A Heavy Weight
A Song of Ice and Fire, and all associated media, are the property of George R. R. Martin.
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The goldcloaks rode into the village just as Lyanna and the others exited the inn the morning and gathered their horses. Their armor gleamed in the morning sun, and Lyanna couldn't help but growl at the sight of them as they questioned the smallfolk, who hesitantly pointed the goldcloaks their way.
"Calm down, we're gonna be fine" Randy said. He wasn't speaking only to her, but to Bran, Thoros, and the others, who all had their hands on the pommels of their blades. "Well, no matter what happens I'll be fine."
"Oh, how good for you," Lyanna said with a roll of her eyes.
"Ah, don't worry." Randy blithely replied. "I'll keep you all safe." Bran and his fellows muttered crossly at that, but Lyanna took great comfort in his words, and stepped closer to him.
Only for Bran to drag her back. She glared at him, which he met with equal heat. "For fuck's sake, Lya," he grumbled, low only for only her to hear. "I get that he saved you, but he's dangerous!"
"Only if you piss him off."
"That's not a comfort."
"Quiet please," Randy cut in, stopping the burgeoning argument. "We're about to have company." Indeed, the gold cloaks slowly cantered towards their group.
The men all wore stern frowns as they approached, focused on Randy. But the one in front—the leader, by all counts—changed as he drew closer. He stared out at the rest of them, and Lyanna could see his face twist in confusion as he saw the various sigils on Bran and the others' doublets. A dawning horror grew upon his face when he finally focused on Lyanna. His mood spread amongst his fellows, who muttered lowly among themselves.
When gold cloaks stopped before them, Thoros and Bran moved to stand in front of Lyanna. In any other circumstance, she might have grown annoyed.
When the leader spoke, he stared directly at Lyanna. "You…Are you Lady Lyanna Stark?"
She nodded. "I am."
The man let out a distressed noise as he turned to Randy. "And…you are the one who…absconded with her?"
"Is that what they're calling it?" Randy said with a shake of his head.
"Please answer the question."
Randy looked at the man with no small amount of pity. "I am indeed."
The leader tilted his head down to his lap, and let loose a long string of colorful curses. His men either did the same or turned as pale as a silk sheet. When he turned back up, he looked as if someone stepped over his grave. "I'm…I'm afraid I must ask that Lady Stark and—"
"Name's Randy," Randy supplied.
"Randy," the gold cloak leader nodded. "I must ask that the two of you accompany us back to King's Landing."
At that, Bran finally spoke. "Well, I'm afraid that that isn't happening." At those words, Kyle, Jeffrey, Elbert, and Ethan stood protectively beside them.
The leader gulped, but help firm. "It's a royal order, my lords. It must be obeyed."
"It's a shit order," Bran replied.
"My lord, please."
Bran spat on the ground. "Take that to your wingless dragons."
"Ok, Imma need to stop you right there." Randy replied, stepping in-between the two groups. "Brandon, I get where you're coming from, but you also don't know what they hell you're talking about, so please shut up."
Bran—and everyone but Thoros and Lyanna—stared at Randy equally affronted and wary. The gold cloaks stared in a mix of unabashed shock and…awe? Yes awe, though Lyanna couldn't fathom why.
Randy cleared his throat as he looked up at the gold cloak. "There's no way we can, you know, work this out?"
"None," was the leader's curt reply.
Randy rubbed his fingers together. "Even for a bit of coin?"
A few of the gold cloaks perked up at the mention of money, but the leader shook his head. "More would come—we were not the only group sent out in…search of you two."
"Yeah, I figured as much." Randy rubbed his temples. "So, you really can't report back that Lyanna is safe at home?"
The leader licked his lips. "The instructions were very clear, I'm afraid."
"Directly from Prince Rhaegar?"
The leader grew conflicted, before softly admitting, "Yes."
"Oh, enough of this back-and-forth." Lyanna burst past her self-appointed guards and stood beside Randy. She glared up at the gold cloak, who looked as if he wished the earth would swallow him up. "You want me to come with you, yes?"
