Riverrun, 278 AC
Today is a feast day in Riverrun : people are celebrating the betrothal of Catelyn Tully to Brandon Stark, heir of Winterfell and future Warden of the North. Everyone is cheering in the castle. Except for one person: Petyr. He has seen the Lord of Riverrun selling his daughter like a mare when he would have loved her. Who was this Brandon Stark to her? No one. While she knew Petyr, and she loved him, he was sure she did. When the feast starts, he stays sit at the table, barely eating. He stares at Catelyn, who looks more beautiful than ever. She has put on a splendid dress, and is laughing with the guests. He loves looking at her, he loves every feature of her face, of her body. Why does he have to marry this Stark lad? They could run away, together, tonight, and no one would ever care about them. He watches her as she chats with her sister. Lysa stares at him and smiles when their eyes meet. He holds back a loud sigh and fakely smiles. Lysa is pretty, it's true, but she's not Cat. And it's Cat he loves, not her.
As the feast gets to its end, people start to dance. Catelyn dances with her father first, and then with her uncle, Brynden. Petyr stares at them, he stares at Cat, unable to look at anyone else but her. He follows the least of her movements. Everything dances in her: her arms, her legs, her back, her breasts… He smiles when she smiles; he feels his cheeks reddening like her when she finishes dancing. She is the one he sees when he looks at the sky, she would eclipse the sun. When their eyes meet, he has the feeling of an electric shot throughout his spine. He gulps his wine and walks to her, makes her dance. Look at me, Cat. Love me, Cat. The least fiber of his being yells this to her. But she doesn't hear it. She smiles and laughs and talks with him, but she doesn't see it. She is gonna marry the son of a greater Lord than his father, well educated, handsome, strong. He will not love her, he thinks. No one could love her as I do. He keeps dancing with her, for five other dances. He feels so proud of being with her in this moment. She looks like a Queen, and she deserves a King. He's not a King, tho. He's the son of a low Lord. He could never hope to marry the heiress of House Tully. At best, he could marry the daughter of one of their bannermen. At best. But Petyr doesn't want that. He wants Cat. She obsesses him, night and day. He would do anything to have her. If he could, he would take a horse, ride to Winterfell and kill Brandon Stark. What will her life look like, married to some uncouth Stark? Hate and jealousy burn his veins as much as the heat of the room and his love for her.
When they stop dancing, he holds her back by her arm and kisses her. His lips has barely touched hers that she walks back laughing. Laughing. In front of everybody, she mocks him, she mocks his love. Humiliated and furious, he gets back to his chair, and drinks more wine. As the night passes, he doesn't stop drinking, and he soon almost collapses. He feels arms wrapping around him and someone picking him up as if he was a little boy. He doesn't even protest, he's too tired and drunk for that. He opens his eyes and sees the familiar face of Blackfish. The man looks down at him and smiles slightly, before getting in his chamber. He lays the boy on the bed, and gets to the chimney to light a fire. The sudden flames enlighten his face and his hair, already starting to turn grey. Petyr turns on a side and immediately falls asleep, his temples beating hard in his skull, as if they were repeating Cat's name.
He's woken up late when someone moves the sheets away. He feels hair tickling him and he half opens his eyes. It's her, he thinks. It's Cat. He smiles huge and pulls her close to him. She reciprocates tenderly, her soft hands stroking his hair and his back. His whole body shivers and his sex answers her strokes. He hears clothing's noise and suddenly, she is naked next to him. Eagerly, he strokes her, her thighs, her belly, her breasts. She whimpers with pleasure and he hardly believes his luck here. Maybe he is dreaming. He kisses her to be sure and she opens her lips, she offers herself to him. The need of being in her overwhelms him and, feverishly, he takes down his pants and slips his shirt off his head. She's a virgin, he remembers, but he can hardly restrain himself. His cock slides in her as if it was its natural place and the warmth of her entrance takes his breath away. He breathes hard, pleasure rushing in his veins as fast as wine rushed in his stomach, a few hours ago. Why did she change her mind? He doesn't understand. And, somehow, he pays that no mind. He just closes his eyes, and let nature do its work.
When he comes in her with a hoarse moan, he rolls off her and immediately pulls her close for a tight and tender embrace. His lips curl in a sweet smile, his eyes close with tiredness and he whispers her name, the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. "Cat…"
Snuggled up close to his chest, his strong arms wrapped around her, Lysa Tully holds back a sob and lets tears stream down on her face.