I just realized that I spelled Jon wrong (John) in my earlier chapters. Sorry about that folks. Thanks to guest for catching that, spellcheck only saves you half the time :) Thanks for reviewing HermioneandMarcus and thanks to everyone who has favourited a/o followed.

'Fly,' a voice whispered in the darkness.

'I'm a wolf, not a raven,' Malin told the raven circling around her as wind whistled through her fur and the ground lazily moved closer.

'I'm a crow,' the crow said irratibly. 'Fly or die.'.

'No one dies in dreams,' she said.

'How do you know? Have you ever tried?'

Malin's paws couldn't spread and catch the wind, so she made them arms with long elegant fingers, the only other shape she understood. Her back legs straightened and elongated, becoming human legs with small white feet at the ends.

'I don't have wings now anymore than I did as a wolf!' Malin said to the crow.

'There are different kinds of wings,' the crow said.

Malin threw her arms out and felt invisble wings catch the wind as she soared over Westeros and beyond to Essos. Malin saw the Shadowlands and it's dragons, Asshai and it's sorcerers, the Free Cities with their colored silk clothing, Yi Ti with it's monkey-hatted people.

'There's so much out there,' Malin told the crow in wonder. She turned to look at him and he dove towards her face. Malin kept her arms spread wide but swerved to try and avoid the crow, who managed to land anyway.

'I'm not a baby bird you know, I don't need chewed worms spit in my face," Malin said, nervously joking. The crow ignored her and pecked her in the center of her forehead, where his third eye was.

'What in the seven hells was that for?' Malin asked, almost forgetting about her wings and trying to clutch her burning forehead.

'Wake,' was all the crow said.

'That's useful,' Malin grumbled.

Malin opened her eyes to see the sun that'd been rising in her dream was now shining brightly through her curtains. There are still dragons and magic in the world, Malin thought to herself, amazed. Then she realized that perhaps greenseeing, and warging, and someday being able to change her skin were rather magical.

Last week Septa Mordane had taken them into the city and Malin had been able to slip off and find some garb that would work for disguises. Malin and Sansa had gotten new Southern dresses while Arya had said she was perfectly happy in her grubby pants and shirts. The guards had tried to keep her out of the castle and Malin had laughed so hard she hadn't been able to stand on her own. When she'd wiped the tears from her eyes, Malin had seen Jaime walking away and wondered if unladylike laughter was attractive to him. During the journey from Winterfell and the time in King's Landing, Malin had shot up a few goodly inches (she was almost as tall as Joffrey!), her waist had shrunk, hips had filled out, and chest had bloomed. It made posing as a beggar-boy quite hard but, it made walking as a whore very easy, though Malin preferred to dress as a serving girl. She'd been able to figure out Jaime's schedule by walking around as a scullion girl, since she hadn't been able to afford an orphan to sneak about for her. Malin figured that once she could control cats, she could just send a cat after him.

Malin shooed Vŭltsi, who gave her a disgusted look, off the bed so she could dig under her mattress for her commoner's dress. The drab grey-coloured fabric was itchy and course compared to the dresses Malin wore normally, but she loved how most paid her no attention when she wore it. She'd gotten a of couple leers and rude pats, but since she put her knife to a particularly handsy man's throat, the rest in the castle had been staying back. Malin pulled up a trap door in her flooring and kissed Vŭltsi on the nose before dropping neatly onto her toes. Malin wished she'd brought a candle but could feel her way well enough that she never stumbled. The tunnel wound on for a few miles before letting Malin out in an alley near the King's Gate. Malin was perfectly happy to be by herself as long as there were things to see, and in King's Landing she always felt like there were new things, things that never made their way North. She wished Vŭltsi could come with her, but a direwolf who was almost as large as a small pony drew too much attention.

