"Yeah. Funny, that", said Crowley, his eyes still on the lord near the block.
"What is, dear boy ?"
"That I should want to save him, while you're here to kill him."
"I am doing nothing of the sort ! I am sure you'll find that this… gentleman" – Aziraphale pointed at the executioner – "does it, not me."
"Tell me : this man that you condemn, he did not commit anything sinful, am I right ?"
"Correct."
"Not a crime ?"
"Also correct."
"No even a minor offence."
"Not an ounce."
"So, you'd say he was rather…"
"Exemplary. Yes."
"Doesn't it bother you, really ?" said Crowley as he turned towards him.
"What ?"
"That you are about to do the bad thing."
"It is not a bad thing, Crowley. I was commissioned. By Heaven."
"Looks like a bad thing to me. And trust me, I would know."
For a while, Aziraphale looked at the very-much-executed-to-be.
"No", he suddenly exclaimed, putting both his palms in front of him defensively. "Do NOT try and tempt me."
"Into what ? Doing the right thing ?" Crowley said with a mischievous sneer.
"I already am doing the right thing."
There was a firmness in Aziraphale's voice that deterred Crowley from going any further.
"Suit yourself", he shrugged. "But I'll tell you something. This reeks so much of badthingness…"
"It is not even a word."
"I haven't finished. It reeks so much of badthingness, that it is precisely the reason I agree to indulge you on that one."
"Why would you insist that this is a bad thing ?"
"Because killing a good guy…"
"I am not killing him", repeated Aziraphale with a sense of outraged angelic dignity.
"Fine. Letting a good guy die, even at an executioner's hands, would rather be on Satan's wish list than The Maker's one, to begin with. And I'm pretty sure someone, up there, wrote something that sounded very much like : Thou Shall Not Kill. With CAPITAL LETTERS at the beginning of every word."
"Try and say that to Sandalphon", muttered Aziraphale.
"And, even without this, you cannot ignore the pain that this death will provoke."
"Pain ? Oh, surely…"
Crowley ignored the interruption, and countered it, quite adequately, with another one.
"His wife, for a start. His wife will mourn him."
"Oh, balderdash."
"Balderdash ?!" exclaimed a shocked and disgusted Crowley. "Erk ! Word tastes like a sewage treatment plant."
"I mean, my dear, that you are talking absolute nonsense."
"Well, I'm not the one saying "balderdash"."
"You said "badthingness" earlier."
"I was being perfectly accurate."
"At times, I even hear you say "Ngk"."
"At least I know it's not a word."
"But "balderdash" is a word."
"Says who ? The dictionary of posh people from before the Great Plague ? – Oh, I already hated the xivth century", he added gloomily ; "and now, there's « balderdash »."
"I am not changing my mind, Crowley", said the angel with a placid smile.
"But I am not done talking about pain. I mentioned the wife. And his kids ! Oh, you wait until you see the kids' anger. And their grief."
"My dear fellow, all this is perfectly neglectable. This man's death, while resulting, admittedly, from an unfair and cruel situation, will nevertheless bring a lot of good to this Earth."
"What, you mean like the rainbow ?"
An impervious-to-sarcasm and beaming Aziraphale replied :
"How very apt. A perfect analogy, my dear. Yes ! It will have the most positive outcome, I assure you."
"And all for the greater good ?"
"All for the greater good. And, therefore", said Aziraphale with a triumphant smile, "this worthy man, this glorious lord… hum, what was his name again ?"
"Stark. Ned Stark."
"Right. Well, this Ned Stark had to die."