3 Little Words

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

/+/+/+/+/

Lyanna stared in wonder at the stranger as he stared out onto the mainland, the canoe they rode in cutting through the water under some sort of invisible power. Well, perhaps not quite invisible. He sat at the prow of the canoe, waving his hands in a synchronous, symmetrical pattern. She noticed that every time his hands came together, the canoe rocked forward a little faster.

"Wh—" Lyanna paused at the crack in her voice. Gods, she wasn't a child. "What are you doing?"

The stranger peeked over his shoulder with a smile. "It's called Waterbending." At her arched brow, he laughed, and looked forward once more. "Later, we've almost reached the shore." He wrenched his arms back until his fingers were almost touching. He thrust them forward, and Lyanna couldn't help but fall over in the canoe as a giant wave of water formed beneath them, pushing them forward until they hit land.

The stranger chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry, should have warned you. Never really done any of this with an audience before." He stepped out of the canoe, and held a hand out to help Lyanna up.

The first thought that struck her was that this man before her was fairly handsome. The second thought was to banish that first thought into the depths of her mind. She was only in this situation because she'd blindly trusted another seemingly handsome man. And while this stranger had proven himself a more worthy character than Rhaegar Targaryen—which wasn't hard, her little brother Benjen was better than that madman—she just wanted to return to her family.

She accepted the offered limb, and dusted off her dress after stepping out of the canoe. The shoreside was deserted, the land ahead nothing but plains. She pursed her lips. "Are we meant to walk to Riverrun?" She looked the stranger up-and-down. "Or do you have the means to fly us there?"

The stranger flushed and looked away. "Well, I'm still working out the kinks for flight—so many different options to choose from." Gods above, she was joking. "But there's an inn with a stable nearby. We'll get you a horse—and some food, you must be starving—and be on our way. Are you good to walk?" He gestured vaguely to her body. "I don't want to presume what…was or was not done to you."

Lyanna scowled. "I'm fine! Aside from keeping hold of me when they shoved me onto a barge heading to the Isle of Faces, they didn't touch me." But that was a lie. In truth, Rhaegar touched her quite a bit. When he draped a cloak onto her the few nights they camped in the wild. When he showed her few sword techniques. Lingering touches when he helped her on and off a horse.

At the time she felt a heady rush of emotions at the attention. But now that she knew what he wanted to do to her along. What he wanted her to do. To…to…

She pushed the thoughts from her mind. She's cried enough over that damned snake. Or fuck-face, as the stranger so eloquently described.

That memory made a laugh bubble up from her throat. Gods, for some strange smallfolk—fantastical abilities aside—to so openly insult a prince like that. And attack his guards…And kill the High Septon.

Lyanna gasped. "We're dead."

"Hm? Wha wuz tha?"

Lyanna turned to the stranger, and managed to ignore the fact that he was eating the canoe—his jaw was unhinged like a snake and he had bits of wood stuck to his cheeks and good gods, what was her life?

"We're dead." She repeated. "You just killed a Kingsguard, the High Septon, and harmed the Crown Prince of Westeros." She stared out onto the Isle of Faces. "We're dead. As soon as Rhaegar returns to Kings Landing, he's going to march against you. Against my family."

Her breaths came out in rapid gasps. Should she have just stayed with Rhaegar? Let him have his way with her? It was horrible, but at least then her family would have been safe. Father and Brandon and Ned and Benjen. All of Winterfell would be put to the sword. And for what? As soon as Rhaegar wiped out her family, she was sure he would just capture her again!

"Hey, hey!" A pair of strong hands clasped over Lyanna's face. The stranger forced her to look into his eyes. "Calm down. Nothing is going to happen to you, or your family. I swear."

"How?" Lyanna cried.

The stranger sent her an unimpressed look. "Did you forget what happened back on that island?"

No. Gods help her she would never forget. However, she said, "You're just one man."

At that the stranger smirked. "A man with a plan! Well, half of a plan. Half of half" He stepped away from Lyanna and held his hands up defensively. "But it's a great one-sixth of a plan!"

Lyanna burst into laughter at the declaration. If she were to die, or worse, at least her last moments of freedom would be spent with someone funny.

