Here there be Monsters
A Song of Ice and Fire, and all associated media, are the property of George R. R. Martin.
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It was easier to feign sickness than Lyanna initially assumed. She just needed to rub her eyes swollen, clutch her stomach and claim Moon's Blood and suddenly no one wanted anything to do with her. She'd done it before in Winterfell on occasion, but didn't think it would work so well in the Red Keep. She suspected even Bran and Thoros would have been fooled if they weren't in on the ruse. Of course, she was left in her rooms the whole time, but given the sporadic clouds and showers dancing across the skies over the last few days she wouldn't have wanted to be outside to begin.
Ashara, and the princess by extension, weren't fooled, she knew. No doubt they'd use similar tactics before. But neither pushed for a meeting, thankfully. At most Ashara come for tea in her quarters so she, Lyanna, and Bran could discuss her romance with Ned. They delightfully danced around anything related to Rhaegar—and Targaryens as a whole. Well, when Ashara wasn't pulling a similar tactic as Lyanna, claiming nausea and locking herself away with the princess.
Thoros was left to the king's mercies, however. He acted fine, but she should see that every interaction with Aerys weighed upon Thoros's soul. Sooner or later, something was going to break. Bran was the most vocally concerned, to Lyanna's not-quite surprise.
It almost distracted her from the fact that Randy was being held in the Black Cells. Almost. Most concerning—and hurtful, honestly—was the fact that he hadn't attempted to contact any of them. He wouldn't have died, for a plethora or reasons, but honestly, didn't he know how worried she was about him?! She'd asked Bloodraven about him, but the great bastard had just replied that 'everything's fine' and left it at that.
But she could forget all that for now. The boats her father and Ned had taken to King's Landing were to arrive any minute. It was agreed that Bran would be at court to greet them with the king, while Lyanna stayed in her room with Thoros. Lyanna had wanted to greet them the minute the entered the city, but she knew herself well enough to admit that she would burst into tears upon seeing them, and didn't want to have a breakdown in public. But that just left her waiting.
"Stop pacing, my lady," Thoros said, breaking Lyanna from her musings. "You'll wear out the floor. Or your own feet."
Lyanna let out a nervous breath, but did stop to sit on the bed. "Oh, I can't help it!" She pressed a hand to her heart. "I just…so many things can happen!" What if Aerys decided to burn her family, just for the hell of it? What if Rhaegar returned earlier than expected, and Bran just couldn't stop himself? What if Rhaegar spouted more lies and condemned her family for treason just to get her all to himself? What if, what if, what if!
Thoros cleared his throat, and waited for Lyanna to turn to him. "Would you like to send your burdens to the flame again?"
She flashed him a grateful smile. "No, thank you, Thoros." He smiled back.
She ran a hand through her hair, and toyed with her braid. It was a simple style, the first one she'd learned at her mother's knees. Gods, she wished her mother were alive to whisper sweet nothings into her ear. Wished she were a child again, ignorant of the cruelties of the world and its inhabitants.
"…ay man! Let me see my daughter!"
Lyanna froze. She knew that voice.
Indeed, seconds later the door burst open, and her father—red-faced and panting—stood in the doorway.
Lyanna wasn't aware that she leapt at him with open arms until he engulfed her with his own. She could feel his breath hitch as he bent down to hold her. He didn't say anything, just held her and pressed a fierce kiss to the top of her head.
"Lya!"
Lyanna looked up from her father's chest to see Ned, sweet, dear Ned, scramble over to them. She sobbed—or she might have simply continued sobbing—as she released her grip on her father and latched onto her brother.
"Thank the gods!" Ned cried as he pressed numerous kisses to her cheeks. "Bran's letter—both of them—I feared the worst—Didn't dare think—" her brother devolved into a near-tearful stammer.
Lyanna giggled through her own tears. She held his head in her hands. "I'm okay, Ned! I'm okay!" He just took a deep breath, and buried his head in the crook of her neck. Next thing she knew, Bran had joined their hug, and then their father swept them all up in his arms.
Lyanna's heart swelled with warmth and safety. All that was missing was Benjen, otherwise this moment would be absolutely perfect.
"Lyanna, my love! Thank all the gods you're safe!"
Moment ruined.
