House Tully of the Riverlands, the boy he once was

Having made up her mind to serve Duke Rickard, Ghost had to find a way to keep it from Lyanna.

So she made up a seemingly reasonable excuse.

"Lyanna, I've actually been searching for the secret of my origins all along. Ever since I was born, I've been... a lone wolf, without family or friends... sometimes I feel... very lonely."

Lyanna believed her. Her beautiful ice-blue eyes filled with worry and sympathy. "Then... are you going to look for your own kind?"

Ghost was not really lying to Lyanna. She did want to unravel the secrets of the werewolf race. But before that, she wanted to protect Lyanna, the Mother of Dragons, the Khal, and the others, changing their fates so they would not die violent deaths in their prime.

"I'll go to Riverrun with you first and see whether Robert is reliable. Then I'll go looking for my origins."

Lyanna threw her arms around Ghost. "Yes, I support you."

Ghost hugged Lyanna back as an inexplicable sadness welled up inside her. "Lyanna, we'll meet again someday. Take care of yourself."

Ghost treasured the time they had left. Every day, she and Lyanna hid in their room and talked endlessly. Ned occasionally visited too, but the two girls usually drove him out.

Since Ghost could not turn back into a wolf for the time being, Lyanna prepared plenty of clothes and jewelry for her. Ghost did not really understand why either, and could only put it down to her animal body's "heat" not having ended yet.

The white wolf's temporary disappearance attracted little attention. With Lyanna's explanation and Rickard covering for her, Brandon soon put the matter out of his mind. After receiving a puppy, the tearful Benjen gradually forgot the white wolf too.

The full moon soon passed. As the strange sensations in her body gradually subsided, Ghost regained the ability to change forms at will.

House Stark of the North finally set out for Riverrun.

Ghost would first accompany House Stark to Riverrun in the Riverlands in wolf form, then return to human form and act as the opportunity arose.

Lord Rickard said he would prepare everything, including a new identity for her.

The Riverlands lay in the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. Its ruling house was House Tully, whose sigil was a silver trout, and its current head was Hoster Tully. Its principal seat was Riverrun, situated at the confluence of the Tumblestone and the Red Fork.

Riverrun could be called one of the hardest castles to take in Westeros, second only to the Eyrie in the Vale.

The castle bordered rivers on two sides, with a large artificial moat along its third, western side. When it came under attack, sluice gates could be opened to flood the entire moat, turning the castle into an island surrounded by water on three sides, impregnable. The supplies inside could last two years.

In the original story, the Frey army besieged Riverrun for a long time without breaching it. Only after Jaime persuaded Edmure to surrender and relied on him to enter the castle and betray it could it finally be taken from within.

Hoster Tully was an opportunist whose cunning and strategic skill were no less than Jon Arryn's. Adept at seeking advantage wherever he could, he had not only betrothed his eldest daughter, Catelyn Tully, to Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell in the North, but even wanted to marry his second daughter to Jaime Lannister of House Lannister.

Unfortunately, Tywin Lannister, whose wealth rivaled that of a kingdom, thought nothing of the Blackfish's family or its daughters.

Tywin politely declined Tully's proposed marriage alliance, then turned around and mocked his fanciful ambitions at a family drinking party.

Tywin said, "House Tully has devised a fine motto-Family, Duty, Honor. They've probably shouted it for so long that even they've started to believe it."

Humiliated and furious, Hoster Tully could do nothing but secretly hold the slight against the Lannisters.

Outside Riverrun, a party of riders filed out, escorting several young people. They were moving at a leisurely pace. At the front were two girls of about sixteen or seventeen, with a boy who looked very thin and small following behind them. At the very rear was an even younger boy, still very much at the little-brat age.

The girl in the lead rode ahead of everyone. She was in the full bloom of youth, her long burgundy hair drifting in the wind like willow fluff. Her full chest narrowed sharply at the waist into a dangerous curve. From behind, she was almost breathtakingly beautiful.