The stranger smiles softly at her. "Feeling better?"

She wiped tears from her face. "Yes, yes. Thank you…" She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I never got your name."

The stranger hummed. "I never said it, did I?" He stuck his hand out. "Name's Randy. Nice to meet you."

Lyanna shook his hand. "A pleasure."

Randy winced. "Really? I mean…we didn't exactly meet under ideal circumstances."

"You saved my life," Lyanna bluntly replied. "But…I can't help but wonder how you did so. How you can do anything you've shown me." Of everything, she had to say she was most curious as to why he ate the canoe.

Randy scratched his chin. "Sure, we can talk on the way to the nearest inn." He frowned. "Wait, where did you guys come in from? Did you stop at an inn?"

Lyanna scowled. "We rode from northwest of the Isle of Faces. We left our horses at the stables at the Western Face Inn." She should have known something was wrong the minute he'd said they were going to the Isle of Faces. No, she should have known something was wrong the minute he said he'd take her away to break her betrothal, but never specified how or where he would do so. Or perhaps—

She forced herself to take a deep breath. She could punish herself later, when she was safe in the arms of her family.

"Ah, good." Randy nodded. "At the very least, the owners of Eastern Face Inn shouldn't recognize you. Or hold any men loyal to Rhaegar—well, directly. Technically every law-abiding citizen in Westeros is loyal to the prince." He started walking. "Come on then."

Lyanna quickly moved forward to keep pace with him. They were on a well-worn dirt path—not one of those new roads made of concret or asophalt or whatever those new materials from the Citadel were called. Lyanna recalled her father grumbling that he should betroth Ned or Benjen to some Reacher lord for quicker access to the material, only for it to come to nothing at the royal decree that all known roads were to be made with the materials.

Lyanna still had no idea what her father planned for Ned or Benjen, but she hoped they, at least, would be left to follow their hearts unlike she and Brandon. That Benjen could rise to become Lord Commander of the Watch, and Ned marry Ashara Dayne, who haunted his every thought ever since Harrenhal.

The thought of her predetermined future sent a shiver down her spine. Gods, she almost forgot about Robert. He'd be wroth with rage if he ever found out about this. 'Ours is the Fury' were his house words, and she remembered the dark, near-murderous expression on his face after Rhaegar crowned her as the Queen of Love and Beauty. It was only for a split-second, before Robert let out a booming laugh and proclaimed that the prince was merely being polite, but the way he stalked out the stands afterwards, ignoring even Ned's calls…It was another reason she feared for her marriage.

"I died."

Lyanna blinked and turned towards Randy with a queer expression. "What?"

He stared back with a lax expression. "You were asking how I can do what I do. I died."

Lyanna fell back a step. "You mean…blood magic?"

"If you want to call it that." Randy sighed, and looked up to the sky. "I was first born in another universe."

"Another universe?" Lyanna parroted; the word unfamiliar on her tongue.

"Yeah." He looked at her with an arched brow. "You don't know what that means, do you?" His tone reminded her of her teachers when she was young—patronizing, if well-meaning. Still, she shook her head. "…Have you learned about what a 'planet' or 'world' is?"

"Of course!" Lyanna spat. She was a noble lady of Westeros, and a Stark besides. She's received one of the most extensive educations available—available to a woman, the deepest, bitterest part of her hissed.

"Okay, okay!" Randy held up his hands. "Sorry. I just don't know what encompasses an education for noble children."

Lyanna looked him up-and-down. His clothes, while not rags, were typical smallfolk garb. "And I suppose you know more than me? Than the Maesters taught at the Citadel?"

He smiled, but it had a melancholic tinge to it. "Honestly, I think I've forgotten more than they could ever know."

Lyanna didn't like the look on his face—it reminded her of Rhaegar and his talk of prophecies and fate. Not for the first time she questioned her decision to follow him. It was her poor judgment that led her to fall into Rhaegar's trap, after all.

"Anyway"—Randy turned back to the sky—"I was born and lived a life in another world. And then I died, and was reborn here."

"And…that's how you gained these abilities?"

