She's just been born, a happy occasion, but a disappointment nonetheless. Riverrun still needs a male heir, and all it has are herself and Catelyn.

She's three, and Edmure is born. Mother and Father are ecstatic to have a little boy, but afraid that he'll die in the cradle like his brothers. A moon turns once, twice, thrice, and the maester declares that the boy will live.

Everyone lets out a sigh of relief. Now, she and Catelyn are allowed to play with their new brother. He's too small for the games they like but they enjoy rocking him sleep and singing to him. His hair is brighter red than their own, and his spirit livelier as well. He never cries when she holds him, and that makes her think she's his favorite sister. She swears she'll always be there for him; should he ever need her, she would be at his side faster than a bolt of lighting.

Catelyn says, "Let's pray for another brother or sister."

She's six, and her mother is dead. Mother had gone to the birthing bed many times and only thrice has she brought up a living child. After Edmure's birth, the strong, thriving little heir, they had all hoped for another miracle. The babe is stillborn and takes their mother to the grave with him.

Father is not himself after losing his wife. He spends hours shut away in his solar and rarely comes down for mealtimes. Once, she sees him in his solar. He's not working, only holding his face in his hands muttering, "Fool. Greedy fool." over and over again. She wants to run in a wrap her arms around him, kiss his face and tell him her still has her and Catelyn and Edmure and Uncle Brynden, but she knows she's not supposed to be there at all. She leaves him alone.

She's seven, and a new boy comes to Riverrun, a small boy from the Fingers, in the Vale. Petyr the son of her father's friend. Lord Baelish's family is new to nobility, but has already won the favor of House Tully. She remembers Father and Uncle Brynden telling her about Lord Baelish and how he had fought with them in the War of Ninepenny Kings.

Petyr smiles brightly when he's present in the Great Hall of Riverrun. Though a stranger, there's something about him that makes everyone want to be his friend. He's a little older than Lysa but younger Catelyn. His hair is dark brown, his eyes green-grey and his features common but handsome. He's so small of stature that Edmure calls him Littlefinger and the name sticks.

She's ten, and Petyr kisses her for the first time. He actually kisses Catelyn first because she's older. Edmure is home with a cough when Uncle Brynden takes them swimming by the Red Fork. As they play in the reeds along the bank, they practice kissing for their future husbands and wives. She likes his tongue feels in her mouth.

She was going to marry him, she decides. She loves Petyr with all her heart and hopes he loves her as well.

She's eleven, and the Starks visit Riverrun. Catelyn is betrothed to Brandon Stark, Lord Rickard's heir, a tall, fine lad with a never-ceasing grin. She likes Brandon very much, for he is strong, noble, and handsome. Someday, she would marry a man as great as Brandon Stark and be a wonderful lady like her older sister.

He has two brother, Eddard, who is fostered with Jon Arryn in the Eyrie, and Benjen, who remained at Winterfell with their mother. Lord Rickard also brought his daughter Lyanna, who loves Catelyn on sight and already calls her "sister".

"That's not fair." She thinks. "Catelyn is my sister, not yours. You won't have her."

She knows Catelyn is to be the Lady of Winterfell someday - and she ought to be, she deserves it - but she still wishes everyone would stop ignoring her. Even Petyr, the boy she loves, is oddly sullen and won't speak to her.

She's thirteen, and Jaime Lannister comes to Riverrun to give her father an important message from Lord Crakehall. He is seated next to her at all suppers during his visit, which is a bit too long to merely deliver a message. She decides she likes him and he decides he likes Catelyn more. Everyone likes Catelyn more.

Later she learns that her father had been hoping to betroth them.

She's fourteen, and Lord Whent's tourney is the best she's ever attended. Five days of jousting, a seven-sided melee, an archery contest, an axe-throwing contest, a horse race, and more singers than she could listen to in a lifetime.

Everyone of importance is an attendance, even the king who has not left the Red Keep since the Defiance of Duskendale. The Starks come as well, and Catelyn and Brandon are reacquainted. A mystery knight enters the lists, the Knight of the Laughing Tree, and defeats every opponent that comes at him before disappearing entirely.

When Prince Rhaegar crowns Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty, a hush falls over the crowd. Lyanna takes it in good grace, Princess Elia stands dignified, as if it did not bother her, and Lyanna's betrothed, Lord Robert Baratheon, laughs it off, saying that he does indeed have the most beautiful women at the tourney.

"No he doesn't." Petyr says, "Catelyn is the most beautiful woman at the tourney."

She's fifteen, and no longer a maiden. She always knew that she would give her maidenhead to Petyr, even if it is a rushed, sloppy, love-making.

"He's mine at last." She thinks. "Father will have to let us marry."

Not a fortnight later, Petyr duels Brandon Stark for Catelyn's hand. Petyr loses badly, almost dying. She watches from her tower window in horror as he staggers out of the Red Fork, red with his blood. Why would Catelyn make him do such a thing? Petyr was her lover and Catelyn had stolen him, made Brandon Stark spill his blood in the river than had been his home.

While Petyr heals from his wounds, she makes love to him once again. He calls her "Cat" as he spills his seed inside her. Petyr is gone by the next day, sent back to the Fingers for trying to dishonor the alliance between House Tully and House Stark.