"It would make all our lives a lot easier, my lady" he admitted.
"Then that's what I shall do." Her statement was met with various exclamations from behind—Randy just smiled at in her in a way that made her heart skip a beat.
"Lya!" Bran harshly pulled her back, face twisted in grief and fury. "What in all the seven hells are you doing?"
"Bran," Lyanna spoke slowly, to not rise to meet his anger. "We all hoped otherwise, but knew this could only end like this."
"There's still another choice," he muttered darkly. His gaze flicked down to his blade, and then to the gold cloaks.
Lyanna fought to keep her heart from hammering out of her chest. "Brandon, no. Please, you'll start a war," she stressed. Just hearing about the war in her might-have-been future was horrible enough, she didn't want to live through a variation of it.
"A just war," he growled. His levelled his gaze on Randy. "One we'd win."
"No," Lyanna sternly replied. She knew exactly what Randy was capable of, but by all the Old, New, and even the Drowned, she would not ask him to fight a war for her. Mostly because it just…wouldn't be fair to the opposing side. You don't crush an ant with a hammer, after all.
Bran sneered at her, but turned away with a curse. Though that might have had more to do with Randy staring at them with an arched brow than anything else. "Fine, fine!" he said aloud, catching everyone's attention. "Randy, Lyanna, and myself will join you all back to the Red Keep."
"Wait, what?!" Lyanna stared at her brother in shock.
He looked back, confused. "Did you think I was going to let you out of my sight after all that's happened recently?"
Lyanna's mouth went dry—Bran couldn't go to King's Landing. He'd die! As would father! And countless other innocent people.
"Lya?" Bran asked, bending down as he took hold of her shoulders. "What's wrong?"
Gods, Ned would lead a war, and be forced to live eternally in Brandon's shadow. Benjen would be stuck in Winterfell the whole time, only to leave for the Wall and never come back. Her family torn apart because of her.
"Hey, hey." Lyanna blinked, and turned to see Randy, a sympathetic frown on his face. "Relax. Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise."
Lyanna stared at him, unshed tears stinging her eyes. But she did nod, and take a deep breath to steady herself. She gently pushed her brother away. "I'm fine." She stared up at the gold cloaks, who were all looking everywhere but at Lyanna.
Bran furrowed his brow, but nodded. "Right…" He nodded at the gold cloak leader. "As I was saying, the three of us—"
"I shall come as well," Thoros piped up.
Bran nodded absently. "Yes, yes, fine. But my other companions need to return to their homes." And inform all they met of everything that had transpired, he left unsaid.
The gold cloak leader eyed the young noblemen uneasily. Thankfully, he did nod in the end. "Aye…That's a sound course of action." He turned his horse around and barked orders to his fellows.
Bran, Lyanna, and Randy returned to the others—save for Thoros, who said he was going to get the four of them horses. Elbert sent Bran and Lyanna a flat stare. "You two will be fine?"
"We'll have to be." Bran answered grimaced. "I know that…Bloodraven…is delivering those letters, but I'll feel better when you all get to Riverrun and tell the tale in person."
"And what a tale it will be," Kyle replied, darting his eyes over to Randy.
"Be sure not to leave anything out," Randy teased, and clacked his teeth twice. The men—including Bran—all shivered, and they—excluding Bran—went to retrieve their horses. They all, exited moments later. The noblemen all clasped hands with Bran and bowed to Lyanna before they mounted their beasts, and rode north without another word.
The gold cloaks all lost a massive weight on their shoulders as they watched Kyle, Elbert, Jeffrey, and Ethan leave. "Right," the leader said. "We best be on our way as well." He cleared his throat, apologetic as he looked down at Randy. "Erm…I'm afraid we'll have to clap you in irons."
Randy clicked his tongue, but nodded. "Fair enough. Am I supposed to ride with one of you?"
The leader huffed amusedly. "Honestly, if you were still breathing, the plan was to just drag you behind us."