Malin was wandering along the Street of Steel when she saw first Jory's horse, and then her father's. She casually walked behind them, truly curious but trying to be discreet, since she didn't want her walks through the city to end. She needed to stop leaving as often as she did, she hadn't seen Jaime this week and still hadn't figured out how to get him out of the Kingsguard, but she and Vŭltsi would both be devastated if they couldn't leave the Keep. They stopped at the top of the hill in front of a wealthy armourer's house. Malin didn't stop moving but walked across the street and pretended to be looking at gilded flowers. She was too far away to hear what her father said, and his back was to her so she couldn't see his face, but she watched as the old armourer mopped his neck- he obviously wants Father's custom- and then stepped back? Strange, Malin thought to herself. A young man came to the armourer's side, his arms bare and sweaty from working the forge. He was grimy, broad-shouldered and muscled from the forge, with brown hair cut close, and blue eyes. Malin hadn't met Robert Baratheon before he was old and fat, but she saw the resemblance almost immediately. Fuck.

The city was not for Malin today. She loved walking through it's bustle and smells and people and sights, but they all fell flat. This was what was going to kill her father. And it offended his honour. There was no way he'd let Robert grow older and fatter, and then die, leaving Jaime's son on the throne. The street wasn't wide enough that Malin didn't hear when he said, "King Robert's bastard son." Why was it that no one in her family could keep their mouths shut? Malin could. Kind of. She never said anything supremely dangerous where little birds might hear her.

"Malin?" Gods, could this day get any worse? Malin tried to imagine an accent a pot shop girl might have and ignored the Kingslayer.

"You walk like every step's a seduction. It's quite distinctive," he called after her. Malin didn't turn and look, but she imagined him on a white horse wending his way through the people.

"You do have a habit of being where you shouldn't, don't you?" He was such a stupid pig-headed arrogant imbecile.

"Don't you want me to teach you how to ride? I've the perfect beast. A large hairy thing to put between your legs?" Malin whirled and saw him grinning up at her from his horse. He held out his hand to her and she let him pull her up behind him.

"I thought that might make you turn around."

"Swine." Malin didn't need to see Jaime's arrogant little grin to know it was resting on his face as he nudged his horse into a trot.

When they first started riding, Malin pressed close against Jaime to try and seduce him, but as he started to go too fast and get too close to people or buildings, she was holding on for her own peace of mind. They slowed at the Lion's Gate and Malin poked Jaime, "I thought we were going back to the Keep."

"Who told you that? I think you might crack one of my ribs if you keep holding on like that."

They'd been galloping along roads around King's Landing, with Malin holding on increasingly tighter, when suddenly she heard a snap.

"Oh, Gods! Jaime?!" Malin said, deathly afraid she'd just broken one of his ribs. All she got was a groan in response. Malin jerked the reins out of his hands and slowed the horse. She slid down first and then helped Jaime off, laying him down in a soft patch of grass. Malin opened his shirt to see if a rib was poking out and didn't see anything. She ran her fingers over his skin in confusion, looking for a bruise or something to mark the break. Suddenly, Jaime flipped her over, his shirt still open to reveal his tan muscled stomach. He slowly lowered his head towards hers, his lips stopping a hairs breadth away. Malin's eyes flicked from his lips up to his Lannister green eyes, which stared down at her.

"You were afraid you'd hurt the Kingslayer," Jaime said, his breath warm and not unpleasant smelling against her face.

"I was afraid you were hurt," Malin corrected, a little unsure as to what the difference was, but feeling that it was an important distinction. Malin brought her fingers up to the sides of his clean-shaven face, pulling him the little distance between their mouths. Malin melted. Jaime didn't kiss like Robb at all, his kisses were the intrusive ones of a man grown, not a boy like her brother, and all her plans and worries flew to the back of her mind. He kept his weight off her and on his arms, but the distance between them felt too far, and Malin's arms wound around Jaime's neck, pulling him closer. When they broke for air, Jaime trailed kisses down her neck to the top of her dress where her breasts were pressed against the fabric of her serf's dress. Malin rolled so that she was on top, her legs around his waist. Her fingers lightly roamed across his foreign chest with it's blonde hairs, as their mouths resumed their attacks, and Malin felt his hand brush across her breast. Malin smiled against his lips as she felt him harden and shamelessly ground herself against him.

