Throw that script in the trash

A Song of Ice and Fire, and all associated media, are the property of George R. R. Martin.

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"Bless this couple, oh Mother, that they might birth strong, hearty children."

"We seek a daughter alone, Septon."

"Ah, of course, Your Grace. And it's High Septon now, thanks to you."

"All in preparation of this day, my friend."

A fresh wave of tears flowed down Lyanna's face. Gods, she was such a stupid, foolish girl. Taken in by a handsome prince's silver tongue and honeyed words. She should have known better, after Rhaegar Targaryen shamed his wife Elia Martell so blatantly at that damned tourney in Harrenhal.

But no, she'd been flattered—fucking flattered, gods what a fool!—after he'd caught her changing out of her disguise as the Knight of the Laughing Tree. And that letter one of his servants had slipped into her tent before she returned North, asking to keep correspondence with 'the She-Wolf whose heart of ice contains a raging fire' just further damned her.

She should have known better. She was a Stark of Winterfell. A member of one of the oldest, proudest dynasties to ever walk Westeros. She should have done her duty as her ancestors had always done. Gotten on her back for Robert Baratheon and let him fuck his lust-addled babes into her. At least he would never force her at swordpoint to be wed in front of a Heart tree at the God's Eye by a Septon—an affront to both the Old and the New. Or practice bigamy or whatever other madness Rhaegar Targaryen clearly adored. Robert loved Ned too much to risk shaming her so.

She wanted to laugh, because her largest complaint over Robert after his whoring ways was that he clearly wished to fuck Ned and settled for her, but all that came out were more sobs.

Gods, what a fool.

"…Blessed Crone, grant that this new union…might…grow…What is that?"

Lyanna blinked at the Septon's—Maynard, she remembered—words. He was no longer reciting his gods vows, but was instead staring off to the left. Rhaegar's brow was furrowed as he too stared on. Lyanna turned around, to see Rhaegar's dogs—Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Oswell Whent—move protectively in front of them as a canoe floated onto shore.

There was a loud thump when the canoe ran aground. "Ah, fuck!" A voice shouted, and a man shot up, his back to them, as he rubbed the back of his head. "I'm ashore? How am I ashore, I could have sworn I was still…" He turned around, and Lyanna was able to see that he was a young man—perhaps a few years older than her—with short black hair, a clean-shaven face and dull black eyes.

He jerked back when he saw them, falling on his ass with a yelp. "Oh my! I am so sorry." He rose to his feet. "Didn't mean to interrupt…" he trailed off, eyes widening. Lyanna could see that he was staring right at Rhaegar. "Oh…it's…okay, this…This is happening." He cleared his throat, lips curling into a nervous smile. "Uh, don't mind me, people." He held his hands up as Rhaegar's dogs moved forward, hands on the pommels of their swords. "Hey, come on guys, there's no need—you're crying."

His tone shifted so quickly Lyanna was taken aback. From nervous, bordering on hysteria, to shocked and sorrowful. It took a second for her to realize he was staring and speaking to her. The man took a deep breath, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. When he dropped his hand, he said, "You're crying. Oh, fuck me, you don't want to do this, do you? You never did." Ah, he must have been at Harrenhal. Or at least heard the rumors that spawned.

Rhaegar laughed, and moved closer to Lyanna, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and making her shiver in disgust. He had a smile on his face, though there was a hard edge to his tone. "I don't know who you are stranger, but—"

"Wasn't talking to you fuck-face." Lyanna would have laughed at the expression on not just Rhaegar's, but everyone's faces at the stranger's declaration. The stranger turned to Lyanna once more, face twisted in sorrow. "Lyanna Stark, do you want to marry this man?"

Rhaegar's grip on her shoulder tightened. She knew what he wanted her to say. But, even if this man were to die, she wanted at least one person to know the truth. "No," she cried. "I don't want this!"

The man nodded as his face hardened into a look of fierce determination. "Alright then." He stepped out of the canoe. "In that case, I'm going to get you out of here."

Gerold Hightower finally spoke, voice as cold as ice as he unsheathed his blade. "You shall do no such thing, fool. You interfere with the business of the King."

The man grunted. "First off, fuck-face over there"—Rhaegar let out an affronted, if amused, scoff—"is just a prince. A shitty one, from what I can see. Secondly, I just have one thing to ask you three." He stared at Hightower, Dayne, and Whent in turn. "Do you really agree with this plan? Forcing a woman in tears to marry someone? Is this why you became knights?"

Dayne and Whent were silent. Lyanna knew they didn't agree, knew they felt a shame that Hightower seemed to lack. But they could go fuck themselves for all she cared—they were still perfectly fine to play along with Rhaegar's madness.

"We are loyal to the King," Hightower said. "His will is our own."

The stranger clicked his tongue. "Fine then." Before anyone could blink, beams of crimson fire burst out from the Strangers eyes. They bore through Higtower's skull, which burst apart into viscera soon after, and he fell into a flaming, headless heap.

Lyanna stood frozen in shock. Much more composed than Rhaegar and the Septon, who fell onto their asses. Or Dayne and Whent who jumped back with curses.

Even the stranger was taken aback at the scene before him. "Woah—was that heat vision or an optic blast?" What in the seven hells did that mean? "Or both? Ah, I can parse it out later."

The stranger darted in front of Whent, so fast Lyanna could only see him as a blur. When he stopped bare inches before Whent, his palm was outstretched, and there was some sort of translucent, whirling sphere cradled in his hands. When the sphere touched Whent, she heard metal tear apart as the man was lifted off his feet, and flung backwards, spinning in the air before crashing into the ground.