Lyanna and her family turned towards Robert Baratheon; the same stone-cold frown etched across their features. The boisterous fool just laughed. "Ha! That's impressive. Ned, why've you never taught me how to do that? Jon would piss his himself if we gave him those tandem stares."
Her father cleared his throat as they all rose—and though he let Ned and Bran go, he kept his arms around Lyanna. "Lord Baratheon—"
"Ah, it's just Robert, we'll be family soon enough!"
"Lord Baratheon," father repeated, sterner. "I am grateful that you accompanied my son all the from the Vale."
"But of course!" Robert interrupted once more. "I'm closer to Ned than my own brothers."
Father took a deep breath—Lyanna could see his neck pulse in that very familiar 'I am tired of your horseshit' way she'd grown accustomed to since her youth. "Be that as it may, you are not wed to my daughter yet, so I ask you to leave us."
Robert pouted and flushed, but Ned cut him off curtly. "Robert, leave." Now utter betrayal colored his features, but Robert did slink off like a kicked puppy. Thoros—who Lyanna had honestly forgotten was still in the room—followed soon after and shut the door behind him.
Her father held her in his arms for another moment before directing her to the bed. After he sat her down, he stepped back and folded her arms across his broad chest. "Now," he spoke with a low rumble and an arched brow. "Bran's letter was frantic and rambling. Tell me, what has happened since you left Winterfell?"
Lyanna took a deep breath—oddly, the prospect of disappointing her father and Ned wasn't nearly as daunting at when she'd spoken with Bran. She started from the beginning, at Harenahal.
It was almost comforting that both father and Ned remained stone-faced throughout her tale, only asking for the occasional detail or clarification. They didn't rage like Bran had—their blood didn't run so hot. But she could see her father's knuckles whiten as they curled into fists, and Ned's arms tremble at his sides.
Father took a great, deep breath. "…There are a great many things I can say to you Lyanna. A great many!" She flinched at the roar in his voice. "From your behavior to your temperament to your—your disregard for duty! And yet…" he slumped in place, and aged decades before Lyanna's eyes. "And yet all I can do is thank the gods that you're safe." He sat down next to her and pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Gods, girl," he said, "why didn't you talk to any of us?"
"She did," Ned despondently replied. His eyes were closed, face pinched in pain. "She's spoken to me many times of her fears towards Robert and their marriage. But I never said anything—I foolishly assumed it would all be fine. This whole business is m—"
"No!" Lyanna, Bran, and father shouted at once, startling Ned.
"Fuck's sake, Ned," Bran said with a sigh. "What are you even saying?"
"If I'd only spoken to father—!"
"Eddard," father cut in. "Whatever blame you think you hold in the matter, I promise you, it is the minimal amount." Ned spluttered, and Lyanna couldn't help but laugh—otherwise, she would cry at the man who would stain his own honor for her would-have-been misbegotten child.
Father shook his head. "We shall discuss the matter of blame later." He removed his arm from Lyanna's shoulders and steepled his fingers. "Now, let us discuss this supposed sorcerer."
Suddenly, Randy's face melted in from the wall beside father. "Is that my cue?"
"Fucking hells!" Father screamed. Ned was right behind him. Lyanna did not react beyond flinching in place, and she found herself proud that Bran just jerked away to the other end of the room.
"Sorry, sorry," Randy said with an apologetic smile. His face pushed out from the wall, fleshy goop flowing out from the wall and onto the floor. "But when Bloodraven told me Rickard and Eddard Stark had arrived I figured I should at least talk to you at least once before everything goes down." His head rose from the goop, which writhed like snakes. His body—clothed, thankfully—formed beneath it.
Her father and Ned had paled. Her father's jaw worked for a moment before he finally said, "W-Well, that answers the question of whether my children had gone mad. Though I must say, I wish they were."
Randy sniffed. "Yeah, I get it." He leaned against the wall. "It would make thing a lot easier, I'll admit."
"Randy!" Lyanna leapt up and embraced him. "I've been so worried for you!"
He chuckled and hugged her back. "It's not all that bad—well for me. The goaler doesn't even check in on me—he just pokes me with his foot when he swaps out water buckets to make sure I'm still breathing." He pulled away and smirked. "It's given me a lot of time to practice my more esoteric abilities."
Lyanna gestured to him. "Like that…goop thing you just did?"