Three moons later, she drinks a tea her father gives her, not knowing what was in it until after the cup is empty. Tansy, mint, wormwood, honey, pennyroyal. A harsh pain seizes her no long afterwards and she's confined to bed as her child dies inside her. She weeps as she bleeds and bleeds as she weeps, tears and blood running out from her body like a gross parody of her heritage.

Family. Duty. Honor. Her child was family, and it had been murdered. Would a dutiful father bring his daughter so much pain? Was there honor in tearing apart a budding family? She refuses to look at the hypocrite that had sired her, choosing instead to stay in her chambers, far away from the world.

She's sixteen, and the kingdom is at war. Lyanna Stark has been kidnapped by the prince, Brandon murdered, Lord Rickard murdered. The North, the Stormlands, and the Vale raise their banners, and soon enough the Riverlands will as well. On one condition.

Catelyn is made to marry Eddard in his brother's place, a plain man who seems unsure about the whole situation. She is made to marry Jon Arryn, a man older than her father. While the men go off to war, she and Catelyn remain at Riverrun managing the Tully lands in their father's absence.

In time, Catelyn gives birth to a son and names him Robb Stark. To look at the child is more than she can bear, for it brings back memories of her own babe, the one that never got a chance to live; the one that would never learn to walk or talk; the one that had not even finished forming before its death. Her child, the child of her truest love. Robb is another thing Catelyn has that she didn't.

She's twenty, and her babe is dead. The child she carried inside her womb for nine moons enters the world but never takes a breath. Jon is disappointed, but doesn't give hope that she will give him an heir. The longer she stays in his company, the more she despises him. Her husband is never cruel, but never kind. He will not forgive her for the crime of being a young girl in love.

She's twenty-two, and Petyr is closer. After persuading her husband, she gets him a high position in Gulltown, then in King's Landing. He's rising up the ranks, her Petyr, and becomes as wealthy and powerful as he deserves. He's so clever to have achieved all that he has.

He begs her forgiveness for choosing Catelyn over her, and she's more than happy to give it to him. They still see each other when they can, on nights when Jon is not likely to find them. She could give him a son, and damn House Arryn.

She's thirty, and has lost more children than she can bear to count. Miscarriage, stillbirth, miscarriage, stillbirth, miscarriage, miscarriage, miscarriage. It was the tea, the poison her father had made her drink. Her father hasn't just murdered Petyr's child, he's killed every child in her womb.

Catelyn writes to her, telling her of Wintefell and her family. After Robb, Catelyn had four more children: Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Catelyn boasts of Robb's skill, of Sansa's beauty, of Arya's spirit, of Bran's sweetness, of Rickon's vigor. Each letter is salt in her wounds, a hot blade in her heart.

She has one son to her name, her little Sweetrobin, her shining sun in a world of darkness. Sweetrobin is pale and sickly, such a fragile boy in a world full of dangers. She takes every precaution to keep him safe, happy, and loved. Jon says she coddles the boy, that he'll grow to be weak because of her. Damn him. How could a father be so unkind to his child (or the child he thinks is his; Lysa herself isn't sure)? Just because Sweetrobin will never be a warrior, it doesn't mean he's worthless.

She's thirty-three, and Jon must die. She has spent years playing at being his wife, enduring his cool civility, pining to be with Petyr. She has had enough. Petyr warns her that he plans to take her son away, to banish Sweetrobin to Dragonstone to be a ward of Stannis Baratheon.

Sleep evades her many nights when this revelation reaches her ears. Dragonstone is a harsh fortress on a near barren island miles out to sea. She won't be there for her fragile son, the only child who lived to call her "Mother". She cannot trust him to Stannis Baratheon, a man who openly dislikes his own kin.

How could Jon even think of such a thing?

At least, she steels herself, acquires Tears of Lys, and slips the poison into her husband's wine. She wonders if this is how her father felt.

Catelyn comes after her in the Eyrie, with Tyrion Lannister as a prisoner. How dare Catelyn come and bring this to her door? Same Catelyn, always wanting others to set everything aside to help her. Not this time. She is Lady Regent of the Vale, and she won't allow her sister to ruin Petyr's carefully laid out plans. Lannister walks free after a trial-by-combat, and Catelyn leaves.

Edmure, her foolish, selfish, lecherous excuse for a brother, has gotten himself captured by the Lannisters in his own castle. It was a wonder their father had entrusted Riverrun to him and now the whole of the Riverlands is a sinking ship. She sits on her mountain with her son, waiting for the storm to pass.

She's thirty-five, and Catelyn is dead. She's dead, murdered, rotting, her face shredded and throat cut open by the Freys. Yet, Catelyn stands before her, bashful and shivering and thirteen. Sansa, that's what Petyr calls her, but all she can see is her sister, returned from the grave to ruin her life one again.

Sansa kisses Petyr in the courtyard, after all she's done for her; hiding her, sheltering her, betrothing her to Sweetrobin. And just like her insufferable mother, the little whore thought to steal Petyr away from her. She almost throws Sansa out of the moon door when Petyr stops her, calms her down. He's always been so good to her.

"Only Cat." He says, and she's flying.