first true friend behind — but she did her best to steel herself, marching proudly at her brother's side. On the way there, she had hung back with her sister the whole trip — insistent on avoiding everything she could. This time, she wanted to be in the front. She wanted to know what was to come, what the future had in store for her. Come what may, Lyarra would be ready for it. Even if she was forced to live a life she had no care for — she knew that she had the support of a small boy from Riverrun. A boy who was certain to work his way to the top, at the cost of anyone around him. She couldn't help the burst of pride she felt at that, and her steps almost doubled in speed.

"Lyarra, don't run ahead! Wait for us!" Eddard called after her, but she was already well over the hill. She was eager to get home. More eager than she'd been in weeks. She no longer dreaded what was in store, rather she'd never been more ready.

Okay, So. There's that! The first official chapter of this story .. What did you guys think?? I'll warn everyone now, there won't be a Sandor appearance for a minute. I have too much storyline to build. This book is about Lyarra, not just their relationship. I am very excited to build that as I go along.

As you can see, Petyr plays a large role in this fanfic. I wouldn't classify this as a 'Petyr x reader', because the feelings that the two have for one another are confusing even to one another. They are each other's first true friend, and there will always be love between them for that. They have a very complicated relationship.

The next chapter will likely involve two of the main characters that I have yet to introduce, and further propell Lyarra down the road that she is meant to take. I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Young Petyr is so interesting to write. And yes, I gave myself creative leeway, and made it so Lyarra is the one to give Petyr the "Chaos is a ladder" idea. Sue me. They're really smart ten year olds, alright. There are dragons in this series, not everything has to make sense.

As always, feel free to leave any thoughts that you have in the comments! My tiktok is @vhenanfilms if you would like the see the edits I am making based on the series! Thank you all,

Zevran.