Lyanna scowled at the gold cloaks, but Randy just laughed. "Give me a big enough piece of wood to sit on, and we can go ahead with that plan!"
The gold cloaks chuckled, and the leader said, "You can ride with the that man." He gestured to Thoros. "And you all shall ride in the middle of us. Until we get to the crown lands, at least. Then we will have to drag you behind us. Have to maintain some propriety, you know?"
"Oh, I get it, don't worry," Randy said, and raised his arm. The gold cloak leader stared at it for a moment, before he shook it. "What's your name, friend?"
"Daemon Massey."
Randy nodded, and let Daemon clap him in irons. Lyanna glared at Daemon, and then at the chains. Of all the men in Westeros, Randy was the least deserving to put into chains.
"You know, only one of us can blow stuff up by staring at it, right?" Randy whispered into her ear, a smirk on his lips.
Lyanna flushed, but smiled and whispered back. "Perhaps I am simply following your terribly vague instructions. Impermanence, suggestibility, imagination, no?" Randy chuckled, the sound reverberating in her skull and sending pleasant shivers down her spine.
"Alright, that's enough of that," Bran cut in. He dragged Lyanna to their horses, and practically shoved her onto hers. "Honestly, Lya!" He hissed. "Show some decency! You're acting like some lurid washerwoman!"
Lyanna's good mood died. She kicked at her brother's shoulder. "Yes, I imagine you'd know all about how such lurid women act." Bran's face warred between outrage and shame. In the end, he just left her to climb atop his own horse.
The gold cloaks maneuvered so she, Bran, Randy and Thoros were in the middle of them. "Onward!" Daemon commanded in a booming voice, and they were off towards King's Landing.
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"Read 'em and weep, boys!" Randy cried, and laid his cards on the ground, his manacles clanking. The gold cloaks—those still in the game, at least—cursed.
"Told you he was better than he looks." Daemon, who had chosen not to join the game in favor of cooking their meal for the night, called out. "You can see it in his eyes." More than a few of his men made a rude gesture in his direction, but he just laughed them off.
Lyanna and Bran stared at the display before them in no small amount of wonder. "They do remember he's their prisoner, right?" Bran asked.
"Since he's still in chains I'd imagine the answer is yes," Lyanna replied.
"It's very easy to forget things when you're having a good time" Thoros, who was cleaning his sword a bit away from them, said. "It's why so many people love getting drunk." Bran nodded at the statement.
"Alright you lot!" Daemon shouted. "Stop losing your coin and get some food in your bellies!" Randy and the few men with coin left had been gearing up for another round, but packed up at the declaration.
Randy scooped up his winnings, and dropped them beside Daemon. "Thanks for lending me the coin," he said.
Daemon chuckled, eyes alight with glee as he pocketed the money. "I ought to be thanking you," he replied. "Paid me back with interest and, hopefully, taught these idiots what a real card player looks like." A few of the gold cloaks sneered and jeered, but it was all in good fun, Lyanna could see.
However, that fun ended when Bran and Lyanna came to get their food. The men—save for Randy—stiffened, and grew silent. Daemon cleared his throat as he poured our Lyanna's and Brandon's bowls—their portions were a little bigger than everyone else's, she noticed. "Lord Stark, Lady Stark," Daemon said as he handed them off.
"Thank you," Bran said for both of them. Daemon nodded stiffly, and quickly poured out his own meal and ate.
Bran ate a spoonful of his own, and smiled. "This is very good."
"Thank you, my lord," Daemon said. And added nothing more.
Bran's smile faltered. "We, uh, don't have roadside meals like this up north. All these…spices."
Daemon shrugged. "Just things I pick up from King's Landing."
"What are they called?"
Dameon said, "I don't know, my lord," and left it at that.
Bran tried to strike up conversation with the other gold cloaks, but they only offered clipped, one-word responses. It was almost funny, to see her vivacious brother flounder so. Eventually, to save her brother from further embarrassment, Lyanna grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him away, towards Thoros. Bran glowered like a wet dog.
