Crowley's gaze fell back on the crouching figure frozen in front of them. Then he added, pensively :
"I had never been in an author's imagination before."
"Neither had I. It was quite an uncommon type of assignment."
For a few seconds, Aziraphale looked as if he had just tasted a new kind of fruit, and was still trying to make up his mind about it.
Crowley watched with cool interest.
"To be honest", the angel said, "I didn't expect it to be so… er… oh, so…"
"Messy ?" Crowley provided helpfully.
"Yes ! Oh, it was messy, wasn't it ?" said Aziraphale, somewhat relieved to have his views, or rather his complaints corroborated by Crowley. "Took me ages to get through to here. All these corridors and whatnots were in a dreadful state. I do hope I have not smeared my coat in the process, he said looking anxiously about himself. Heaven is ever so reluctant to pay for my dry cleaner's bills."
"Don't tell me about it. I had to burn my way through most of the stuff I found."
"Really, my dear…"
"It doesn't matter, I assure you. It was only a background, and we're in his mind he'll conjure up new things without even realizing it. A man creating a novel called A Game of Thrones should do this sort of things quite easily. Still… I have to confess…"
The word made him gasp and then hiss demonically.
"Sssorry : I have to admit that I haven't quite got my head round this. The instructions came in a rather vague way. I don't think they had a clue, down there, about why they were asking me to do this only that they could sense it was the right – I mean, the wrong thing to do. What does it matter, really, that this worthy lord should be saved rather than beheaded ? or the other way around ?"
Aziraphale looked so pleased and so proud to have some explaining to do – and to Crowley, at that –, that it seemed he had forgotten how to turn off his halo.
"Ah ! Well, there's something rather beautiful in it. You see, my side has predicted that this man's – George Martin's – stories will be made into a series of rather enthralling books. Mind you, not the type that I favour myself but I was told that they would be quite a success. So much so, dear boy, that they will almost certainly be turned into a… oh, erm… what do you call it this day… a kinetoscopic movie. Or a magic lantern show. Oh, I'm sure you see what I mean."
"Ngk… Well…"
Finally, Crowley opted for the quickest solution.
"Yes."
"Good ! Well, apparently, part of the success of these stories will derive from the way this lord – he pointed to frozen Ned Stark – meets his end. The situation is both so unfair, and so unexpected, that it will have readers and watchers alike completely hooked to all this. And, Heaven reckoned, in troubled and difficult times – and humanity surely never misses those, as you and I very well know –, there is nothing like quality fiction to enlighten the mood, and brighten the spirits, and therefore, incite people to do good. So, you see : from this death arise entertainment, joy and happiness", said Aziraphale with a tone that would have suited a TV ad for toothpaste.
"Well", said Crowley after a moment of silence, "it is so twisted that I am not surprised that Heaven came up with it. Or that Hell couldn't get any of that."
Aziraphale beamed, because he took it as a compliment.
(And, unknowingly to Crowley himself really, he was right.)
"Only now", said the angel, "you see the merits of what I am asking you."
"Have to admit I do."
"So… my dear…"
"You would like me to break the spell, and let Ned « Rainbow » Stark dreadfully plunge to his dreadful fate."
"If you would be so kind", Aziraphale replied with a joyous smile.
Without saying a word, Crowley snapped his fingers, and time resumed.
Just after that, Aziraphale blinked[1].
Both watched what ensued with a mixture of blasé interest and mild dreading.
The executed-to-be laid his head on the block a few seconds later, the executioner was raising his axe, and a few more seconds later, the deed was done.
There was not much blood around apparently the author didn't want to indulge into that sort of gory details for the time being.
The executioner, being no longer requested, vanished.
"Perfect !" said Aziraphale. "Oh, I do like it when it's done in one blow. It's such a bloody mess when they must have two or three attempts. You were there for Mary Stuart, weren't you ?"
Crowley refrained from saying that he wasn't there he had done that.
Executing people was a job after all, and, well, every job included a first go at it.
(And in some cases, several of them.)
As he had said before : executing innocent people was rather on Satan's wish-list.
Instead of saying this out loud, Crowley replied, with a kind of hissing, metal-cold irony :
"I have no doubt your concern will be deeply appreciated by the dead party here."
"Well, look at it this way : the separation is nice and neat[2]", said the angel, pointing to the indeed very clear cut that now separated head and body.
Crowley declared, raising his arm for a solemn salute :
"May he rest in one piece."
Aziraphale's look was one of weary reproach.
Crowley smiled like an evil Cheshire cat[3].
[1] I. e., blinked in a certain way. Obviously, he blinked all the time.
[2] Aziraphale was not perfect. He loved food and clothes just a bit too much for his own good, and had no objection to perform Crowley's tasks in his place, which, for an angel, is a bit of a problem. But, when all was said and done, he was above all a champion of misplaced enthusiasm.
[3] One should maybe have written eviler here. The Cheshire cat is a profoundly evil being. It is common knowledge. Ask any child about it.