Red As Autumn

DISCLAIMER: Everything is with their rightful owners. No money is made of this.

- I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair -

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Dusk was falling. He shuddered with cold and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. He was tired to no end and felt about ready to fall off his horse – but he wouldn't, he was far too proud for that. There were the eyes of Catelyn and Lysa watching his back, they were riding somewhere behind him, and he had interest in looking strong in front of them.

Not that he cared much for Lysa, she was nowhere near as beautiful as her sister and she didn't have a shred of Cat's spunk, either. But she had had a crush on him for what felt like forever, almost as long as Petyr had been in love with her older sister, and who knew? One day her infatuation might come in handy.

Catelyn was a wholly different affair. When he'd come to Riverrun, she hadn't esteemed him all that highly, but by now she honestly cared for him – only while he fell asleep every night dreaming of the eldest Tully daughter, Cat thought of him like a brother.

Not what he had in mind.

Petyr was determined to marry her one day. Of course, his birth didn't exactly support that plan, Edmure liked to remind him of that, but Petyr would find a way. He always found one.

His horse whinnied nervously and tore him out of his thoughts. Petyr rubbed his hands in a futile attempt to warm them, cursing under his breath, and glanced at his surroundings only to find that a thick fog had crept up on them.

Edmure looked around himself nervously and gripped the wooden sword on his belt, as if that would protect him from enemies. Petyr suppressed the urge to laugh at the Tully boy – they were of the same age, but Petyr was more mature and smarter by far. And for all of Edmure's teasing and insisting to call him "Littlefinger", Petyr felt superior to the young Tully, whatever their birth.

"Scared, Tully?" he asked, but not in an unfriendly tone.

"No," Edmure gave back stubbornly, his lying painfully obvious. There was another thing Petyr had bested him by far. "It's just that the fog wasn't there a minute ago."

Petyr wanted to laugh, but even the guards looked a little uneasy by now, and his horse had started to prance about nervously. And suddenly, he too had the feeling something was wrong.

He turned around on his horse, trying to determine what it was that made him so nervous. He was almost ten, and he wasn't easily scared, but there was something there, or rather… someone wasn't.

"Cat," he murmured and spun his horse around brusquely, teeth clenched.

"Petyr?" Edmure called after him, but he ignored the boy and trotted past the others, back to where they had come from. His horse was one of Lord Hoster's, it had clearly not warmed up to Petyr just yet and took decidedly too much persuasion to go any faster.

His heart throbbed furiously in his chest, so much it almost hurt.

It was hard not to lose the path in the fog and Petyr didn't have a torch to light the way, but Cat didn't either and she was a lady so he guessed she was probably even more scared than he was.

"Cat? Cat!" he yelled, urging the chestnut to go faster though he knew that was folly – what if the horse would break a leg? "Catelyn!"

He ignored the danger of that – and the thought of Lord Hoster's anger if he ruined his horse – and spurred the chestnut further. "Cat, can you hear me?"

Suddenly, Petyr found himself surrounded by trees. He cursed when he realised he had lost the path and halted his horse, turning around, trying to determine from where he'd come. He tried at least five different directions and almost panicked before he thankfully found the narrow trail again. There he first went into the wrong direction for almost half a league until he noticed his mistake.

"Catelyn!" he bellowed, trying to ignore the dreadful feeling of being watched by something from within the fog. He was shaking and feeling dreadfully cold and alone, but he pressed on, yelling for Cat. The wood was starting to scare him, every tree looked like some kind of foe, every bush like a shadowcat or some other vile creature from the tales that Cat read to him, Edmure and Lysa when they were sick. He fervently wished for some kind of weapon though he was hopeless when it came to arms, clumsy with a sword, a lousy shoot with a bow and too weak to even lift an axe. But just something that would stop him from feeling so naked, a dagger maybe, or even a kitchen knife…

"Cat! Catelyn! Are you here? Can you hear me?"

No reply came and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, his fear growing. What if something had happened to her?

He hoped Lord Hoster would punish her idiot guards – how could they have lost sight of her in the first place?

How could he have lost sight of her?

His eyes were stinging and he hated himself for it – gods, first he was scared of fog and trees and now he was crying. How pathetic.

Teeth clenched, he put spores to his hoarse once more, chasing along the path, half blind.

Then suddenly, very faintly, he heard something… a voice perhaps… no, not a voice…

Crying.

"Hush, Lysa, stop crying… we'll… we'll get out of here, I promise it…"

Petyr sighed and closed his eyes in relief for a moment. Cat.

He slowed his horse and followed her voice into the woods and then, finally, he could see them. Lysa's face was wet with tears and she was clutching her older sister's hand. Cat, ever the strong lady of Riverrun, sat very upright in her saddle, gripping her horse's reins with one hand and her sister's hand with the other, talking in a soothing voice and with a forced smile on her lips.

There was a spark of panic in her gorgeous blue eyes and a good deal of resignation, but that smile stayed in place while she tried to be strong for her whiny little sister.

Petyr loved her so much it hurt.

"Cat," he said softly. She looked up at him and after a moment, a deeply relieved smile spread on her lips. Lysa beamed up at him, but he hardly even noticed it – all he could see was the way Cat's eyes sparkled at him. He felt a little dizzy.

"Petyr, thank the gods."

Oh, he did. He did.

"Come, I'll get you back to the others," he said, hoping his voice sounded nonchalant.

When they reached the path again, Catelyn rode next to him and threw him another of those smiles. He wondered if she had any idea what they were doing to him.

"Thank you for coming back for us, Petyr," she said softly. "All on your own."

"I'm not scared," he answered and realised his lying still needed some training.

That smile was still there, and then she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

His heart might have stopped for just a moment.

It was that look on Cat's face the moment before she'd seen him, that peculiar mixture of panic, surrender and a stubborn kind of bravery, that he remembered in this moment.

She stood there on the gallery while the vain boy sitting so uncomfortably on the Iron Throne tried to carry that heavy crown on his head and handed out rewards to the heroes of the battle of Blackwater Bay.

Sansa Stark's beautiful features, so painfully like her mother's, showed exactly the same feelings.

Just for a second, he felt the same driving desire that he had felt all those years ago – that burning wish to save this gentle, innocent girl standing there between all those empty lordlings and bloated ladies. His heart ached to wipe that forlorn look off her face-

But then he brushed those thoughts away.

Your heart doesn't ache, Littlefinger, he thought angrily. They say you've got a bag of gold for a heart, and it better be true if you want to live.

He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the girl, his gaze wandering restlessly over the other members of the royal court.

Coward, Cat's sweet voice whispered in his head. Petyr tried his best not to listen.

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- I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair. -

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