"Kind of." Randy raised his left hand between them. He flexed, and a bright, white flame burst to life in the middle of his palm. "I don't know if reincarnation is the name of the game, but if it is, then I have to assume I skipped a step, because I remember the transition from my old world to this one." He glared into the flame. "I remember being a soul."

"You…do?" Lyanna said with a hefty dose of skepticism—which was stupid, all things considered, but there was a difference between wielding impossible magic, and claiming to have come back to life. Maybe it was her ancient Stark blood, which once did battle with the Others far, far beyond the Wall ages ago, that rankled at thoughts of undead creatures.

"Yup," Randy said, clenching his fist and extinguishing the flame. "And I remember when I was shunted into an impregnated womb and shackled to flesh once again."

"…That sounds…unpleasant."

"Oh, it was excruciating," Randy replied with a disturbing amount of cheer. "Thank god I figured out how to lock away specific memories—no one should remember their own birth." Lyanna winced—she'd been young, but remembered how much her mother had screamed when she pushed Benjen out into the world. She couldn't imagine what it was like for Benjen.

"But it wasn't all bad." Randy said, bringing her attention back to the present. He raised his left hand in front of his face. "Thanks to my remembering my time in-between lives, I discovered just how…impermanent everything in the physical world is. How suggestible the molecules and atoms that make us up can be. How powerful the imagination is." He clenched his hand into a fist, smothering the flame, and those three silver blades jutted out from his arm again.

Snikt

Lyanna recalled—with no small amount of glee—that those blades utterly wrecked Arthur Dayne's precious blade Dawn. She asked, "What is that?"

Randy smirked, and gently held his arm out, the blades level in front of her. "It's called adamantium." When she made to touch the outer edge, he warned, "Careful. Both edges are sharp." Lyanna ran her finger along the flat of one of the blades. It felt cool to the touch, and impossibly smooth. Even Ice—her house's ancestral sword made of the famed Valyrian Steel—bore those strange, swirling markings along its metal.

"I've never heard of…adamantium."

"It's one of the strongest metals mankind has never made."

Not even wanting to begin unpacking whatever that meant, Lyanna arched a brow and said, "And you've…implanted it into your body?"

"Nah." Randy unclenched his fist, and the blades retracted into his body. "I just make them up when I want." He let loose a relieved sigh. "Wasn't expecting them to cut through Dawn like that though. At most I was expecting a clash of spark!"

Lyanna smiled; a touch cruel. "I imagine Ser Dayne was more shocked than you." She knew, on some level, that the loss of such an ancient relic was a cause for sorrow. But Arthur Dayne had spat on his ancestral blade's proud history by facilitating Rhaegar's madness.

"Yeah, but fuck him," Randy said blandly. That got a giggle out of Lyanna—she agreed, of course, but not even Northmen were that blunt.

Finally, the inn was in view. Randy stopped them half-a-mile away. "We need to get you a cloak," he said. Before Lyanna could even ask where they'd get one, he pinched his left arm. When he dragged his right hand up, instead of pulling flesh, he pulled a fully-sized, well-worn, brown cloak out from his skin. She stared wide-eyed as he shook it in the air and held it out for her. "Here you are!"

"…You want me to wear your skin?"

"It's not my skin," Randy said in a petulant tone. "Well, okay, it started out as my skin—well, general flesh—but I transformed it into cured leather and wool and whatever the hell else goes into making a cloak."

Slowly, Lyanna accepted the…cloak. It certainly didn't feel like skin. "And…how did you do that?"

Randy smiled brightly at her. "Impermanence. Suggestibly. Imagination." Lyanna rolled her eyes, but put the cloak on. Randy stopped her when she tried to pull the hood on. "Word to the wise, don't pull your hood up if you want to be inconspicuous. It does the opposite."

Lyanna sniffed. "You give me a cloak but refuse to let me hide me face? How am I supposed to conceal my identity?"

"The cloaks to keep people from seeing that fancy dress of yours—actually, now that I think about it, gonna need to get you some new shoes too. What are you, size seven, eight?" He stuck fingers in his ears, and from each one pulled out one shoe from each ear. Lyanna was proud of herself for not externally cringing at the sight—she'd be used to him yet.