"Among others." He turned to her father and Ned, who at least not longer looked as if their hearts had leapt out of their chests. "Rickard and Eddard Stark! Wonderful to meet you both in the flesh!" He stepped forward and extended a hand to each of them—half-melted hands to be exact. "Whoops!" Randy shook them until they were solid. "Sorry about that."
Tentatively, Ned and father shook Randy's hands—and they had to be the shortest handshakes Lyanna had ever seen. "A pleasure," Ned said, with a surprisingly steady voice.
It took father longer to find his footing. When he did, he said, "I understand that I have you to thank for saving my daughter's life."
"You understand correctly."
Her father took a deep breath. "That is a debt I can never repay, but honor demands that I try. So, tell me, Randy, what do you desire?"
Randy hummed and rubbed his chin. "Well…Honestly I plan on moving to the North, so if I could just have a room at Winterfell to stay in on occasion that'd be swell."
Lyanna tried not to smile too widely—which she failed at, given the narrowed eyes her family sent her way. "You want to live with m—us?"
"Yeah, it'll be fun," Randy said flippantly. "Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and say 'hi' before shit went down."
Bran growled. "Prince Rhaegar is near, then?"
"Yes." Randy frowned. "He'll be here tonight, if not tomorrow morning—and my 'trial' will come soon after."
"How can we assist you?" Ned asked earnestly.
"You can't," Randy replied. "And I mean it—I don't want any of you doing or saying anything in my favor."
"You would ask us to abandon you in your time of need?" Father asked with an arched brow.
Randy sent him a flat look. He tilted his head back, popped open his jaw, and let loose a sharp torrent of fire which just barely touched the ceiling. He kept it up for ten seconds before snapping his jaw shut and turning back to her father. "Do I look like I am in 'need' of anything?" He stepped backwards and started melting into the wall. "Relax, I've got a plan."
They all stared at the wall—Lyanna half-expected him to pop out again just for the fun of it.
Father rubbed his temples. "I need to rest." He walked "We shall speak more after I've had time to…process all th—gah!" he slammed into nothing a foot in front of the door.
"Whoops!" Randy's face shot out from the ceiling. "My bad! Forgot about the barrier I put up to keep out eavesdroppers." He clacked his teeth, and the air shimmered in front of father—who rubbed his nose as he glared up at Randy. "Again, my bad." With that said, Randy sank into the stone once more.
Father groaned. "I shall see you all for supper—or after, if I must dine with the king." He swept open the door and stormed out the room.
"I must leave as well," Ned said. "This is not the Eyrie—I must ensure Robert doesn't do anything stupid while he sulks."
"Ned," Bran reached out to stop their brother. "How much does Robert know? Did you show him the letter?"
"No, I burned that after I read it. The only tale Robert knows is the one Prince Rhaegar has spread." He looked to Lyanna. "Do you want me to…"
She shook her head. "The less he knows, the better." She didn't trust Robert to not grab the heaviest object and dash it against Rhaegar's head once he arrived. She and Ned would have enough trouble taking care of Bran.
She smirked. "Besides, I think your time would be better spent with the soon-to-be Lady Stark."
Ned, bless him, blushed up a storm. "You've spoken to her? I haven't seen her since before this whole mess started."
Bran grinned. "Aye, she's said as much while we've had tea."
Ned's lips spread into a nervous smile. "O-Oh. Y-You've all had tea together?"
"Don't worry Ned, we were nice. We didn't tell her any embarrassing stories." He grew relieved at her words. So much so she was almost sorry for adding, "Other than that incident in the kitchens when we were children."
Now he flushed in a rage. "We swore to never tell another soul!"
"Ah, but Ned, haven't you figured it out?" Bran sighed dramatically and leaned against their brother with a mocking smile. "She's your soulmate—your other half. It's only fair." He cackled as Ned bodily shoved him away, and turned a glare to Lyanna when she joined in.
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Rhaegar arrived late in the night. Lyanna had been deep asleep when he'd entered the Red Keep with Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent and awoke the next morning to her family telling her that the king would hold Randy's trial—however farcical one would be for a smallfolk that harmed a prince—an hour after he broke his fast.
Their own meal was a quiet one—Robert was still smarting over his dismissal and ate separately, and Thoros thought it best to let them have some time to themselves. What little they did speak revolved around Ned's romance with Ashara. But even Ned was stilted and reticent when speaking of his lady love. Lyanna assumed he was just uncomfortable in the Red Keep, on top of everything else hanging over them like a heavy cloak.
