Godfellas
A Song of Ice and Fire, and all associated media, are the property of George R. R. Martin.
/+/+/+/+/
"W-W-What?" King Aerys said, lips opening and closing like a dying fish.
"I want to kill you," Randy declared with the ease one would say the sky was blue. He flipped around so he was 'lying down' in the air. "But because just strolling up and committing regicide is a ghastly affair even in the most ideal circumstances, I figured it would be best to frame it as a proper 'fight'." He twisted his body—spine stretching like taffy—to look at the High Septon. "That's fine, right?"
Lyanna could see the sweat roll down the holy man's neck from her spot. "Uh…Technically, yes, Blessed One. It is unorthodox, and typically a Trial by Combat is only initiated when the challenged party refutes the claims presented, Blessed One."
Randy nodded and righted himself. "I see. Well then, Aerys II Targaryen, King of Westeros and whatever the fuck else you call yourself; I charge you with being a shit husband and a shit king. Specifically, you rape your wife and burn people alive to sate your own sick desires." Randy inspected his fingernails. "There's also a bunch of other things I could level against you—the startling racism you bear towards your good-daughter and grandchildren, your dereliction of duty beyond the bare minimum among them—but that's just you being a dick, and, honestly, probably due to some untreated mental illness." He grinned at the king. "Do you deny these claims?"
The fear and wonder that had overtaken the courtyard fell away at the end of Randy's declaration. From what Lyanna could hear, it mainly had to do with the fact that Randy had called out the king's proclivities. That made her wolf's blood howl—so all these people knew of the king's crimes against the gods and men and did nothing to stop it? Well, at least she knew where these lickspittles would have stood had her brother and father been put to death.
King Aerys, meanwhile, regained some of his previous vigor. "Of course!" He spat. "I refute these baseless accusations!"
"Then it's a fight!" Randy cheered, and there was a startling explosion in the air as the words 'Fight! Fight! Fight!' burst to life in bright red colored stars above Randy's head. And just like that, Lyanna saw the life drain from the King's face once again. She managed to hold back from laughing at the sight.
"W-Wait, no—" Aerys spluttered.
"Too late, you agreed!" Randy said with an infectious glee. Well, it might have only been infectious to Lyanna.
But that glee curdled when Rhaegar stepped forward. "Ser Randy—"
"That's Blessed One to you," Randy said with a smug smirk, the red words fading away as they floated down around him.
Rhaegar gulped. "Blessed One…Despite my father's hasty acceptance, surely you can understand the hesitance in facing a man so…favored by the gods?"
Randy blinked. "Wow…you're defending him after everything he's done? I don't know if I should be disgusted or impressed by your sense of filial piety."
"…Thank…you?"
"Stop talking, I'm tired of your voice." Rhaegar closed his jaw with an audible 'snap'. Randy turned his head to the sky. "Hey…gods. Can you assure these 'good' people that you won't seek any retribution should the worst happen to me?" He spoke with less confidence than Lyanna had grown used to, she noted.
The clouds shifted. They read, 'Randy's choices are his own. He alone shall bear the consequences of them.'
Randy grinned down at the royal family. "There, see! It's all good." He hummed. "But in the spirit of fairness, I shall give you leave to name yourself three champions."
The king gulped. "T-Three?"
"Yeah." Randy shrugged. "I mean, I'm only punishing you for two crimes, but let's be honest, you're going to need all the help you can get, plus three is a nice number. Name them, and if I lose to any, then you get to live. And I die, I suppose."
Lyanna could see the shift in King Aerys. Rampant terror replaced by mania. "Any three champions?" A pit formed in her stomach at his tone.
But if Randy noticed—or even cared—for the change in the king's demeanor, he didn't show it. "Yessir," he said with a nod. "I'll—oh, hold on a minute." Randy tilted his head up and eastward. Lyanna followed his gaze, and saw a crow—Bloodraven, no doubt—fly in. He had a small bundle of cloth held in his beak.
