Chapter Two: Implications, Integration, Explanations

Somehow, I ended up being the mother hen of the lot.

The three Tully children had lost their mother when they were young, and I found myself taking on some of those responsibilities. I'd basically done the same for Petyr, so it wasn't too much additional trouble. However, I had to walk the fine line between looking out for them and deferring to them, being a child of lower status. It generally consisted of polite suggestions and reassurances.

"No, Catelyn, you don't look ugly in that dress. You're a very pretty girl."

"No, Lysa, Septa Celia is wrong. You aren't less intelligent than your sister."

"No, Edmure, don't climb that damn tree! You'll break your neck!"

Alright, with Edmure it was a little more difficult. He was used to being the heir of Riverrun and getting his way, and listening to the suggestions of a barely-noble girl wasn't something he was willing to do.

No matter. I eventually found a way.

Our favorite place in Riverrun was the tiny library tower next to the Wheel Tower. When I wasn't spending time with the girls or making nice with the servants, I was filling the gaps in my knowledge. Petyr often did the same. We spent many evenings curled up in chairs, squinting at the spindly writing in enormous tomes.

So when Petyr stormed in, jaw clenched and fists balled, I was surprised. I'd never seen Petyr so angry. And considering that we'd been stuck in a tower together for the first eight years of our lives, that was saying something.

"What is it?" I asked, immediately putting away my book.

"Edmure," he snarled. "I'm going to kill him."

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Now, his anger was simmering beneath the surface—no less potent, just less visible.

"Petyr, what do you mean?" Now, I was really concerned. It wasn't every day that your genius, future megalomaniac brother runs into a library, threatening to murder the heir to Riverrun. While an average preteen might threaten to kill people once in awhile, I had no doubt that Petyr had the capability to go through with it.

His voice was colder than the North. "I'm going to kill him one day. No. I'm going to tear apart his home, make his life miserable, and then stand over him as he slowly bleeds to death."

"What did he do?" I asked, curious.

"Edmure was with his stupid lackey, Marq Piper. They were sparring—without me, of course, since I'm not good enough—and Marq asked why I was here. Since I'm just a jumped-up peasant!"

I listened with a raised eyebrow. Petyr hated sparring. Though I supposed it was the principle of the matter. However, while the insult about our status was hurtful, it was nothing new. it wasn't enough to make him this angry.

"And then," continued Petyr, a scowl deepening on his face, "Edmure made fun of our estate… and called me Littlefinger. Littlefinger!" He hissed the last word.

I stared the table, doing my very best not to laugh. As smart as Petyr may be, he was still a kid. And kids hated nicknames. Though Petyr eventually learned this lesson on his own, there was nothing wrong with giving him a head start.

"Petyr, I understand why you're angry." I stood and walked to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. "But your anger is just what they want. Don't let them see it. If they're giving you a name, make it your own. Use it. And then they can't hurt you anymore."

"They called you 'Littlefinger', too," he said bitterly. "Lady Littlefinger. Now is it so easy to ignore?"

"Yes."

Petyr blinked at me, taken aback.

"It's a compliment, Petyr. And a reminder." I smiled. "We are from a poor family. We're hardly nobility. We own a patch of rocks on the smallest Finger. But we're going to rise much higher than all of them. Imagine how sweet it will be, years later, when they bow down and call us Littlefinger."

He hesitated.

"Besides, Edmure is worth far more to us alive. Becoming close with a future Lord Paramount is worth a couple of insults."

Petyr shrugged off my hand. "Edmure this, Catelyn that, Lysa there," he snarled. "Is that you ever think about? They're worth nothing!"

Then I realized. "Brother, that's not what I meant." I kept my face blank, though I was tempted to smile at his adorable pout. "You're worth far more to me then they could ever be. You're smarter and harder working, and I care for you more than anyone. But Lysa and Catelyn will be the future wives of Lord Paramounts, and Edmure will lead an entire realm. We need their influence. We need to influence them. You know what that means. Without power—"

"We can do nothing." Petyr looked away, guilt coloring his expression. "I didn't really mean it," he mumbled. "Catelyn and Lysa are really nice, and Edmure is alright… sometimes."

