Petyr Baelish Was Practically a Martyr

Brandon had already drunk too much, and he was thoroughly pleased with his fiancée. He actually held Catelyn and spun around on the spot so many times that he nearly made himself dizzy.

He staggered toward the exit, pulling Catelyn along by her small hand and shouting loudly. Catelyn was a little embarrassed and worried that he was using his drunkenness as an excuse to act wild.

"Brandon, let go of me first," Catelyn urged quietly, tugging at him. He was hurting her wrist.

Brandon was already dizzy with drink. He stumbled and nearly fell onto a guest beside him. Catelyn was yanked off balance and fell to the floor as well. Her arm and wrist ached from the pull, and she had twisted her ankle. Her eyes instantly reddened.

"Brandon, you've had too much to drink." Catelyn struggled to free herself from his large, iron-clamp hand.

The guests were all drunk and merry too. They actually gathered around the pair, cheering and applauding loudly.

Lyanna frowned. She thought her eldest brother was going a little too far.

Although the family was used to his drunken antics, they were on someone else's turf now, after all. And he was treating a lady so roughly...

She gave Ned a meaningful look, signaling for him to stop their eldest brother, Brandon, preferably by taking him back to bed.

Ned understood. He was just about to stand when Blackfish held him down. "I'll go. You can't keep him under control."

Wine cup in hand, Blackfish walked over with his mouth open in a hearty laugh. His large hand was just about to land on Brandon's shoulder when the clear sound of a blade sliding from its sheath suddenly reached his ears.

Blackfish's expression changed. His right hand went to his waist, and he looked toward the sound...

A scrawny, dark-haired boy had drawn a broadsword from the waist of a drunken knight. His forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat, but his gaze was utterly resolute. His slender arms trembled as he raised the sword's point and aimed it straight at Brandon Stark.

Lysa was terrified out of her wits. She clung desperately to Littlefinger's waist, but he still dragged her along as he advanced step by step toward Brandon and Catelyn...

The music stopped, and so did the toasts. For a moment, the vast banquet hall fell eerily silent.

Everyone stared openmouthed at the dark-haired boy approaching Brandon, parting in bewilderment to let him through. Some watched coldly, while others wore mocking smiles...

Compared with the tall, powerful Brandon Stark, Petyr Baelish looked like a kitten attempting to challenge a tiger.

Drawing a sword on a great noble in full view of everyone in the banquet hall... Lysa's heart turned to ashes. She knelt numbly on the floor, watching Petyr Baelish walk step by step toward his death.

The scrawny boy and the sword in his hand were both trembling. He forced his head up and straightened his back, as though that could give him courage.

"Please... let go."

Brandon slowly straightened up. His towering figure practically left the small boy before him unable to breathe. His face twisted with incredulous fury.

"Are you talking to me?"

"You dare point a sword at me? Brandon Stark of the North?"

Catelyn's face was deathly pale. She tried to stand between Brandon and Petyr, only for Brandon to push her aside rather roughly...

Anyone could see that the dark-haired boy before them seemed so frightened he could barely keep his arms raised, yet his gaze was resolute.

"I said, please let go of Lady Catelyn."

Brandon laughed in his fury, alcohol burning away his reason. He reached to draw his sword, intending to cut down the boy who had offended him on the spot.

Cries of alarm rose from the crowd, and many people, sensing trouble, were already preparing to flee. Yet the two lords seated at the head of the hall acted as though they had not seen this farce. They drank and watched coldly, occasionally leaning close to whisper something.

Blackfish reacted swiftly, throwing his arms around Brandon Stark from behind. Brandon could not break free at all. His eyes bulged with fury as he struggled, flailing his arms and legs wildly.

Catelyn covered her face, tears streaming down-she knew of Petyr's feelings for her, but she had never imagined he would do something so suicidal for her.

At the sight of Catelyn's tears, Petyr suddenly stopped being afraid.

He calmed down, looked at Catelyn, and said loudly, "Brandon Stark, you are not worthy of Lady Catelyn. I challenge you to a duel."

Lysa screamed at the top of her lungs, "Petyr, have you gone mad?"

Catelyn stood in front of Petyr Baelish and pleaded desperately with her father and Lord Stark. "Lord Rickard, Petyr is only drunk. He did not mean to offend Lord Brandon. Please forgive him."

"Enough! All of you, stop!" Hoster Tully roared. "Petyr Baelish, what standing do you have to dare draw a sword here?"

"Guards! Guards! Seize this boy who doesn't know his place!"

Hearing their host give the order, Brandon angrily returned his sword to its sheath. Blackfish loosened his hold slightly, but still did not dare let go entirely, fearing Brandon would spill Littlefinger's blood.

Almost everyone was pointing at Petyr Baelish. They freely discussed how he had overestimated himself, asking about and mocking his poor, tiny holding.

Littlefinger.

Littlefinger.

Littlefinger...

At that moment, he looked like a criminal guilty of some heinous offense. He lowered his head helplessly and let his arms fall. Tall guards had already rushed inside and were about to take him away.

"Wait..." Rickard Stark stood up, and Hoster Tully hurriedly spoke as well. "Wait, don't arrest him yet."

Lord Rickard slowly descended from the dais, walked up beside Brandon, and stared at him gravely. Frightened by his father, Brandon sobered up almost instantly. He lowered his head, not daring to look at his father at all.

"Catelyn, you aren't hurt, are you? My son cannot hold his drink. He was far too rough."

Catelyn shook her head and looked hopefully at Lord Rickard, then turned to look at Petyr and began hesitantly, "My lord, Petyr is my father's ward. He did not mean to offend Brandon. Because I..."

"Catelyn," Rickard interrupted her. "This Ser... Petyr has issued a fair challenge to my son. I accept it."

"I also forgive his breach of courtesy at the banquet. Whatever issues they may have, let a sacred duel resolve them."

Catelyn grew frantic. If Petyr really were allowed to duel Brandon, he would probably be cut down from his horse in their very first exchange. "My lord..."

"My lord, thank you for your wise decision."

This time, it was Petyr who interrupted Catelyn. "I offer Lord Brandon Stark my sincere apologies for my improper conduct, and I hope you will accept my challenge."

Petyr bowed deeply, his eyes surging with reckless love and madness.

Brandon Stark felt he had been utterly humiliated today. Through gritted teeth, he said, "In two days, I will show you that no one can insult a Stark."

He forcefully shook off Blackfish, glared at Petyr, and left without even looking at Catelyn.

Petyr bowed to the lords and took his leave, exiting the banquet hall with the guards. Catelyn watched him go, her face full of worry.

Lysa glared fiercely at her sister, then ran out after him.

Everything had happened so quickly. In barely a few breaths, a duel to the death had been arranged, and over a jealous rivalry for a Tully daughter at that. It was a real eye-opener for everyone...

Ghost watched the entire thing as though sleepwalking, thinking, In two days, I may well have to collect Littlefinger's corpse.

Although Littlefinger had survived his brush with death in the Game of Thrones show, suffering only serious injuries in the duel, Brandon clearly already bore a grudge. Would he really show mercy?

Men... especially knights in this medieval setting, valued their pride and honor above everything else. If Catelyn, his fiancée, kept pleading for Littlefinger, wouldn't that only enrage Brandon Stark further?

It seemed Littlefinger's chances were grim.