Randy held his left arm out, and Bloodraven all but dropped onto the limb. He spat out the cloth onto Randy's right hand. "There, you needy little bastard." Bloodraven spoke in pants, with not small amount of vitriol. "Last time I do anything like this for you!"
Randy chuckled and pocketed the cloth bundle. "Hey, you're the one that agreed to my request."
"Still, fuck you." He hopped onto Randy's shoulder. "What have I missed?"
"Aerys accepted my challenge, to the death. Also, the gods said hello—not sure if you saw that."
"You mean the clouds in the sky? I saw." Bloodraven said with a deadpan tone. "Freaked out this bird-brained body, I'll tell you that much."
"Yeah, them gods are really…really surprising beings." Bloodraven stilled and tilted his head at Randy.
Only to violently shake his head. "You know what, no, don't care right now. Too tired." Bloodraven settled on Randy's shoulder and shut his eyes. "Wake me when something interesting happens."
"No problem, buddy," Randy replied, and pet the crow's head. Lyanna could see a few courtiers in the crowd whisper to each other and point to Bloodraven. She heard the words 'skinchanger' and 'warg' whispered in the wind. The High Septon must have heard it as well, given the utterly perplexed look on his face. Aw, his Andal 'Blessed One' consorted with First Men folktales—how terrible.
Randy turned back to the royal family. "Where was I…Ah, right. Aerys, you've got 'till tomorrow morning to get all your affairs in order." He nodded at them and floated away. To the left and sloping downwards, specifically.
"Dear gods, please, no," Lyanna heard her father beg beneath his breath. Alas, Randy came to a stop right in front of them.
"Hey guys!" He said with wide grin. "How's it going?" Lyanna shifted her gaze to the side. Of everyone there, only she and Thoros returned his smile. Father, Ned, and even Bran all stared up at him like, well, the god-blessed being he purported himself to be. Mace Tyrell had positioned himself protectively in front of his wife and mother, who tried, and failed, to hide the slight trembling of their bodies.
Robert, however, just laughed and burst his way forward. "Gods, man, that was amazing!" He stuck his arm out, and for all his faults, Lyanna had to admit it was impressive to see him stride so confidently to Randy.
Randy's left arm stretched forward to shake Robert's hand—to the Stormlord's credit, he only gulped at the sight. "Robert Baratheon," Randy said as they shook hands. "Nice to finally meet you."
Robert's smile widened. "Ah, you've heard of me. From my beloved betrothed, no doubt."
"Not at all," Randy bluntly stated. Lyanna couldn't help the ugly snort that burst past her lips as Randy floated past him and his flummoxed expression. He stopped in front of Thoros. "Hey, Thoros," he said. "How're you doing? Sorry we haven't seen each other in a few days."
Their friend smiled tiredly. "It's quite alright, Randy." He cast his gaze skyward. "I understand that you've been busy. Though I won't lie, I've been better."
Randy frowned, and pat Thoros's shoulder. "Don't worry, it'll all be over soon and then we can say goodbye to this damn place."
Finally, he stopped before Lyanna, and dropped onto the ground. "Lyanna," he said with a soft smile.
"Randy," she smiled back.
He gestured up to the highest balcony—the royal family having long since fled. "What do you think of my plan?"
She hummed as she considered the question. "I'd have preferred if you'd killed Rhaegar."
"Lyanna!" her father scolded.
"But this is fine," she said, ignoring her father. Randy sent her a look that made her heart flutter—until it stopped dead at the sight of Robert staring at them queerly. Right…her duty.
Welling up her courage, she stepped over beside Robert. He perked up a little, and she ignored the way her stomach squirmed.
"Um…excuse me?" They all turned to the voice, it belonging to Mace Tyrell, still hovering in front of his family.
"Mace Tyrell!" Randy exclaimed and floated in the air again. Bloodraven twitched at the noise and movement. "How wonderful to meet you. And hey, congrats on becoming Master of Whispers—I'm sure you had to work very, very had to get there."
Lord Tyrell let out a nervous whine at the attention—though behind him, his mother and wife narrowed their eyes at Randy. The Lord of Highgarden cleared his throat. "A-A pleasure to meet you."