She gestured to her face. "Perhaps you have not heard of Harrenhal? My father made sure to keep all mention of that damned tourney out of Winterfell—if not all the North—but I know the Southern bards sing it from the Neck to Dorne." She scowled. "It was 'the moment smiles died' after all." Gods, whatever possessed her to ride against those three squires as the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Benjen tried to talk her out of it, even Howland Reed—the man those squires attacked—begged her not to do it. But she did, and gained Rhae—fuck-face's attention. And horrid affection.

Randy clicked his tongue. "Okay, first of all, you're severely overestimating your own hype." He affected a mocking tone. "'Oh no, a Prince doesn't unconditionally love his wife, the horror'. Second, the songs and tales describe Lyanna Stark as a beauty beyond compare."

A scoff. "I'm beautiful!" She'd heard it enough, from her family to fuck-face.

Randy laughed. "You're cute, no doubt." Lyanna fought a blush at his blunt statement. "But the stories describe a statuesque, gorgeous woman with a body to make the gods weep in envy." He gestured to her. "You're five-foot six-inches at most, lanky, and still have a fair bit of baby fat attached to your face. Trust me, no one's gonna think your Lyanna Stark unless you announce it. And even then, people will probably just think you're just some Northern girl looking for a laugh."

Lyanna's face was burning, fists clenched so tight her nails drew blood.

"Aw, you don't believe me?" Randy mocked. "Well, I'm right. Just put on the shoes and follow me."

Lyanna sneered, but did as requested. She held up her old shoes. "And what are we going to do about this, hm?" She shook them in front of his face. "Will you eat them like that canoe?"

"Ugh, no!" Randy swatted the shoes to the ground. "Those wouldn't be filling at all. And you just told me you were camping for a few days; they must reek! Imma bury 'em!" He stomped his left foot, and moved his right arm in a tight circle. The shoes quickly sunk into the earth, the only evidence of their removal being a small patch of disturbed dirt.

"Okay, what was that?"

"Earthbending," Randy said, as he walked forward once more. Lyanna quickly followed.

"You performed…'waterbending' in the canoe, correct?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"…How do you do these things." She held up a hand and glared when he took deep breath. "Yes, yes, 'impermanence, suggestibility, imagination'. But surely there's something more."

Randy hummed. "Well, there's this energy source called 'Chi'. Also 'Ki'. And 'Mana'. And 'Nen'. And 'Chakra'. And—" She sent him an unimpressed glare. "Right, not the point. The point is, by manipulating the Chi within my body, I can exert control over the elements of water, earth, fire, and the air itself."

"…Again, how?" Lyanna asked. "How does manipulating this…internal magic allow you to control the elements."

"I dunno," Randy readily replied. "It just does. I'm serious!" He said when her glare returned full-force. "I don't know how I do half the things I do! I just…do them."

"Unbelievable." Lyanna groused. "The first true magician I meet, and he doesn't know anything about magic."

"Hey, I told you—"

"You said three words and offered no other explanation!" she cut him off with a huff.

"I'm so sorry m'lady," he dropped onto a sweeping bow. "Might I have your leave to travel to Asshai and drag one of their Shadowbinders to dance to your curious tune?"

Lyanna tried to hold onto her irritation, but was unable to hold back a quick burst of laughter. Randy chuckled back, only to sober seconds later. The inn was minutes away.

"Okay, listen," he said. "Just let me do the talking when we get in there, alright? As far as anyone cares, we're cousins—me from the Riverlands, you from the North—that have been trying to get out hands on those new seeds from the Citadel for our families."

Lyanna furrowed her brow. "Cousins? We look nothing a…like." She was left wide-eyed when she turned to Randy, and found a very Stark-like face staring back at her. He didn't look like any of the men in her family, but he looked enough like her father or Brandon that they appeared distantly related. He looked like a Karstartk, in truth. "H-How…?"

Randy's face split into a wide grin. "Imp—"

"I get it," Lyanna said as she shoved her way past him. "Let's just get this over with."

/+/+/+/+/

A/N: At least one person asked if there would be a plot. There is.