Sun just shakily rose over a promontory with a mocking name of The Fingers. First beams of light crossed pervasive boring gray, sometimes weaved with endless long green plains and deep moorlands. Landscape was hostile, but filled with raw beauty. Almost untouched by a human hand, closed before the influences, which spread through the whole country from the south. Perhaps every part of Westeros was occupied by powerful houses, abounded with wealth and belongings, always under protection of the strong armies. The Fingers were different. South of The Fingers was The Vale, where the House Arryn ruled for the centuries. However, there was no house on The Fingers. Most of the population was created by exiles, outlaws and dangerous criminals, who tried to find their last hope against justice in this cheerless part of the realm. They inhabited poor villages, scattered over hills of The Fingers. Still, worthless composition of the population was dominated by a small castle, which sat high on the highest hill, safely surrounded by army of trees, gathered in thick, impenetrable forests. But as long as the wayfarer nibbled his path through higher to the castle, the landscape begun to withdraw against the unfavorable conditions of the mountains. The air was cold and sharp, the soil was solid and rocky. No surprise there wasn't any vegetation in the imminent proximity of the castle. The castle hanged on the edge of steep precipice, causing the impression that it will fall to the chasm under it in the matter of seconds, but it's base was toughly grown in the rocky soil that was it's bedrock. It has balanced like this for many years and it never made a closer step to destruction.
Long convoy of wagons and horse riders moved slowly on the narrow pebbly path towards the castle. Flag bearers wielded long poles with flags with a white fish on the red background, with two thick white waves under it and one thinner in the middle and the blue one on the lower part. Sigil of the House Tully, lords of Riverrun. Evrart Baelish, lord of The Fingers castle, maintained very good friendly relationships with Hoster Tully and his family. It happened after the War of the Ninepenny Kings, where he faithfully fought side by side with him. Now, on the invitation of Evrart Baelish, Hoster Tully came to The Fingers to discuss an uncertain future of the House Baelish, that depended on just one person. Long procession of wagons jolted towards the castle and every next horse step was more exhausting and every hoof fell to the tiny gravel with much more effort than before.
„Fucking Baelish," cursed one of the men who ride closely behind Lord Tully's wagon. He was a captain of the guard, clothed in magnificent armor made of silver-plated steel, with a white fish on his chest. Heavy dark blue cloak waved in the wind behind his back and granted him strange, almost god-like aura, which distinguished him from the others.
„There will be wine and a lot of food." He was comforted by Renart, ordinary member of the guard, but his close friend at the same time. Nygell snorted in amusement. In the next moment, his horse tripped over a stone and nearly fell on his knees. Nygell cursed again.
„But no women," he said with a derisive undertone in his voice. „As far as I know, Lord Baelish doesn't have any daughters. Just a son. And that's not what my crotch craves."
Hoster Tully in a front wagon impatiently looked out for a small mountain keep. The Fingers were, in comparison to the fertile soil and pleasant landscape of the Riverrun, really shocking change. Not everyone was lucky enough to belong to the high-ranking noble family, occupying advantageous part of the country. Lower lords mostly resided in the similar areas like Lord Baelish. Apart from the Starks, whose wasteland in the north was perhaps even worse than The Fingers. Before the whole ant imprint finally arrived to the top of the hill, sun rays started to fade. The landscape looked even more hostile and creepy at the twilight. Just the courtyard of the castle showed how poor Lord Baelish actually was. Unsurprisingly, because he only ruled the criminals and outcasts, who respected no law, but a sword. But it made him more modest and grateful, because it was only the kindness of Hoster Tully what granted him and his son the opportunity to live in this castle, not just some village down in the valley. History of the House Baelish didn't reach deep. Evrart's grandfather, founder of the house, was a poor mercenary from Braavos, who came to The Vale on the invitation of House Corbray, and served them for many years. His son, who became a knight, followed his father's footsteps and thanks to his credits gained a small keep on the smallest part of The Fingers, where the house lived now. But Evrart Baelish, who was his son, made his way much further than both of his ancestors altogether. He helped Hoster Tully to repress the rebellion of Lord Maelys Blackfyre. As a reward, he was promoted to the noble status and became a lord. Afterwards, an unknown woman gave birth to his only son, Petyr.