"Is it?" Randy asked. He leaned forward, his neck stretching and twisting in spirals until his face was scant inches from Lord Tyrell's. "Is it really?" Lord Tyrell didn't answer.
His mother, however, did. "Not when you do shit like that."
"Mother!" Lord Tyrell cried. She just huffed and arched a brow at Randy.
"Ah, Oleanna Tyrell!" Randy's body spun like a corkscrew to right itself with his neck—which had the unfortunate consequence of sending Bloodraven flying off his shoulder with a startled 'squawk'.
Lyanna caught him against her chest. "Are you alright?" she asked the dazed bird, sending a stern frown Randy's way as he conversed with the Tyrell's. Honestly, he ought to have been more careful!
"Been worse," Bloodraven replied. "He told me he was going to start putting on shows, but does he need to be so physical?" Bloodraven flapped his wings and landed atop Lyanna's head. "I'm sorry dear, but I need a place to rest, and you've got the flattest head."
Lyanna hummed as he settled atop her. "What about someone's shoulders? Robert's are broad enough."
"He stinks, they all do," was all Bloodraven said. To her side, Robert and her family frowned, the former even sniffing his own shoulders.
"Bored now!" Lyanna jumped at Randy's declaration—and she was not alone, given that Lady Oleanna had nearly sent her gooddaughter sprawling when she jerked backwards into her. Without paying them any mind, he floated down a corridor deeper into the Red Keep, floating on his back with his eyes closed and a strange tune humming past his lips.
"I'd follow him," Bloodraven said lazily from atop Lyanna's head. With a shrug, Lyanna walked forward, as did Thoros.
"Lya!" her father called out.
Without turning around, she said. "When a talking bird tells you to follow a floating man, you follow the floating man." That got him, and everyone else in the alcove, to follow along.
Servants and knights fled away at the sight of Randy—no doubt they'd all seen, or at least heard of, the 'divine intervention'. Which reminded her, she'd have to do something nice for Randy once they were all home in the North. Forget all that he'd done for her—she'd give him the world twice over for all that—striking himself with lightning was no easy feat. That wound looked so horrible before he healed himself.
And that was another thing—Randy would be in Winterfell! Oh, they'd have the most wonderful time. She'd show him everything—all the different keeps and towers. The Godswoods, the hot springs. All her favorite places would be his to share during his stay.
Oh, but…she wouldn't stay in Winterfell, would she? She'd be married and off the Storm's End. Away from her family and home and everything she'd ever loved. She was resigned to it now, though. She knew the consequences that would have arisen from her stupid, naïve actions.
At the very least, she would take what little joy she could before then.
Randy twisted and turned through the Red Keep as if he'd lived there his entire life. So it caught Lyanna by surprise when he sighed and dropped down onto the floor. She would have crashed into him had Thoros not stopped her.
"What's wrong?" Thoros asked.
"Figured I'd let the people following finally catch up." Indeed, Lyanna could hear hurried footsteps running up behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see some servant and…the High Septon.
Beside her, Robert let out a strangled laugh at the sight of the Faith's premier holy man—until Randy came along—run up to them as if he was being chased by a snark. She would have laughed too, had the sight of his fat flubbing everywhere not disgusted her.
Didn't stop her brothers, though.
The High Septon and the servant both bent over when they reached them, hands on their knees. They tried to speak, but all that came out were harsh wheezes.
Randy gently pushed his way forward—well, more like they all quickly made way for him. "Easy, easy," he said to the men. He flicked his wrists up, and two copper goblets filled with water shot out of his arms and into his hands. "Have some water." The High Septon stared at the goblets like they were the holiest of objects—and glared murderously at the servant when he swiped one of the goblets, drank without a second thought, and let the goblet fall to the ground when he was done.
The servant slowly rose to his full height and bowed. "Thank you…Blessed One." He turned to Lord Tyrell. "The king requests your presence, my lord."