Dimly, Malin started to hear jeers, catcalls, and wolf-whistles. She reacted instinctively and snarled, her hands forming claws. If Malin had been able to see herself, she would've seen her eyes change to those of a wolf, reflecting the dusk light back at the men and her teeth elongate. She didn't, but Jaime did and the men did, and even without the eyes and teeth, Malin understood her reaction was strange.

"That girl's a freak!"

"Be a mercy, killing her!"

"Who wants to live as a half-beast!"

"Goes against the Sept, it does! Her mother was probably a whore that lay with a wolf!"

The men got closer and Malin prepared to run, not expecting Jaime to do anything to save her, but he suprised her by standing and drawing his sword.

"Well-met friends! You've rather ruined my fun. I'd kill you, but there'd so little sport in it, it wouldn't salve my wounds," Jaime said sarcastically.

Malin could've cried she was so happy that Jaime wouldn't let her be hunted by those buffoons. She settled for not reprimanding him about his sex comment. When the men were close enough to see it was Jaime Lannister, they left, though not without japes and threats and mutterings. Malin threw her arms around Jaime, careful to avoid his still drawn blade. He patted her on the back as though she were a simpleton.

Malin drew back and smacked him on the arm, "Gods, Jaime! Couldn't you act like we'd just been saved from a pack of rabid idiots?! I thought I was going to die!"

"I could've killed them all without breaking a sweat," he said dismissively.

"If you weren't so arrogant all the time maybe you'd be happier!" Malin shouted.

"If there wasn't so much calculation in your doe-eyed looks, maybe you'd be married," Jaime said cruelly.

"Oh you don't like calculating women? Well , fuck! If only someone had told you sooner! Maybe you wouldn't be stuck with Cersei and me!"

Malin moved to hit him and he grabbed her wrist, "What are you?"

"Let go," Malin said, with a tinge of desperation, trying to pull her wrist from his grasp.

Jaime moved closer to her, his arm encircling her waist, "You didn't want me to before."

"Let me go," Malin said again.

"You are just like Cersei," he told her, a bemused smile spreading across his face.

"No, I am not," Malin said slightly petulantly, before collecting herself and moving temptingly closer to him. "I'm smarter, I have more tact, I'm younger, kinder, and unattached."

"You also transform into a wolf girl."

"Take me home Jaime. I can't afford a second search party," Malin said tiredly.

"I'll ride back to the city without you unless you explain," Jaime threatened.

Malin turned on her heel and marched back towards the city.

Malin had gone most of a mile before a stony faced Jaime gave up and pulled her up behind him. They rode back to the Red Keep in silence.

After Jaime helped Malin down, when they stood closer than was proper, and his arms were still on her waist and her hands on his arm, Malin said, "Are you going to her now?" There was almost no calculation in her wide grey eyes or in her almost wounded innocent tone, and Malin thought that if there had been, Jaime'd have told her he was going to Cersei whether he was or not.

"I'm going to the guard the King's door, like a glorified sentry," he answered acerbically. Malin thought she saw confusion in his eyes and wondered if it was because Cersei was never gentle, or dependant on him. That was what Malin needed to do, not simper at him like an idiot, or hit him like a moody teenager, but be gentle and make him feel she needed him. Malin looked around the courtyard, before darting up to kiss his cheek, and walking quickly off with just one backward glance. It was a glorious backward glance, filled with sweet gentle things, and Malin almost ruined it by smirking when she saw the Kingslayer falter.

Dear Rickon,

Your penmanship in your last letter was much improved. I'm so proud to hear that your reading and proud to see that your writing are coming along. I'm sorry we won't see each other again anytime soon. Father's tourney is coming up and Sansa's quite excited. We're all well, but I think I'm in love with the Lannister man. Pray for our happiness as we pray for yours and our brothers'.

