That fight was over almost as soon as it began.
Brandon was a man grown, and he drove Littlefinger all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every step, until the boy was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds.
Yield! he called, more than once, but Petyr would only shake his head and fight on, grimly.
When the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal backhand cut that bit through Petyr's rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so deep that Catelyn was certain that the wound was mortal.
He looked at her as he fell and murmured Cat as the bright blood came flowing out between his mailed fingers.
She thought she had forgotten that.
That was the last time she had seen his face until the day she was brought before him in King's Landing.
A fortnight passed before Littlefinger was strong enough to leave Riverrun, but her lord father forbade her to visit him in the tower where he lay abed.
Lysa helped their maester nurse him; she had been softer and shyer in those days.
Edmure had called on him as well, but Petyr had sent him away.
Her brother had acted as Brandon's squire at the duel, and Littlefinger would not forgive that.
As soon as he was strong enough to be moved, Lord Hoster Tully sent Petyr Baelish away in a closed litter, to finish his healing on the Fingers, upon the windswept jut of rock where he'd been born.