"I know." I gave him a quick hug. "It's hard. But it will be worth it."

The gardens were lush and carefully managed. From what I heard, it wasn't as beautiful as the roses of Highgarden, but it was an excellent place to read a book. Even if that book was a dry treatise on bookmaking. In order to decide what to invest in, I had to know where Westeros was technologically. It was boring work, yes, but necessary.

"Alys!" yelled a brash, familiar voice. "Petyr said that you'd write about the Dance of the Dragons for me!"

I set my book aside and plastered a smile for Edmure. "Oh?" I said, inwardly cursing my brother. He just had to send the brat to me.

"Yes." Edmure crossed his arms and looked at me, confident and carefree. "Maester Kym wants me to do it, but it's dull and I don't want to. I asked Petyr to, but he said that you were better."

"Well," I said slowly, an idea forming in my head, "do you know about the Dance of the Dragons?"

"I don't need to. You'll do it for me."

I continued to smile. "If I simply do it for you, then you won't be able to answer any questions that Maester Kym asks you. How about I tell you, first?"

Edmure frowned. "Oh. Alright. But make it quick." He sat down in the chair opposite to me and crossed his legs. "Well? Tell me!"

I gathered my thoughts. "It started with the most beautiful woman in the world," I began. "A woman by the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen. And she was a woman who was determined to be queen…"

As I wove the threads of the story, Edmure began to fidget less and less. Soon, he became enthralled by the bloody and twisted events that made up the civil war.

"Edmure? Alys?" asked Catelyn, daintily picking her way through the garden. Lysa followed her like a little shadow. "What are you—"

"Be quiet, Cat!" Edmure snapped back. "I'm trying to listen!"

Mildly affronted, Catelyn seated herself with a harrumph, and Lysa imitated her. I smiled at them and summarized the events of the war so that they'd understand.

"Hurry up!" whined Edmure.

"Yes, I'll continue." I paused. "Lucerys, the second son of Rhaenyra, rode on the back of his dragon Arrax as a messenger. But as he flew through the terrible storm, he saw what any man would fear the most—another dragon."

The girls gasped. "And then?" asked Lysa, leaning forward.

I continued the tale, detailing the bloody fight and eventual fall of Lucerys. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Petyr approach, taking his seat silently beside me. He'd heard this before; in fact, he'd been the one to tell me about the Dance in the first place. I gave him a wry smile, and Petyr nodded back.

I spoke until my voice became hoarse. About how the Blacks swore revenge, how the bastard dragonseeds had tamed wild dragons, and how Jacaerys had died. "Prince Aegon clung to the back of his dragon Stormcloud…" My voice cracked. "His dragon Stormcloud..."

"But Stormcloud was mortally wounded in his escape," finished Petyr for me. He quietly told of the Battle of the Gullet, and none of the Tullys protested the change in speaker. "I think that's enough for now."

Petyr offered me a hand, which I gladly took. Edmure grumbled loudly, and both Catelyn and Lysa looked disappointed, but they followed after us with little complaint. I grinned at Petyr, and his answering smile told me that he'd figured it out. For Edmure, the offer of completing his work and telling a story would be enough to get on his good side.

Looking back, if I had to pick one turning point in my relationship with the Tully kids, that would be it. We'd proven ourselves useful to them, and it began to show. Petyr and I went from being occasional playmates to trusted companions. (Of course, the process was more gradual, but the development of preteen friendships is quite boring. Trust me.)

Catelyn and Lysa invited me to use their hairdresser, absolving me of the need to brush my own hair everyday. Edmure would bring Petyr to his spars, even though Petyr was absolutely horrible at them. Or anything involving physical exercise, really. And all three of the Tullys would come to us for advice.

The growing relationship between us Baelish siblings and the Tully children was soon noticed by Lord Hoster Tully himself. Thankfully, that came with some much-needed perks.

As I'd mentioned before, House Baelish was dirt poor. Petyr and I had come to Riverrun with nothing but a bundle of everything we'd owned. Among our belongings were only three sets of clothing. Quietly, Hoster Tully began slipping us a monthly stipend for clothing and other supplies. I only used half of it for actual dresses. The rest, I saved… or invested. In various ways.