Love,

Malin

Malin figured if her father was off looking for Robert's bastards to compare against Jaime's children, Cersei might be nervous enough to read any mail coming or going from the Stark house. She would never trouble Rickon with her silly love situations, and her letters were pages, though she hadn't had pages in response, Malin just needed Cersei to tell Jaime the Stark girl liked him. She was almost certain the Queen would mock her and almost certain Jaime wouldn't. The only problem was if the letter was actually sent on, but Malin thought she could control a raven for the time it would take to make it drop a letter. She was strong-willed and knew exactly who she was, and so Malin didn't worry about losing herself or control, just about the initial slip into a raven's mind. She rolled the little sheet of parchment and went to the rookery herself to deliver it, so she could see the ravens first and be closer. She'd already found a nook to hide in while her mind was elsewhere.

"Grand Maester?" Malin asked with false timidity.

"Come in, my dear. Come in," the old man wheezed, every bit as convincing as Malin's shy and timid maiden act.

Malin made sure her moves were graceful and maidenly as she closed the door and stood with her hands wringing the rolled up letter.

"I was wondering, Grand Maester, if you might permit me to see the ravens? I have a note to send to Winterfell but I do so love birds, and I was hoping you might let me..." Malin trailed off in false nervousness and looked becomingly up through her lashes.

"Of course my dear, of course," Pycelle rasped repetitively, getting out of his chair to hobble, as an exceptionally old man might hobble, though Malin suspected he was faking, out the door and up the stairs to the rookery.

Malin stared in amazement for several seconds before aksing Pycelle to name some of the multitued of ravens. This went on for a few moments and then Malin started, "I beg your pardon Grand Maester, I forgot my septa was waiting for me. I know it's beyond a man of your esteem, but would you mail my letter for me?"

Malin didn't miss the bright flash in Pycelle's eyes when she handed him the letter, and congratulated herself on finding one of the Queen's creatures. If she warned her father, perhaps this would avert his death. Malin closed the door serenely behind her and then clattered down the steps. She flew into Pycelle's room and felt behind a tapestry for the hidden latch of her nook. Slipping inside and slowing her breathing before reaching for a raven. Malin had seen which bird Pycelle was going to attach her letter too, a testy bird he'd cleverly named, "Biter." She found Biter's mind but it took her a moment to find her way in. Birds were not wolves.

Food-man had picked them up with a long-wind-journey-paper in his hand, but had then just placed them on his shoulder while he looked the long-wind-journey-paper over? They were not happy with Food-man taunting them with wind-wing-flight-freedom and then sitting there. Food-man was saved from their ire by the worm sitting on his head. They very much liked worms. They moved for the worm and salt-copper-metal-blood filled their mouths, while Food-man yelled and swatted at them, dropping the paper. Malin chose this moment to assert her control and they dove for the paper before cawing out the window with it. The wind was beneath their wings and with every flap they flew higher. They never wanted to go home to their silly lessons and revenges and intrigues, only fly. Malin felt Biter taste lessons and figure out what the word meant, drawing the meaning from her mind. He did the same for revenges and intrigues and Malin was astonished that the raven could do so. She withdrew from their contact in shock.

The hole Malin'd been hiding in had gotten chilly, and she took a moment to rub the prickles out of her fingers and toes. This tunnel was different from the one in the Tower of the Hand, it was much more cramped, the floor less even, the walls closer together, and made of dirt, not stone. Malin had to hunch down and walk sideways with her knees out to get through some of the tighter spots, but she hurried along, stumbling occasionally. She needed to ask the crow about Biter learning from her. Malin was grateful this tunnel didn't go into King's Landing, she'd found it while exploring a different tunnel that ran under the stables and had followed it, popping out near the dungeons. There had been an even smaller crawlspace that Malin suspected led to one of the prison cells. She had no desire to find out if she was right.