Finally, guards came to escort them to the throne room. Their journey was a fairly quiet one, but Lyanna could hear the whispers. Servants and guards and nobles praising the prince for surviving his attack and wishing death upon Randy. It made her tremble with rage, and more than once someone—usually Bran—had to press their hand on the small of her back and keep her moving forward.
Thankfully, all voices ceased at the threshold to the Iron Throne.
Thoros, unluckily, stood at a place of honor among the King's council. The Hand of the King, Owen Merryweather, and the Master of Whispers, Mace Tyrell, kept trying to engage him in smalltalk. No doubt to devise new ways to seek favor with the king, who had yet to arrive. Even the High Septon—whoever had replaced the bastard Randy killed—was making polite conversation.
Robert, thankfully, was silent as he made his way over to them. He tried to sidle right beside Lyanna, but Bran, Ned, and father refused to move from her side. He pouted but didn't make a fuss as he stood beside Ned. Good, today would be trying enough with adding Robert in the mix. Though the faint smell of some woman's perfume wafting off him was already starting things on a low note.
Then, finally, the heralds announced the arrival of the royal family.
King Aerys swept into the room, flanked by the Kingsguard, followed by his wife and the young Prince Viserys. Lyanna focused on the queen. She tried to look for some sort of sign of the abuse she faced at her husband's hands. But there wasn't any pained movement or obvious scars. At most, the queen wore clothing that left no skin showing.
Lyanna would have continued scrutinizing the queen, had Prince Rhaegar and his wife, not entered her vision. The silver prick looked serene and dared to look her way. Worse, he looked relieved at the sight of her.
She started to heave, teeth grit and wolf's blood howling. Thankfully, Ned was there to keep her from doing something stupid. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see father doing the same for Bran.
When Aerys sat upon the Iron Throne, he truly looked imposing. The effect was lost, however, when he rasped in his creaky, dried voice, "Bring forth the prisoner."
Randy was dragged out in chains moments later and tossed into the center of the room. He was covered in grime and smelled like things Lyanna didn't care to name. Her blood boiled once more.
"Just say the word," Robert loudly whispered to them, "and I shall dash that cur's head against the stone, the king's justice be damned." That actually calmed Lyanna down a touch. For all Robert's faults, he was a man of action. It was grounding.
Aerys leaned forward on the Iron Throne as Randy picked himself up into a sitting position, the melted blades nicking his sleeves. "You, rouge, have committed a grave crime. The greatest of crimes against my family—your ultimate betters. Confess, and you might be shown mercy."
Randy looked up through his matted bangs. He took a deep breath. "What exactly am I being accused of?"
Aerys chuckled. "I see your stay in the Black Cells has addled your mind." His laughter was echoed across the throne room.
Randy shrugged. "Well, I mean…If I'm to be sentenced to death, I'd like to know the exact measure of my sins. Isn't that a right granted to every man under the will of the gods?"
Aerys huffed, his gaze flickering to the High Septon, who reluctantly nodded. "That is…true. Rhaegar, my son, relay the crimes you've levelled against this fool."
Rhaegar blanched, and eyed Randy. "Father, I see no need of this. His crimes are known to all! I've already advocated we kill him now and be done with it. He is a—"
"I've heard all of this man's supposed sorceries," Aerys said with a roll of his eyes. "None of which he has demonstrated in the time he's been in chains." He glared at his firstborn. "Speak. Now."
Rhaegar gulped and directed his voice and gaze to the crowd. "This man before stands accused of the foulest of crimes." His voice was soft and melodic, and it made Lyanna want to wring his pale neck. "He murdered the Commander of the kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, my good friend, the High Septon."
"Former High Septon," the current High Septon cut in. Rhaegar side-eyed the man before, who held up his hands apologetically.
"He assaulted Ser Oswell Whent—who will need months to recover—and Ser Arthur Dayne." He looked back to Ser Dayne with an arched brow, who replied with the most pathetic, miserable nods Lyanna had ever seen. "He even destroyed the Dayne's ancestral blade Dawn, one of the greatest relics in Westeros." That drew a harsh chorus of gasps—the loudest coming from Ashara and…Jaime Lannister? Yes, Jaime Lannister stared at his fellow knigsguard in shock and horror. Odd.