The girls and I would head to town to buy new clothes every month. (It coincided with the day I received the stipend, of course.) And while we were in town, I took the opportunity to meet up with my contacts.

"Milady, milady!" panted Lia Rivers. She was rumored to be a bastard of either Lord Vance or Lord Ryger, depending on who was asked. Her hands clutched her tattered skirts as she tried to catch her breath. "I foun' what ye asked. Parchmen' costs three whole silvers. But ah asked Edwyn, the woodcarver—he has a mistress, ye know, though his wife don't know—an' he said that he use four whole barrels for his wood scraps! An' he just burn 'em!"

"Thank you, Lia." I tossed her a penny. "Go ask Edwyn if he'd give those barrels away. And keep an ear out, will you? There's always more coppers waiting."

She rubbed the coin, greed glinting in her eyes. "Yes, milady." Lia bobbed in a poor imitation of a curtsy before scurrying away.

The girl was an invaluable source, and one of the three I could actually pay, the others being a stable boy and a maid in Riverrun. I made sure to have more contacts than just them, of course. In some cases, all it took was a smile and a kind word. In others, it took a whisper of an affair, or the identity of a thief. Or the blackmailing of a thief. It was slow going, but Petyr and I were building up an effective network.

Lysa had been distracted by a display of silk ribbons, but Catelyn had watched the entire conversation, even though she couldn't have heard anything over the din of the crowd. She glided over to my side, a squire trudging behind her.

"Why are you associating with those kinds of people?" She sniffed, a sneer forming on her pretty face. "Smallfolk." The very word sounded like a curse.

"I'm not much better," I said mildly.

Catelyn flushed. One of her handmaidens had said that very thing about me a few days ago. Caelyn hadn't said anything to defend me, though she had apologized afterwards.

"T-That's not the same," protested Catelyn. "You're nobility, no matter how small—" She cut herself off, turning an even deeper red. "Besides, that girl is a bastard. She's a stain on the gods'."

"Catelyn, she didn't choose to be born as a bastard. That sin is her parents'." I smiled at the lady-to-be. "Nor did she choose to be born a smallfolk. There is no need to associate ourselves with them… but courtesy and kind words do not cost anything, either. You never know when you might need someone's help."

It was impossible to undo years of social conditioning with a few words, but I could at least try to pound some common sense into Catelyn. Maybe if I kept repeating it over and over again, she'd remember. Probably not, but it was worth a shot.

Lysa had finished purchasing her new ribbons, and she'd wandered over in time to hear the end of the conversation.

"Oh!" Lysa said, clasping the pink ribbons to her chest. "It's like what you said, Alys. Not everyone is a player, but every piece makes a difference in cyvasse."

I blinked. "Why, yes. I did say that." I gave her a contemplative look. I knew that Lysa enjoyed the attention I gave her, but I hadn't expected her to actually listen to my advice.

Catelyn bit her lip. Indecision warred across her face for a brief moment.

"Let us return to Riverrun," she announced.

As expected, Catelyn avoided the problem. Moral dilemmas and thinking things through really wasn't her style, huh?

Maybe it was for the best. I didn't want to change too many things. It'd be a shame if all my future knowledge lost its worth.

A thick layer of dust covered every unread tome in the library tower. I opened a particularly heavy one and blew off the grime that collected on the edges. Petyr sneezed beside me, wrinkling his nose.

"Bless you."

"Thanks," he said dryly, rubbing his face. Petyr froze. "No one else says that."

"No one else says what?" I bent down closer to the page, puzzling out the faded old Valyrian. We'd taught ourselves the two other (important) languages spoken in this planet, though Petyr had received help from Maester Kym.

"Bless you. No one else says that when I sneeze." He stared at me. "There's no such person as Nietzsche, either. I've looked. Neither is there an Adam Smith, Malthus, Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, or the countless other people you've mentioned. And the stories you've told me. They aren't in any book I've read."

"And?" I tilted my head.

Petyr continued, fluent and calm. "I never realized this until coming to Riverrun, but you shouldn't know what you do. Sister, your knowledge of numbers, statecraft, and people isn't ordinary. How did you learn this?" A pause. "Who are you?"