When Malin emerged from the dungeon, a Night's watchmen who looked extremely familiar jumped and swore at her. She apologized and hurried on her way, head down. She'd die if anyone recognized her. Everywhere was busy, everyone getting ready for the turney. Malin smiled as she thought about how sour her father's expression would be at all the bustle. I can't imagine a world without my father in it. And I refuse to, Malin thought determinedly.

Malin decided that seeming like a wild child when she broached a strange subject with her father was not a path to be retaken, so she dressed in nice clean clothes, and managed not to fidget while her handmaiden did her hair. Only when she was presentable did Malin knock, calmly, on her father's door. She heard him shuffle papers about before he called "Enter!" and wondered when they'd all gotten so secretive and distant. Malin supposed it was her fault, she'd started things with Robb and had always been a bit competitive with and resentful of Sansa though she'd loved her. Now her father was dying, Arya hated Sansa and was busy with Syrio, Sansa didn't like anyone but Lannisters, and Malin couldn't stand to be around her disappointing sister. All the other Starks were miles and miles away. Malin peeked around her father's door and saw him seated at his desk, smiling at her.

Malin took a deep breath and dove right in, "Father, you can't investigate Robert's natural-born children anymore. It's killing you. You shouldn't trust Pycelle. We won't be alright without you. " Malin finished in a rush and looked at her shoes, which were suddenly, inexplicably interesting.

"What's gotten into you, Child?" Ned Stark asked gently, coming around his desk to kiss her on the forehead and point her to a seat on a couch. "How'd you know I was looking into Robert's children? And what's this I hear from Sansa about you and the Kingslayer spending too much time together? According to your sister, everyone's talking about you and she's worried for your reputation."

"So you don't believe Sansa when she says she's worried?" Malin joked, knowing perfectly well that 'according to your sister' belonged to 'everyone's talking about you'. At her father's rather deadpan expression Malin cleared her throat and tried again, "The Old Gods have gotten into me and that's truly all I want to or really can say. I saw you talking to the blacksmith's boy just like half the city did. I don't spend too much time with Jaime Lannister, but I can start spending more time with the court ladies if you like."

Ned Stark sighed and Malin watched his face looking for signs of what was to come. "You always were the best-behaved daughter. Didn't have Sansa's fits or Arya's rebellions. I suppose you had to make up for it at some point," he said. Malin smiled at her father tentatively, still waiting for more. "I'll try to be quiet with my investigations but I can't ingore John Arryn's murder. Did I ever tell you about him?"

Malin nodded, "He was like a second father to you."

"That he was," Eddard said heavily. "Now, as for Jaime Lannister," Malin could tell from the way her father chewed Jaime's name he didn't like Jaime. "He's Kingsguard and should have no interest in you, nor any other. You might run into more trouble with the court ladies, but stay away from the Lannisters. Understand?"

"Pratīta," Malin said, raising her father's eyebrow. "It means 'understood'," she explained, getting up to leave.

Malin was a little disappointed her father wouldn't out and out stop investigating, but perhaps this would be enough to save him. She pulled the covers up and closed her eyes, done with a tiring, but sort of productive day.

The sky was dark purple grey and boiled with dark clouds, lightning brightening the clouds as it crashed behind the purple black curtains. In front of Malin on a red rock cliff, a great direwolf with grey streaks through his black fur fought a lion with glittering green eyes, as the crow cawed overhead. The lion circled around the wolf, snapping it's jaws as the direwolf fended it's attacks off, growling. Malin's feet smacked the ground, her leg muslces screaming, as she tried vainly to break through whatever barrier held her back. The lion lunged in, his jaws closing around the direwolf's shoulder with a sickening soud. The direwolf shook the lion off and they attacked, clashing together in earnest. Malin broke through the barrier as the fighters went tumbling over the edge of the cliff.

"Help!" she screamed at the crow as she raced towards the cliff's edge.

"Your dream," he cawed down.