"And worse, these crimes allowed him to perform an even greater one—the abduction of Lady Lyanna Stark." Now all eyes were on her, and Lyanna looked down at her feet to avoid glaring and spitting at everyone. "I cannot even begin to imagine what transpired during his flight. That she might be—" he stopped himself short, but the damage was already done.
Lyanna almost couldn't believe that he would say that. Almost. But perhaps he thought that by making her undesirable to the rest of the world he could try and steal her away again. Or some other equally mad scheme to get her with his child.
"That mothef—"
"Quiet!" Father hissed at Bran, though his own voice trembled with rage.
"Now I don't know who to dash against the floor," Robert muttered.
"Rhaegar," Ned replied in a low growl. Wow, Lyanna hadn't heard that voice come out of Ned in years.
"Lyanna." She looked over her shoulder at Robert. He wore a soft frown. "I promise, whatever…might have happened…it makes no difference to me." Huh, that was almost sweet. Especially with that earnest look in his eyes. Would have been better if he hadn't rolled around with whoever first wore that perfume.
Rhaegar gestured dramatically to Randy, who stared back with a placid smile. "These are the crimes you have committed!" That set off an avalanche of furious whispers, more than a few people glaring hatefully at Randy.
The man himself just cleared his throat. And kept clearing it until the room quieted, and everyone stared at him "So, just to make sure, you're saying that I attacked all of you, and then stole away with Lady Stark?"
Rhaegar blinked, as though he hadn't considered the fact that Randy would speak. "Yes."
"I attacked you all, and then took her?"
"Yes," Rhaegar repeated with a roll of his eyes.
"I." Randy gestured to himself. "Attacked you." He pointed to Rhaegar. "And ran away with her." He pointed in Lyanna's general direction.
"Yes!" Rhaegar shouted.
"Then what were you doing with Lady Lyanna when I found you all?"
Rhaegar took in a deep breath—only to pause as he registered the question. Indeed, a hush had fallen over the court.
"I mean," Randy got up to his feet. "That's weird, isn't it? Five grown men with an unmarried young woman, unrelated to any of them?" He held up his hands. "And refresh my memory, where were we again during our supposed skirmish? Because if it wasn't anywhere but the North—the Stark's lands—then I've got to wonder, again, why and where Lady Lyanna was with you all." He pointed to Rhaegar. "As you have repeatedly stated."
That got everyone whispering again, more than a few people staring suspiciously at Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne.
"Enough!" The prince shouted, but there was a desperation in his tone. "Your guilt is clear. You think you can distract from your own crimes by spouting this…drivel?!"
"Perhaps not," King Aerys declared. He had a manic, gleeful light in his eyes as he stared down at his son. "But it's a rather interesting question is it not? What were you all doing, I wonder."
Lyanna grinned with glee as Rhaegar was caught on the backfoot. "Father, truly you jest? You would follow along with this madman's delusions, that implicate me, four knights of your kingsguard, and the High Septon?"
"Former High Septon," the current High Septon cut in. Rhaegar let out a groan of frustration, to which the man just smiled apologetically.
King Aerys hummed. "True. And yet…I wonder. Where is my Master of Whispers?"
"Here, Your Grace!" Mace Tyrell stepped forward.
Aerys waved a hand. "Tell me, have you heard anything for or against these…implications?"
Lord Tyrell cleared his throat. "Yes well, Your Grace, I'd meant to tell you this morning, but you had been unavailable—"
"The point, Mace," Aerys ground out.
Lord Tyrell sighed. "I've heard through my vines that Lyanna Stark had seemingly vanished from Riverrun on the eve of her brother's wedding, and that Brandon Stark postponed his own wedding to search for her." He looked between the king and prince before pulling at his collar. "And it is certainly true that Prince Rhaegar and Sers Hightower, Dayne, and Whent left King's Landing due north. And the prince's own statement, coupled with the fact that this fellow—"
"Name's Randy," Randy called out.
Mace blinked. "Er, Randy. The fact that Randy came into the city with Brandon Stark none-the-worse for wear is…suspect."
Aerys turned to his son with a sickening grin. "My, how interesting. Well, answer the question." Aerys said, with no small amount of sadistic glee. "What were you all doing with that poor girl? How did you come across her?"