Though the girl following close behind bore a strong resemblance to her, she had a drooping, inward-hooked nose that made her look somewhat fierce. Her hair was red too, but its color was much duller, like rusted metal.

She looked back with some concern at the frail, dark-haired boy behind her, then turned and complained, "Sister, slow down. Edmure can barely breathe."

Edmure Tully, sitting comfortably in front of a servant, was not yet ten. He looked at his two older sisters in confusion. "I'm not..." He was not tired, was he?

Lysa Tully loudly interrupted her brother. "Sister, look, Edmure's face is all red. Slow down."

Catelyn Tully reluctantly slowed her horse, her gaze sweeping back and forth over her younger siblings.

Her little brother was chewing his finger in bewilderment. Her sister Lysa was not looking at her at all, her burning gaze fixed on someone else.

The frail, dark-haired boy's eyes lit up the instant they met Catelyn's. He straightened his slender back with all his strength, taking small breaths to steady his breathing.

Catelyn felt rather helpless. She really did not want to bring this bunch of burdens along. How far had they ridden for them to be tired already?

She strongly suspected that they would faint from fright at the sight of their quarry's blood when they hunted later.

She only wanted to get it over with quickly, so she said, "Go enjoy the spring scenery by the lake. I'll go hunting in the woods myself."

She had heard that northerners liked brightly colored animal pelts and wanted to hunt down a few fine fox pelts as gifts. A muffler, or something better?

Ignoring Lysa Tully's frantic meaningful looks beside him, the frail boy hurriedly said, "I'll help you."

Seeing that the boy was ignoring him, Lysa Tully said resentfully, "Forget it. You can't even keep up with my sister's horse."

Petyr Baelish seemed somewhat hurt. He lowered his head and apologized quietly. "I'm sorry, Lady Catelyn... I'll go on a picnic with your younger sister and young master Edmure."

Catelyn glared at her sister but agreed with the suggestion. "Very good. Make sure you don't stray too far from the castle... hmm, Petyr, could you make some bouquets for the banquet for me?"

Edmure was at the age when everyone found him a nuisance. He had no desire to picnic or pick flowers and began shouting, "I want to go with my eldest sister! I don't want to play with Littlefinger! Waaah!"

Catelyn lost her patience and snapped, "Edmure, don't be rude!"

"Take good care of the young master and my younger sister," she told the knights, then sped off with a party of riders.

Lysa was the happiest that Catelyn had left them behind. She reached out and caught the dark-haired boy's sleeve. "Let's go play by the river, Petyr."

Petyr Baelish casually reined his horse around to change direction. Not wanting to be pulled from her saddle, Lysa had no choice but to let go. Just as she was about to lose her temper, Petyr suddenly smiled.

"The weather's nice today. Shall we send young master Edmure back and then take a walk by the river?"

Lysa would have liked nothing better than to send everyone away, and her face immediately blossomed into a smile. She ordered the guards to take Edmure home, then eagerly tried to pull Petyr toward the river.

The guards kept a close watch over young master Edmure's safety. They promptly bundled him back into the city, turning a blind eye to his kicking and screaming.

Lysa and Petyr chose to stroll beside the lake, while the servants followed at a distance, leading their horses. Petyr was deeply impatient, but his smile remained gentle and warm. Lysa clung tightly to his hand.

It had to be said that, apart from his small, frail build, the young Petyr Baelish was quite good-looking. Perhaps his family's poverty and weakness had made him more mature and composed than most boys his age. Not only was he intelligent, but he also always carried an air of melancholy.

Lysa adored that quality in him.

Petyr lowered his head, lost in thought. Over the past few days, Riverrun seemed to have been preparing for some major event. Not only had people begun cleaning and decorating the streets, but even the thieves and thugs who usually ran rampant had all but vanished.

Only the bloodstains left on the gallows outside the city proved they had ever existed.

Duke Hoster had also sent out quite a few men to clear all the refugees and disabled people from around the Kingsroad. Petyr had picked up a few vague pieces of news. It seemed some important person was coming.

A sudden sharp pain in his hand interrupted Petyr's thoughts.