Malin got to the edge of the cliff and couldn't see any thing but breaking waves, a hundred feet below. She took a few steps back, got a running start, and dove off the cliff. The waters below weren't summerland waters, they were grey and stormy and cold. When Malin hit the water she felt like a giant fist had squeezed the breath from her lungs, it seemed like the water itself was trying to leech away her lifeforce. She struggled up to the surface and gasped in a deep breah before diving under to look for her father. She struggled to swim but finally, dimly saw on the very bottom of the ocean, a direwolf fighting a lion as if the water had no effect on either of them. Behind them loomed a giant shape, blacker than the waters around them. Malin tried to scream a warning but only sucked in the salty sea. Malin's vision flickered and dimmed as the fish swallowed the lion and swam away. She dimly felt glad that the direwolf was okay, until she saw that without the lion, the water had sucked away the wolf's life as it was sucking away hers.

"Malin..." a voice called to her through the blackness of the waters, then again with more force, "Malin!"

"Malin!"

Malin sat bolt upright and almost had a heart attack when she saw a dark shape at the foot of her bed. Where was Vŭltsi when you needed her? Then Malin recognized the shape.

"Maiden Mother and Crone!" Malin swore before lowering her voice to a whisper, "Jaime, how in the seven hells did you get up here? You understand the concept of sleep-time, right?" Malin massaged her temples, still reeling from her dream.

"I came to ask for your favour," Jaime said as if it were the most obvious normal thing to do. Malin was speechless for a moment. What was the gentle response to this? Her first instinct was to tell him she would grant anyone favour if they let her get her full ten hours. And then, in a flash of inspiration, it came to Malin.

"What're you doing tonight?" she whispered. His response was to pull her to him and kiss her urgently. This won't do, Malin thought as she gradually slowed their tempo and kissed him softly, gently. Those were the watch-words. She pulled his hand from under her nightgown and moved it to her waist.

"Slower, alright?" she asked. "It doesn't mean not at all. Just, slower."

"In this bed?" he asked, pulling her nightgown over her head. "I feel like I'm going to fall off," Jaime said between trailing kisses down her neck and then over to first one breast and then the other. Malin laughed quietly as she noticed his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, "You're too tall."

"But I'm equally tall all over. Imagine how much stranger I'd be if I had very short legs and very long arms."

When Jaime finally took her, Malin was almost as impatient as he was. She didn't really have the temperment to be sweet and gentle during sex. Malin decided that would have to wait for outside the bedroom. She curled up against Jaime's chest afterwards and felt a horrible miture of things swirling all around inside her. She was nervous about her father and her brain was going a million miles a minute trying to figure out what she could do, she was happy here with Jaime, upset that she was happy with the King-/Brother-slayer, smug at how well she was manipulating Jaime, on a knife's edge wondering if Cersei would steal him back, and what if the Kingsguard wouldn't release him? Malin wanted to ask Jaime about his father, but remembered how sleepy Robb was post-coitus. Malin felt her heart wrench thinking of Robb, but was suprised to notice that Jaime wrapping his arms around her, mollified that. One of the last thoughts that ran through Malin's mind was, Crone help me, what happens if I like him?

"MALIN?!" Malin groaned, half-asleep, and rolled over, her arm stretching out and searchiing for Jaime's missing warmth.

"MALIN OPEN THIS DOOR!" At her Septa's second yell, Malin's eyes shot open and she bolted out of bed. Jaime was hopping into his pants in a way that would have been comical if it hadn't been happening while Septa Mordane was hammering on Malin's door. He grabbed his shirt and with his pants only half on, swung his leg over the windowsill.

"Are you insane?" Malin hissed, pulling him back in. "Climbing out of my window in broad daylight?" Malin pushed him towards her bed, "Hide under the bed! Vite! Vite!" Jaime looked at her like she was being demeaning but obeyed.

"Coming!" she trilled to Septa Mordane and flung the door wide.