"Ah shit, did he die?" she heard the stranger mutter. "I don't think that was lethal, but then again, I've never seen it used on plate mail before. Hopefully nothing stabbed him too deep."

Dayne had regained his senses by then, and unsheathed his sword—the mythical white blade, Dawn—and ran forward, slashing at the stranger's head.

Snikt

Only for the attack to fail as the stranger turned around seconds before getting hit, three silver blades extending from his right arm and cutting Dawn to pieces as if it were butter.

Dayne stared at his ruined blade in shock. The stranger smiled at his own. "Hot damn, that actually worked!" He used his free hand to throw Dayne to the ground—not that he had any difficulty. Dayne moved as if he were a puppet with its strings cut—and aimed it down at Dayne, his middle and ring finger curled down on his palm, extended towards his wrist. If Lyanna weren't frozen in shock, she would have shivered when the skin under his wrist bulged as if he had worms, a small, but noticeable hole forming in it.

He shuddered. "Ooh! This is a weird feeling."

Thwip

Some sort of white rope shot out from the new hole on his wrist, and tied Dayne to the ground.

Lyanna heard a high-pitched yelp from beside her, and turned to see the Septon had started to run away, all but tripping on his long robes.

"Woah there!" The stranger called out. He shot his right arm out—the blades were gone, back into his body most likely—and it stretched like warm taffy toward the Septon. He easily grabbed onto the Septon's clothes, and dragged him along the back to him.

When they were face-to-face, the stranger's face twisted into a thunderous rage. "Now, I've gotta know. What would possess a self-proclaimed holy man to proceed over this farce?"

The Septon was shaking like a wet dog, but managed to say. "I-I shall tell you nothing, demon!"

The stranger stared at the Septon for a long moment—Lyanna let out a short, mad bark of a laugh when she saw that he soiled himself—before he shrugged and let him go. "Fair enough. After all…" the Stranger struck the Septon like lightning, hands a blur as the Septon jerked back and cried under every attack. "…You're already dead."

"…What?" the Septon asked, face scrunched in pain and confusion.

The stranger pouted. "Dammit, it didn't work!" He huffed, and pointed both hands at the Septon. "How about…Kazap."

Despite the sky being clear, lighting flashed down from the heavens, and struck the Septon with a thunderous boom. When the light vanished, all that was left of the Septon was a charred corpse.

Idly, Lyanna noticed that Rhaegar had voided his stomach beside her. But all she could do was stare at the stranger, who, while a little green in the face, merely frowned at the result of his…whatever the hell he'd done.

He spat on the corpse. "Hope you burn in whatever hell you end up in."

Finally, he walked over to Lyanna. He stopped in front of her, looking her up-and-down with a soft smile. "Are you okay?" He shifted his gaze over to Rhaegar, who was on his hands and knees over his own bile. His eyes hardened. "Did he…?"

Lyanna shakily shook her head. "No. They merely brought me here by force."

The stranger looked back at her with an amused huff. "That's still bad, you know?" Lyanna managed a small smile. It could have been a lot worse. Would have been a lot worse, had this man not come upon them.

"…Are you a god?" Lyanna's mood soured at the sound of Rhaegar's voice—would that she could forget it. She turned to see him staring up at the stranger, a mixture of awe and fear plastered across his face.

The stranger shrugged. "Sure, why not? Lyanna, if you could step back a few feet." She readily did so. "Little more…perfect. I'll just be a minute."

Rhaegar's face shifted into something akin to despair. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No." Lyanna beat down the immediate disappointment she felt at the stranger's declaration. "That would fuck things up more than I already have. You'll live. Dayne will be free in…an hour, I think? And hopefully When didn't get stabbed by lots of metal bits. But I'm not going to let you get off scot-free so…" The stranger took a step back, and widened his stance. He took a deep breath, and shouted, "IIZ SLEN NUS!"

A wave of pure blue energy burst forth from his mouth. It felt cold, the shivers it down Lyanna's spine reminded her of the North. Of home. Comforting, yet deadly if you were foolish enough to dismiss it. As Rhaegar bore witness, for the instant the wave hit him, he was covered head-to-toe in a thin sheen of rough ice.

Lyanna stared at the frozen prince. "I though you said you weren't going to kill him?"

"I didn't," the stranger replied. "He's actually practically invincible under that icy shell. I mean, he might get some mild frostbite, but he should be fine. Just can't move until it's broken. But enough about him." He turned to face Lyanna and extended his arm, palm outstretched. "Let's get you out of here, huh?"

Lyanna stared at the offered hand. It struck her, at that moment, that he was blindly putting her trust in another strange man that just inserted himself into her life. But then, all Rhaegar had done was speak and write pretty words. He'd said he understood her frustrations, being thrust into a position by the sheer circumstance of one's birth. He'd said he knew what it was like to bear the burden of expectations. He'd said he would help her avoid her unwanted betrothal. And all he'd done was an unwanted, adulterous marriage onto her.

This stranger said he'd stop Rhaegar and his dogs. And then he stopped Rhaegar and his dogs, fantastical abilities aside.

She stared at the hand for another moment. Long enough that she could see the stranger grew nervous—and wasn't that a thought? That she could make a god, or whatever he was, grow nervous. But eventually, she took his hand in both of her own. "Yes. Please, take me home."

The stranger smiled brightly at her. "As you wish."

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A/N: This is pure crack. Hopefully it's fun crack.