As soon as Lord Baelish heard clacking of the horseshoes on the pebbly bedrock of the courtyard, he came up to meet the guests. He didn't have many servants – just some cooks, maids and a groom, who took care of the small stable. That's why he showed up completely alone. Hoster Tully didn't pretend surprise. He knew Evrart really well and he also knew the conditions he lived in. It was something unimaginable for the Lord of the Riverrun, but he had mercy for his friend and helped him as much as he could. He even offered him a bigger castle located in much better land once, but the stubborn lord Baelish declined, claiming that they're good at The Fingers. When Hoster asked him what his little son Petyr thinks about it, he didn't find any proper answer. As a consequence to this fact, Hoster Tully offered him, that he would like to foster his son in the Riverrun, just to ensure a better future for him. That's actually why Hoster showed up in here. As soon as a tall man dressed in a simple leather jacket and riding trousers that tugged his incipient belly found himself in the courtyard, Hoster left his richly decorated wagon and came out to meet him. He gripped his friend in a warm embrace, and patted his shoulder a few times with a wide-spread palm of his hand. He didn't like such behavior, but he wanted to bring at least a bit of luck and joy to the unfortunate castle. He had the feeling that it's heavy stone walls gripped and crammed him into a small human sphere, and therefore he couldn't wait to disappear again. But he didn't say anything aloud, he cared very well about good relationships and didn't want to offend his friend with disrespectful behavior. Although Lord Baelish didn't live in an ostentatious palace in King's Landing, he was still an honorable man who didn't deserve bad treatment and mockery.
„For the love of Seven, Evrart. I haven't seen you in such a long time," Hoster said and flashed a bright smile to the dark-haired man.
„I'm glad you're here, Hoster. I can't wait to get rid of that boy," Evrart replied in depressed tone. Hoster Tully twisted his eyebrows, but then another wild smile smacked his face. Lord Tully had a lot of smiles to give away, so he didn't spare them under any circumstances. He had a war triumph, a beautiful wife and three healthy children, so he was as happy as he could ever be. But he couldn't say that about Evrart too, because he looked like a living pile of misfortune.
„I wanted him to follow the footsteps of our family," Evrart complained. „But all he does is that he lies surrounded by books all the time, he's not interested in swords and doesn't even glance to the armor. What to do with such a son? Thanks to him, our house will loose even that little what we have," Evrart growled and screeched his teeth. Hoster sighed softly and put a hand on his shoulder.
"That's why I'm here. I will make him a man. I'll make sure he won't be a shame to your house," Hoster said with a smile, but the look Evrart gave him didn't convince him a lot. He seemed to be quite reconciled with the fact that his only son probably won't grow up to be a warrior, songs won't be written about him and women won't shed rivers of tears. After a long time, castle was finally full of life. The lonely corridors loudly echoed with resounding voices of the Riverrun soldiers, their laughter reflected from the cold walls, which made the fortress melt slowly. The only one who didn't like it was Petyr Baelish. The eight years old boy, who had been the subject of all that great campaign, hurried down the corridor to bring his books, which he had captured in the castle library, to his chamber. Books were the only thing his father had a load of, even though he didn't enfold much importance to them. He preferred power before science and knowledge, which was a crucial point in which Petyr had deeply disagreed with him. Petyr, concentrating not to drop his cargo and not have to build it into a sophisticated pile again, didn't pay any attention to where his steps led. He cried out in surprise when he crashed into something firm and tall, the books sank down painfully in his face and then scattered loudly across the floor. Petyr looked up, fear in his gray eyes, to see a large guard. According to the white fish on his chest, he found out that he was his father's guest. His heartbeat slowly returned to the usual rhythm. He glanced down at the books on the ground, sadly lying upside down, wrinkled, some even with loose pages.
„Can't you see what you've caused?" he snapped at the guard, his face shrunked with anger. The guard turned and stared straight ahead, acting like he didn't even notice a boy who was staring at him with his head turned backward to be able to look in his face, and then he glanced at him.
„Excuse me?" The guard narrowed his eyes attentively glanced at Petyr. Then, he reached out and grabbed the boy's shoulder. „You came here to steal, didn't you? I have to disappoint you, but the kitchen is in the opposite direction. But don't expect me to lead you there." Petyr frowned, his tiny palm tried to slam into the iron gloves that covered man's hands and give him almost a steel grip. He shrieked out in pain and drew his hand back to his body.
"I'm Petyr Baelish and I won't let anyone offend in my own castle!" he cried out angrily. The guard chuckled and shattered the coal-like black hair which bristled above Petyr's forehead.
„Alright. Let's ask Lord Evrart what he thinks about it." With these words, The guard grabbed Petyr's arm and pulled him down the corridor towards the main hall, all against little lord's will. Petyr quickly glanced over his shoulder. He knew he willhave to go back to get the books before anyone tries to destroy them.