Septa Mordane's wimple was askew with hairs falling out of it, her face ruddy and flushed. She held Vŭltsi by the scruff of her neck though the direwolf could've easily overpowered her. Malin almost peed herself laughing at the hang-dog wolf and increasingly annoyed Septa who couldn't get a word in to explain why Vŭltsi was in such trouble. She tried to go get Arya but Septa Mordane refused to move and let her by. Eventually Septa Mordane threw up her hands in disgust and left while Vŭltsi slunk into the room, tail tucked between her legs and head down. Malin was still giggling when she pulled Jaime out from under the bed.

Very seriously, Malin swore Jaime to secrecy. He mock-solemnly pledged to keep her secret and Malin, knowing that was the best she was going to get, pulled up the floorboards, revealing her tunnel. Jaime was suitably impressed and Malin smiled, immensely proud of her cunning. Jaime had already dropped down and was walking away with Malin's last candle when she suddenly remembered the whole reason he had come.

"Jaime, wait!" Malin said scrambling about in her room for something that would be a suitable favour. Malin saw her cream coloured muslin with gold embroidery that trimmed the top of her new burgundy dress and knew it was perfect.

Jaime's voice came up through the tunnel, "What are you raving about?"

"Here," Malin said, laying on her belly so her head and shoulders were over the tunnel, "My favour, Good Ser." She watched as the fabric floated through the air and Jaime caught it before giving her a cocky smile and heading through the tunnel.

The days leading up to the tourney were spent in nervous anticipation, with Malin wondering if she should tell her father she gave Jaime her favour. She didn't think he'd recognize it, but Sansa might. Her nervousness only disappeared when she saw Jaime, but it came back worse than before when he was gone. She was rather confused about when she started liking the arrogant ass who'd tried to kill her brother. It was only the night before the tourney that Malin resolved what she was going to do about her liking the Kingslayer. Nothing. She was going to destroy the wealth of his house same as before but, like him throughout her revenge. It seemed absolutely ridiculous to Malin, but she couldn't tear out the part of her heart that liked him, and she wouldn't let him hurt her brother and get off scot free. If he liked her when she was done, she wouldn't let those who hated Casterly Rock have him and they'd already be married and they'd have grey-eyed blonde-haired babies. Malin realized her new (old, but more complicated now) course of action was illogical and silly but she had trouble admitting her mistakes and was determined to stay her course. It absolved all her nerves and she slept like a babe.

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Malin and Vŭltsi were up not too long after the sun. Malin woke a very cranky handmaiden, who pulled her hair into an elaborate series of braids, a little harder than was necessary. Malin's suspicions about the maiden being rather upset with her were confirmed when the maid pulled Malin's stays together so tightly Malin wasn't sure she'd be able to breathe. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and decided to let it slide. With the dress tied this tightly, Malin's waist would be slimmer than anyone else's. She thought gleefully of how tree-like Cersei's waist would be by comparison. Malin darkened her lashes and then stepped away from the mirror to admire herself. Her dark dark hair was back, with a few curls framing her face, and contrasting nicely with her winter white skin. She wore the new burgundy dress with it's pointed sleeves and managed to look older than her thirteen years which pleased her to no end. Malin had bathed Vŭltsi just yesterday and the direwolf's fur was soft and brilliant. Vŭltsi would no doubt find some way to dirty it on their way to the tourney but there was nothing Malin could truly do about that. They were up early enough that they could walk to the tourney grounds and still not be late and so Malin begged some rolls from the kitchens. All the workers were glaring daggers at Vŭltsi and Malin guessed that was why she'd been in so much trouble the other day.

As she and Vŭltsi were walking towards the tourney, among the crowds of commoners who were similarly inclined, Malin saw the bastard boy from the smith's. She panicked for a split second, thinking her father had planned some big reveal but he'd promised to be cautious and quiet. The boy was walking along to watch same as everyone else. Malin was a fan of public reveals for dangerous things. It was harder to kill someone while everyone watched, everyone heard, atleast someone would believe you, the tale would be repeated and the seeds of doubt sown. But her father having Cersei and Jaime beheaded would be rather upsetting.