The Reach lord paled and frowned. "O-Oh, really? But I'm afraid that I'm doing my precise job as Master of Whispers. Discovering all I can for the king, you know." The servant just shook his head.
Lady Tyrell grasped her husband's hand in her own. "It'll be fine, love," she said. "The king…needs your help." She and her husband both shifted their gaze to Randy, who was trying to get the High Septon to drink from the goblet he'd created for him.
"No doubt," Lord Tyrell replied. "But what of you two?"
"Don't worry your silly little head," Lady Oleanna said to her son with a huff. "We're not the ones in this 'Blessed One's' sights."
Lady Tyrell nodded, and pulled her husband close for a chaste kiss, and even longer embrace. Lyanna turned away from the easy affection, stamping down the bitter jealousy in her heart—she'd never have that, not with Robert. She noticed that her father had also turned away from the display, misty-eyed.
Eventually, finally, Mace followed the servant to wherever the king was. At the same time, Randy had gotten the High Septon to drink.
The holy man held the goblet in his hands reverently. "Thank you, Blessed One. I am unworthy of such a bounty."
Randy chuckled and took the goblet from the High Septon—the one on the floor flying to his right hand with a gesture. "I thought I told you to tone it down?" He ate the goblets with an impish grin while the High Septon shuffled in place like an unruly child. He licked his fingers clean. "Anyway, what do you need?"
The High Septon blinked, flummoxed. "Why, to be near you, of course! You have been blessed by the Seven in a way unlike any other since the Age of Heroes! To commune directly with the gods—unbecoming as it is, I must admit that I envy you."
Randy hummed and floated in the air once more. "Neat. Well, you're welcome to come with, I suppose." He floated to the head of the pack once more.
The High Septon bodily shoved his way to the front—Lady Oleanna had to be shushed by her gooddaughter to keep from cursing at him. "And where are you taking us, Blessed One?"
"The Red Keep's godswood."
The High Septon's face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Ah! I see! You're here to purge the heathen gods from the lands. About time, I say!" Lyanna, and her family, all reared back at the sheer malice in the High Septon's tone. In an utter reversal of the norm, Bran had to hold Ned back from punching the man.
Randy looked over his shoulder with a disgusted frown. "Wha—no! Dear god, no! Fucking hell man, what's wrong with you?"
The High Septon's expression changed to one of shock and repentance. "Oh, forgive me, Blessed One! I just—What other reason would there be for a faithful man such as yourself those disg—"
"Careful," Randy said in an even tone. "You're surrounded by Starks, after all. Piss them off enough and I won't stop them." The High Septon blinked and turned back to them fearfully. Oh, Lyanna would commit the sheer terror on his face to memory.
He hurriedly turned back to Randy. "Er, I mean, why would you go there?"
"To plant a weirwood tree and carve a face on it."
They all froze at his declaration. Lyanna exchanged wide-eyed stares with her family as the High Septon spluttered in place.
"Given the looks on your faces," Lady Oleanna interjected with a dry tone. "I take it that's a big deal?"
Ned made to reply, but Lady Tyrell, of all people, interrupted him. "Only Children of the Forest are said to carve faces into a Weirwood tree to make it a Heart Tree, Oleanna." Her lips curled into a contemplative frown. "Although, I suppose that doesn't have to be a hardset rule."
"Ah, yes," Lady Oleanna nodded. "I recall that Green Men are reported to be able to do the same." She arched a brow at them. "Is that some sort of special skill that must be learned and cultivated?"
Ned recovered first and bowed his head briefly. "No, my ladies. In truth anyone can carve a face into a weirwood tree, so long as they are faithful. Though I suppose one must have some skill in woodcarving."
Robert snorted. "Better keep you as far away from that thing as possible then."
Ned scoffed and flicked his arm. "At least I don't threaten to cut off my own thumbs." He and Robert shared a laugh. Lyanna, despite her various misgivings with the Stormlander, smiled at the pair of them. She couldn't completely hate a man that brought her brother such joy.
"While I am thankful for the learning experience, I do believe we have lost half-a-ton of weight," Lady Oleanna said with a low hum.