"Stop it," Lyanna said. "You're acting like a child. This isn't the first time you've been overshadowed by another."
"This isn't Harrenhal," Bran mulishly replied. "And that man"—he gestured to Randy—"is not Robert Baratheon."
"He most certainly is not," Lyanna said with a wistful sigh. Bran twitched, but said nothing.
"He's more sociable than you would think, isn't he?" Thoros said, looking at Randy.
"You mean for"—Bran's face pinched—"…himself, or a smallfolk in general?"
"For a man of his abilities, yes," Thoros replied. "All his…skills…and such."
"He didn't just spring up from the earth," Lyanna said in-between bites. "He has a mother, at least."
"So he says," Bran countered.
"Brandon," Lyanna said warningly.
He had the grace to look apologetic. "Sorry, sorry. He's a good person, yes. I just…don't like that we're going to King's Landing." He frowned. "…Lya, why didn't you want me to come with you to King's Landing?"
His question hung in the air like frost. Lyanna's appetite ran away, but she still forced food down her mouth.
"Lya," Bran's voice softened, and somehow that was worse than his usual bluster. "I know now that I've disappointed you, but please, I'm your brother. I would do anything to keep you safe. You don't need to go seeking protection in the arms of a stranger, regardless of who he is or what he can do."
Lyanna sniffed. "Oh, Bran, no." She hugged her brother. "It's not that—I swear it's not."
Bran squeezed her back. "Then why did you look as if someone stepped on your grave when I said I would go to King's Landing with you."
"Well, maybe I want to keep you safe."
Bran chuckled incredulously. "What? Why would you need to keep me safe?"
Part of Lyanna wanted to tell Bran what she knew of that terrible future. To confide in someone what she'd learned. Another part, a larger part, didn't. Believed that the knowledge of that could-never-be future was her burden to bear. A punishment for her sins.
"Lya?" Bran reached up a hand to wipe tears from her face. Oh, she hadn't even realized…
"Begging your pardons, Lord Stark, Lady Lyanna," Thoros spoke up. "If I may?" Bran frowned, but nodded. Thoros moved forward, and offered Lyanna a clean strip of cloth.
"Thank you, Thoros," she said as she cleaned her face.
"It's no bother," Thoros replied genially. "But I must ask, this weight upon your heart, can you not release it?" Lyanna thought upon that. She so desperately wanted to. But no, it wouldn't be fair to Bran. To anyone.
Thoros's lips spread into a soft smile. "Ah, I see…Might I share something with you, my lady, of my religion?" Fighting back a scowl—aside from Thoros, she wanted nothing to do with the madmen and women that wanted her to bear Rhaegar's children—she nodded. "That cloth you hold? Pour your fears and despair into it, until the weight transfers from your heart onto it. Then, toss it into the fire." He took a deep breath, and stared up at the sky. "In feeding that which holds us down into the flame—to Rh'llor—we unburden ourselves and glow brighter so as to beat back our inner darkness."
Lyanna stared down at the cloth with a critical eye. "Truly?"
Thoros chuckled. "It's helps if you're a true believer, but I think, if you cannot speak to another of what ails you, it's not a bad substitute either."
Bran snorted. "And here I thought you red priests just burned people."
Thoros's features hardened at that. "The only members of our faith—our true faith, mind you—that are burned are those that choose to do so themselves. To force the sacrifice onto another taints the sacred act."
Bran hummed. "But why burn at all? Fire destroys all, leaves nothing but ash."
"But from ash, new things can grow. Stronger than before"
Lyanna got up as Bran leaned forward, and left the pair to their debate. She walked over to the fire—one of the gold cloaks was tending to it, but outside of a slight nod he didn't acknowledge her.
She knelt by the fire, and ran her thumb over the cloth. She thought long and hard about what her fate would have been had she not met Randy. Thought long and hard about the people that would die in the wake of her choices. Thought long and hard about the pieces those left behind would have to sift through.
When the cloth grew as heavy as iron, she tossed it into the flame.
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A/N: Not much to say here.