Walking among the crowd of peasants and merchants and whores and sailors Malin felt a little like a leper and a little like a princess. Vŭltsi created a bubble of space around Malin that no one seemed willing to pop. It made observing the smith's boy much harder than it would have been otherwise, but Malin managed. He seemed much the same as any one else. Strange because he was so much more dangerous.

"Lover's quarrel?" Petyr Baelish, commonly called Littlefinger, asked Sansa. Jaime had pointed him out to her earlier. Littlefinger had been hungrily looking at Sansa and Malin misliked him talking to Sansa now. Jaime said Lord Petyr claimed he'd taken her mother and Aunt Lysa's maidenheads. Malin definitely disliked this little man. He wasn't unattractive, though not near as handsome as Robb or Jaime, a slender shorter man with gray-green eyes, a small pointed beard, and threads of gray through his dark hair. Malin had seen Sansa and Joffrey's exchange of looks and- Gods! How Littlefinger made her nervous. Malin felt there was no one he would ever tell the truth to, and Malin liked to know what was happening around her. How else was she supposed to be prepared? Malin had seen Sansa and Joffrey's exchange of looks and wondered what was up Joffrey's arse, but Littlefinger didn't need to comment.

"I'm sorry. Do I..." Sansa trailed off in confusion while Arya looked at him mistrustfully. Malin really did like Arya.

Septa Mordane helped her pet, "Sansa, dear, this is Lord Baelish. He's known-"

"An old friend of the family," said Littlefinger seating himself in the small space between Sansa and Malin, who moved to widen the gap between her and Littlefinger. "I've known your mother for a long, long time."

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya asked rudely. If it had been anyone Malin wanted to impress in the slighest she'd have been horribly embarressed, but Malin wanted so little to do with Lord Baelish, she couldn't have cared less what Arya said to him.

"Arya!" Sansa said, dancing her and Arya's dance. Arya said something rude and Sansa reprimanded, often just as rudely.

"Don't be rude," the Septa reprimanded with heavy emphasis on each word. Malin thought she sounded rather rude. Couldn't they find someone more egalitarian and tolerant, perhaps even someone kind?

"No, it's quite alright," said Littlefinger. "When I was a child, I was very small and I come from a little spit of land called the 'Fingers,' so you see. It's an exceedingly clever nickname."

"I've been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss meself!" bellowed King Robert drunkenly from his platform. The Queen rolled her eyes and left and Malin sucessfully duplicated the move while everyone's attention was on the King.

Ser Gregor was riding first, and aside from the fact that he was freakishly large, Malin found him uninteresting. She considered using to clear a path to the front of where the commoners stood, but the direwolf would most likely spook the horses, and get her noticed. Malin walked away from where the high lords and ladies sat, wandering until something caught her interest.

Eventually she settled down with some of the lowerborn ladies who were close to her age. Her friend from the journey to King's Landing, Cassella Otherys, smiled and introduced her to the others. Some of the girls were made quite nervous by Vŭltsi and Malin was grateful to Cassella for petting her and cooing over her soft fur. The others were less nervous and Vŭltsi was even allowed to lay on an empty part of the bench. Malin had little to no interest in the proceedings, but did have fun gossiping and making funny comments to Cassella and her friends. The only time Malin paid attention was when Jaime rode and then she hugged Vŭltsi so tightly that the direwolf shook her off. Jaime aquitted himself well, prevailing over Andar Royce, Bryce Caron, and Barristan Selmy. When Jaime tilted against Ser Barristan, Malin wasn't sure he would win and sat white-knuckled, her spine stiff and ram-rod straight, not breathing. It was a hard-fought match with Jaime scraping by, and Malin caught Cassella giving her a curious look when she exhaled and relaxed back to her former position.

"Why did the raven learn from me?" Malin sat cross-legged watching the crow across from her curiously. They were in a dark cave with a weirwood tree in the distance, and a single candle flickering in it's wall sconce.

"Because you let him. The direwolf grows smarter, the raven turned white. Those you touch are also touched by you," the raven flapped it's wings and looked ready to take off. "Ready for your next lesson?"