Petyr was a boy of 12 now. He had trained to be stronger than Edmure, but his size still remained his disadvantage. It had been 4 years since his arrival in Riverrun and he had enjoyed his new family.

While his combat skills were his flaw, he made up in his conversations. When insulted, by either Edmure, a guard, a soldier, or a maid, he would conjure a clever comeback. This often resulted in blank stares or embarrassment. And he savored it.

"He has a way with words, m'lord." The Septa told Lord Tully.

Lord Tully, who was scarcely paying attention to her grunted. "Who?"

"The little lord. Petyr Baelish," the Septa answered, looking up from her stitchings. The children were playing outside. The rain had softened the soil and turned to mud.

"Petyr! Oh Petyr, eat it!" Lysa laughed, handing Petyr a mud cake.

Petyr grabbed it. He refused to eat it. He was sure he just saw maggots and such burrow into it.

"Are you scared, Littlefinger??" Edmure jested. With his hand, Edmure shoved the pie into Petyr's mouth.

Littlefinger. He hated the nickname. While he was still significantly shorter than the Tully children, Edmure mocked him for his miniscule family holdings. Salty mud touched his tongue and his teeth sank into the viscous substance. Petyr forced himself to swallow, choking as it slid down his throat.

Lysa was laughing. Edmure was on the ground. Even Cat had tears from laughter in her eyes.

"Don't you want another one, brother?" Cat handed him another. By the time they were to go inside, he had eaten at least 5 and felt sick to his stomach.

"You're such a fool, boy! Eating all that will make you ill!" The Septa scolded him. He nodded and regurgitated on the recently cleaned floor.

-------------------------------------------------------
"The poor child's been sick for a week!" The Septa exclaimed, closing the door to Petyr's chambers gently.

"Not my fault." Hoster Tully answered, brushing it off. He slowly made his way to his desk. The Septa followed.

"Not your fault? They are your children, m'lord! He is your child!"

"My illegitimate child. He is not a Tully but a Baelish." Lord Tully answered, flatly.

"You must at least treat him as if he were your son." She answered in an exasperated tone.

Hoster Tully stood up abruptly. "If you continue to bicker with me about my children, I will have your head."