Lyanna blinked and was embarrassed to realize that she'd lost sight of Randy, and the High Septon. In truth, Randy's stealth was expected. But the High Septon? He was the very definition of a whale.
Lady Oleanna sighed. "They were heading for the godswood, no?" She and her gooddaughter turned around towards a different corridor. "Come along, then, this way's a bit shorter." With no other choice, they followed the Tyrell ladies. For a moment, Lyanna wondered at their desire to find Randy—she'd have thought most Southerners, save for the most pious, would have wanted nothing to do with him. But then she recalled that Lord Tyrell was the Master of Whispers. Perhaps his lady wife and lady mother also assisted him in his job? It would certainly be easy for a woman to find things out that men either couldn't or wouldn't, she supposed.
Lyanna would have preferred the trip to be in silence, but Robert cleared his throat beside her. And kept clearing it until Lyanna caved and said, "Yes, Robert?"
"So, this…Randy fellow. You must've spent quite a bit of time alone with him."
"I am still a maid, Robert," she hissed at him.
He reared back, eyes wide. "Oh, I wasn't—I mean, even if you weren't it wouldn't matter to me, as I told you." He spoke softly and had such an innocent look about him that Lyanna did regret her harsh response. But then she saw the love bruises on his neck, and her temper simmered to a low boil. He grinned. "I simply meant to ask when you discovered you that you were travelling with a near-god in human flesh?"
"From the very beginning," Lyanna replied. "When he found me on the Isle of Faces and—" she stopped. Could she tell people what happened? Technically, the crimes Rhaegar accused Randy of never occurred, but would acknowledging them lead to some kind of perjury?
"I can feel you thinking," Bloodraven said atop her head. "And I know exactly what you're thinking. While under normal circumstances it might be a slight problem, I highly doubt anyone is going to bother Randy over that. If they do, they're either incredibly stupid or detrimentally brave."
Robert hummed. "And, uh, who are you?"
"You may call me Bloodraven."
Robert huffed amusedly. "Like the Targaryen bastard?"
"Exactly so." Everyone in their group save for Bran and Thoros turned around at that. Bloodraven just sniffed and shifted atop Lyanna's head. "Yes, yes, I'm Brynden Rivers, one of Aegon IV's 'Great Bastards'. But if it's all the same to you, can we focus on Randy, the actually interesting person currently in the Red Keep."
Ned gaped at her and Bran. "You'd mentioned Bloodraven, but I assumed it was someone taking on the moniker."
Bran nodded. "I did as well at first, but honestly, him actually being Bloodraven made more sense."
"'More sense'? Lady Oleanna repeated with an arched brow.
"Yes," was all Bran said.
Lady Oleanna made to speak, only for her gooddaughter to softly state, "We're here." Them and dozens of others, it would seem. Nobles and smallfolk alike milled about the Red Keep's godswoods. Randy was overhead, ignoring them all as he flitted lazily across the sky among the treetops.
"Ned!"
Lyanna turned at the voice and smirked as her brother lit up and called back, "Ash!" They shared a quick embrace and looped their arms together.
"Ah, young love," Lady Oleanna droned sardonically. Lady Tyrell shushed her, but she just rolled her eyes.
Both Ned and Ashara blushed, but they ignored her to turn to Father. Ned smiled brightly. "Father, I am pleased to introduce you to Lady Ashara Dayne."
Father hummed, a smile peeking out from behind his thick beard. "Greetings, Lady Dayne. But I must ask your forgiveness, for as much as I would like to speak with you, there is a slightly more pressing matter to attend to."
Ashara nodded, gaze turning to Randy. "Yes, I would speak with him as well. On my br—" She hesitated. "…On my family's behalf." She turned to Lyanna, who could see the apology forming on her lips.
Which she stopped with a wave of her hand. "All due respect, Ashara, but whatever you have to say, I would prefer to hear from your brother's lips, or not at all." Ashara just sighed and nodded her head sadly. Lyanna turned to the giant oak in the center of the godswood—a poor imitation of a weirwood tree if there ever was one—where Randy currently was and appeared to be staying. "For now, I think it would serve us all well to make our way through the crowd."