Rhaegar opened his mouth, but before more pathetic words could fall limply from his lead tongue, Randy interrupted him.
"Actually, I don't think that will be necessary." All eyes turned to him. "This is all clearly getting out of hand, and instead of sitting down and parsing out the facts let's just settle this all with a Trial by Combat."
Silence reigned. "What?" King Aerys asked.
"Yeah. The tried-and-true method for these truly difficult blame cases, isn't it? And clearly none of you want to ask the woman herself the truth of the matter, but it's fine, no big deal." Randy held up his left hand and started to count off. "So, just to get the record straight, I'm being accused of two counts of murder, three counts of assault, kidnapping, destroying a family heirloom and…is sorcery illegal?" He looked out to the crowd. "Anyone know? Anyone…Ah, let's not count it. You know what, let's not count the sword either, because I will admit to its destruction, and I will rectify it. And if I lump every count into one that's three crimes I'm accused of." Randy nodded at his three fingers. "Right, I think fighting three kingsguard should be fair."
Now everyone stared on in unabashed shock. Even King Aerys lost his mad gleam, pure confusion, and even a little concern, leaking into his features. "Come again? You wish to enter a Trial by Combat, against three of my Kingsguard?"
"At once."
"At once," the king repeated with wonder.
Rhaegar spluttered. "Trial by—you aren't a knight!"
Randy scoffed. "Great, another accusation laid at my feet. I'd say let's make it four Kingsguard, but that would leave no one left to guard the king. I mean, I guess there's Dayne, but I've already kicked his ass. Allegedly," Randy hastily added with a smile. Ser Arthur looked torn between indignation and shame.
The king mulled over the response. "…Very well." He leaned back on the Iron Throne and waved a hand at Randy. "You have one hour to prepare. You shall fight Sers Selmy, Darry, and Martell of the kingsguard in the main courtyard. This session is over."
The court erupted into a cacophony. Lyanna wanted to try and talk with Randy as he was led away, but her father grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her out the room. They stopped in an alcove a fair bit away from the Iron Throne, the tension oozing out of their bodies.
"Damn," Robert, because of course he had followed them, said. "Now I don't know what to think!" He chuckled but trailed off upon seeing the stern frowns etched onto Lyanna and her family's faces. "Wait…something's not right about all this. What do you all know?"
"Not now, Robert," Ned said. Robert would have responded, red-faced and all bluster, had a steward not run up to them.
The steward took a minute to catch his breath. "The king requests that you all stand just below him and the Royal Family during the…Trial by Combat." Lyanna would rather ask a Bolton to skin her.
But her father said. "If that is what the king wills." The steward bowed and left.
Robert waited until his was out of sight before rounding on them. "Seriously, what is going on?"
Father held up a hand. "Let it keep, Lord Baratheon. Let it keep until we are gone from this damnable keep."
Robert grumbled. "Fine! I can tell when I'm not wanted." He turned on his heel and stalked off.
Bran groaned. "Honestly, Ned, how did you live with the man all these years?"
"Patiently."
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The hour waiting for Randy's Trial by Combat was the quickest hour in Lyanna's life. It was as if she blinked and suddenly, she was being ushered to a balcony just below the royal family. Her family was standing beside Mace Tyrell, his wife and mother, and Thoros, luckily enough. He still looked tired but managed to reciprocate Lyanna's smile and wave.
Then Robert stomped his way in, and the already cramped balcony became packed. Lyanna managed to not sneer at the love marks on his neck—at least now she knew for sure what to look forward whenever their future marriage hit an obstacle.
Horns trumpeted from the courtyard, and Sers Selmy, Martell, and Darry strode out, their white armor gleaming in the sun. On the opposite side of the field cam Randy…wearing only a green tunic white pants, and brown boots.
Murmurs broke out, but Randy ignored them as he started stretching.
The king and his family, save for the children, stood on the balcony above them, Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne at his sides. He raised his arms and waited for the noise to stop. He nodded at the High Septon, who stood on the opposite balcony of Lyanna and her family, who raised some crystal orb and droned on about the Seven who are One. Lyanna never truly understood all this speaking before a Trial by Combat—just let the men fight.
When the High Septon finished, Aerys said. "The trail of…Ser…Randy against Prince Rhaegar's accusations of assault, murder, an abduction shall commence!"