I closed the book. "You've practiced this, haven't you?"

He looked down. "I've been meaning to ask you about this. I haven't had the chance."

I'd prepared for this moment. Anyone with a modicum of brains—and Petyr had a lot—would

figure out that something was off.

"Alright. I'll tell you. You're old enough." I paused. "In Yi Ti, what do they believe happens after death?"

Petyr was used to my non-sequiturs, but he still frowned with annoyance.

"They believe in reincarnation. They think that the soul is purified and sent into another body after death…" He looked at me, wide-eyed. "But in that book you gave me—you gave me that book.

You knew that—" He cut himself off and blinked rapidly. "I thought that memories didn't survive purification?"

"Perhaps there was a mistake."

Petyr's eyebrows scrunched together.

"Even, even assuming that your memories survived death," he swallowed, straining with the effort of holding back all his questions, "that still doesn't explain how you know what you do. Were you a noble in your past life?" Petyr seemed a bit disconcerted by the thought. "A Targaryen, maybe?"

I shook my head. "The gods must have been drunk when I died. This was their second mistake. I'm not from the past."

He opened and closed his mouth.

"You're from… you're from the future?" His voice squeaked on the last word.

"Yes."

"But, but..." Petyr struggled for a moment. "How old are you, really?" he said finally.

"Around three decades, including the years I've lived in this life." I leaned back. "Go ahead. Ask all the questions—"

The door opened, and we both flinched. At the sight of Brynden Tully, the infamous Blackfish, we immediately stood. I fell into a perfect curtsy, for once thanking Septa Celia's endless drilling. Petyr's bow wasn't as graceful, but it was proper and neat.

He nodded to us, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I heard that you two would be in here." Brynden Tully scanned the room, unimpressed. "It seems a bit dusty."

"It is." Petyr grinned. "Whenever I take out a new book, I sneeze at least thrice."

I giggled, my heart pounding in my throat. The walls of the tower were thick, but the doors weren't sealed. He could have overheard our conversation. Stupid, stupid! I should have taken more precautions. Just because no one but us had come here before, that didn't mean that no one would come at all.

He chuckled with me. "I can tell." Brynden cleared his throat. "I promised the girls that they could come with me to the river. Would you two like to accompany us?"

Out of all the Tullys, I liked Brynden the best. He was always kind and patient, willing to listen to every child, us included. Hell, he had hunted Petyr and me down, just to invite us. At the moment, however, I was more concerned with how much he had heard.

Brynden wasn't acting any different. Well, he wasn't screaming about the Seven, threatening to burn me alive (wait, wrong religion)—nor was he smiling sympathetically, suggesting that I join the Silent Sisters in order to cure my addled brain. Both were good signs.

"We would love to," said Petyr. "Thank you, my lord."

"Yes, we would!" I added. I relaxed slightly. From the looks of it, my secret was safe. Still, his interruption served as a potent reminder; carelessness was inexcusable in this world. Especially when you wanted to bring down feudalism.

However, Petyr and I weren't lying. Both of us were looking forward to seeing the Trident in its glory. I was more of a mountain girl than a river one, but even I had to admit that knights hunting fish with spears was awesome.

I was also incredibly interested in seeing how the waterwheel worked. Electricity was still centuries away, but waterwheels could do more than open and close gates, which was all Riverrun used its one for.

I risked a glance at the Blackfish. He was looking at Petyr with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Then, he noticed my gaze. His expression became cheerful as he beckoned towards the door.

"We best get going, then. I promised my brother that I'd bring everyone back before sundown."

Brynden was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for. But for my sake and Petyr's, I hoped he wasn't too much more perceptive.

Calling the consequences dire would be an understatement. I could be thought of as insane and lose all credibility, thrown into prison to rot, killed for being blasphemous, killed for being crazy, killed for my knowledge, and so on. Even worse, Petyr would be left alone, and he'd probably go crazy after losing his sister and being friendzoned by Catelyn.

And while I wasn't afraid of death, I did fear for the fate of the world if that happened.

AN: Still a rather short chapter, but I think I'll keep the chapters for this story around this length. The next chapter should skip forward a bit. Coming up: puberty, the North, and scheming. Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone. I really appreciate it.