The kingsguard all drew their swords and stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Randy just smiled and crossed his arms. Despite everything Lyanna knew and had seen, her heart still seized with fear at the sight of him opposite three well-trained, well-armed knights.
But despite the king's announcement, no one made a move towards the other. The murmuring started up once again.
Randy snapped his fingers and gestured to the kingsguard. "Wait, let me guess, Rhaegar told you all about my sorcerous ways, right?" He paced across from his opponents. "But then there was that whole thing in the throne room, and you don't know what to think. What's lies, what's truth—it's all so confusing!" He stopped and faced the kingsguard. "Well, in this case, it's all true."
He kicked his right heel against the ground. The earth itself shook, and three stone fists shot out from the ground before the kingsguard, slammed into their chests, and sent them flying in the air.
The courtyard erupted into a cacophony of frightened shouts. Except for Lyanna, who cackled at the sight.
"What the FUCK?!"
Lyanna turned at the shout. She couldn't tell who exactly shouted that—In truth it was the most popular phrase of the day—among all the noise, but all the Tyrells were leaning against the balcony edge, eyes wide as they stared at Randy.
"Hey, hey, HEY!" Randy shouted, his body stretching like warm taffy as he shot up to the sky. Everyone—even the king—fell silent. "Sorcery isn't illegal—and if it is, someone really should have told me when I asked."
The High Septon—on the balcony directly across from Lyanna—found his voice. "The magics referred to within the laws of men applies to the Targaryen's and their dragons and filthy woods witches. Not, this…this…" He went red in the face. "This affront to the gods!"
Randy huffed and crossed his arms. "Well, I'll have you know that these are god-given gifts."
"Blasphemy!" The High Septon shouted. He turned to the king, who gaped at Randy like a fish. "Your Grace!" The High Septon pleaded. "Arrest this man, in the name of the gods!"
"I told you!" Randy shouted back. "It's thanks to the gods that I'm like this," He gestured up-and-down his body, his left arm stretching to accommodate. Lyanna was certain she heard at least one person throw up at the sight.
"Be silent you heathen!" The High Septon hissed.
"Fine, fine!" Randy huffed. "Why don't we just ask the gods for the truth of the matter." He lifted his head to the sky. "Hey gods, I'm not some heathen, right? We're alright?"
Lyanna kept laughing even as the High Septon called for someone—anyone—to cut Randy down. Until she saw the clouds move, and she gaped as they formed very clear shapes. And given the sharp, stunned cries around her, so had everyone else.
For there, in the sky, the clouds had formed the words, 'He's alright. He's okay.'
"Ha!" Randy turned back down to the crowd—the High Septon specifically. "See?"
"A-A trick!" The High Septon cried. "A fluke!"
"Really?" Randy asked. "You think-Fine." He turned back to the sky. "Hey gods, what's six times three?"
The clouds shifted before their very eyes. They now read, 'What?'
"What's six times three?"
'Why're you asking us that?'
"To prove that this isn't a trick!"
'You realize that they could consider all of this an elaborate trick formed by you, don't you?'
"I mean, sure." Randy shrugged and stretched over to the High Septon. "Hey, buddy, you still think this is all some sort of elaborate trick I'm pulling for…some reason?"
"I-I-I-I—" the High Septon stammered.
Randy hummed and shrank back to his normal size. "Ah, seems like he's lost his voice. Man, two-for-two on weird-ass High Septons." He snickered. "Hey, gods, maybe we should go for another, eh? After all, third time's the cha—zzzZZAAAAHHHH!" Randy screamed as a bolt of lightning shot down from nowhere to strike him and blast him into a wall.
Lyanna gasped, and leaned forward to see Randy, smoke floating up from his scorched tunic, pick himself up from the wall and dropped onto the ground.
Overhead, the clouds read, 'Do not push your luck, Randy. There is only so much we can tolerate.'
Randy trembled from the floor. "N-Noted."
The clouds shifted once again. 'Is that all, High Septon?'
The High Septon nodded jerkily. "Yes, oh Seven! Please, forgive my rudeness and disbelief!"
'It is fine,' the clouds now read. 'Randy, get on with this. You have important work to do.'
"Give me a minute." Randy rasped from the ground. "Oh, dear lord, that stings."
'Good.' The clouds then vanished, the sky as clear and blue as ever.
The kingsguard had picked themselves up something during the madness. They, and everyone, just stared at Randy. He groaned as he stood up, his burnt clothes revealing an ugly pink wound. "Oh, man! That really stings. G-Give me a minute." He looked around, and floated—lazily, if the way his limbs just flopped around were any indication—to a nearby pillar. His jaw extended like a snake as he took a massive bite out of the wood.
It said a lot of prior events that everyone just stared on in silence.
Randy sighed when he gulped down the wood. Instantly, his wounds healed, and his clothing mended. "Ah…that's good oak. Now!" He clapped his hands. "Back to it, right?" he asked the kingsguard. Lyanna couldn't see the knights faces behind their helmets, but it was easy to see that they were, justifiably, terrified of facing Randy. "…Nothing…fine. Hey, can they forfeit?" He called out to the crowd.
Lyanna looked up to see King Aerys wordlessly work his jaw. But it was the High Septon who spoke, rather enthusiastically.
"Unfortunately, Blessed One, they cannot," he said, reverence clear across his features. "The honor of both men and the gods demand combat, Blessed One. And the challenging party can only yield if forced to submit soundly defeated, yet not killed, Blessed One. As I am sure you're aware, of course, Blessed One."
Randy smiled widely—so wide his lips curved beyond his face. "'Blessed One', I like it! But I just need to knock these guys on their asses? Fine, I can do that."
He shot his left arm forward, which stretched and expanded and split off into dozens of copies that grabbed the kingsguards. While the men were suspended in the air—screaming like little girls—more hands dug holes into the ground. When the holes were deep enough, he dropped the kingsguard in, and filled in the holes. Lyanna couldn't help but laugh at the final sight. She wasn't alone, the Tyrell women, at least, hiding smiles behinds their hands—though Lord Mace just looked horrified.
Randy floated over to the buried knights. "So…you guys submit?"
"Yes, yes, for fuck's sake, yes!" Ser Selmy cried.
Randy bent at an impossibly low angle down at the knight. "Glad to hear it." He snapped his fingers, and the knights rose on mounds of dirt, their white armor stained brown. Randy extended his right arm, which split off into three to thump the knights on their backs. "Go on, get yourselves cleaned up." The fled as soon as Randy finished speaking, not even thinking to pick up their fallen arms.
Randy turned to face the High Septon. "So, we're done here, right?"
The High Septon nodded rapidly—so fast his hat almost fell off. "Yes, Blessed One! Of course, Blessed One! It's such a relief that these false accusations were laid against you were so thoroughly proven false, Blessed One!"
"Okay, tone it down." Randy said with a dismissive wave—the High Septon stilled like a child scolded by their parent. Randy turned to the Royal Family and floated up to them. Jaime Lannister, to his credit, drew his blade—with a very shaky hand—in their defense. Much better than Arthur Dayne, who just stood in trembling fear.
Randy smiled at them all. "So, we've the claims of my claim false, right? And perhaps, maybe, that Prince Rhaegar is a lying liar who lies?"
The king nodded. "Y-Yes, of course."
"Nice, nice." Randy started to float away.
Only to come zooming back, forcing the Royal Family back in fear. "Hey! We've also established, rather, affirmed, that I'm a knight, right?" He was met with several nods. "And that affords me certain rights, does it not? Like…the right to challenge people to the death over their crimes for which I've witnessed?"
Lyanna could see that Prince Rhaegar started to hyperventilate, and she swore in her heart that if Randy did what she thought he was going to do, she would devote her life to him. Work with the Faith to develop a cult in his name, even!
King Aerys licked his lips. "Y-Yes, that is true. B-But you cannot just go around and challenge the person that you just fought in a trial over! Then nothing would ever get done, everyone would just keep fighting each other endlessly, you know?" He chuckled nervously.
"Oh, of course!" Randy huffed and waved his hand. "I get that—no sense in kicking a man while he's done. No, I'm, talking about you." Randy flew back into the middle of the courtyard, high in the air.
Randy pointed dramatically at the king. "Aerys II Targaryen, King of Westeros! I challenge you to a Trial by Combat for your crimes against gods and men, for which the punishment shall be death!"
Oh…well, Lyanna might still start a cult in his name. If only for the laughs.
/+/+/+/+/
A/N: One done, one to go.