"Good luck," Lady Oleanna sniffed. "Haven't seen a rabble this unruly outside of a wedding."
"Ah, I believe I can be of assistance," Thoros said. He drew his blade and held it high overhead. He fiddled with the hilt.
Bran stepped away from the Red Priest—which prompted them all to do that same. "Uh…Thoros? Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?"
Their friend just grinned—it was nice to see a true smile on his face again, Lyanna noted. Then, his sword burst into flame, and she stomped forward and waved it in wide, frantic circles. "Make way, make way!" he bellowed. People shrieked, and scrambled away from him, clearing a path forward.
Robert burst into laughter. "Oh, dear gods, I like this man!" He jogged forward and added his own booming voice into the mix. Followed shortly by the Ladies Tyrell's bell-like cackles, the two holding onto each other to keep from falling over.
"I am so sorry about him," Bran and Ned said in tandem.
"It's…fine," Father replied, eyes closed to well up patience. "Let's just…follow them." Lyanna gladly did so.
Thoros had doused and sheathed his blade by the time they reached the oak tree, him and Robert sharing a hearty laugh. More than a few people glared at the duo, the High Septon chief among them, but those same people also glanced nervously at Randy in the air. No doubt they saw, or at least had heard, that Randy knew Thoros and Robert by name. It would afford him—all of them—no small amount of protection.
The High Septon licked his lips as he stared up at Randy. "Blessed One, I must ask, why would you sully yourself with—"
"You're starting to annoy me," Randy cut him off in a bored tone. The High Septon, and the crowd, froze at his words. Thankfully for their fragile hearts, Randy just tilted his head up and said, "Hey, gods, tell your flock that what I'm doing is okay."
Clouds shifted above them in an instant. 'Randy knows what he is doing.'
The High Septon spluttered. "B-But he is consorting with pagan gods and rituals! Planting the very idols we burn in your name!" The clouds didn't change in response to the High Septon's statements.
"Did he say 'burn'?" Father growled into his beard. Lyanna nodded, her nails digging into her palms. She knew that the Faith was less-than tolerant of the Old Gods on any day, but they were supposed to have put their pyromania behind them.
Randy too stared suspiciously down at the High Septon. But he just turned back to the sky. "You did hear him, right?"
'Yes,' the clouds read. 'But we can only respond to you and your inherent magic.' They shifted again. 'Hear us, for we shall only say this once. We care not for the gods of the earth and wind and sea, neither to cooperate with nor hinder them. What use are they to us, who inhabit the stars?"
Lyanna turned to her brothers. "What do you think that means?" Neither answered, so she lightly thumped Bran's shoulder.
He blinked. "I'm sorry Lya, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that the Faith's seven-piece god is real and can converse through our new friend." She rolled her eyes. Thankfully, Randy asked her question.
"So, those tree burnings and everything millennia ago were done without your permission?" Lyanna could see quite a few people grow stricken at that. She really wanted to ask Randy what he was doing—the whole 'acting as the Seven's mouthpiece' thing was nice, but this was going too far. Faith uprisings there had been started over less than the things he'd been making the gods say.
Thankfully, even Randy knew when to pull back, for the clouds shifted once more and read, 'Yes, but no. In truth, we did not care what they did to the weirwood trees, so long as they were successful in their relocation to Westeros, as we'd decreed.'
"Successful is one way to put it," Ned grumbled, only calming at his lady love's soft touch.
Abruptly, Randy landed in front of the tree. "Okay that's enough of that, thanks guys," he said to the sky.
'Rude,' the clouds read, before dissipating into nothing.
Randy grunted, and turned to the tree. "You all should take a step back." He said, voice level, but echoing throughout the godswoods. Everyone did so. "And Robert, hold onto Bloodraven. Tightly." Robert blinked but did lift his arms to grab Bloodraven from Lyanna's head.
Randy ran his left hand up and down the large oak's trunk. Eventually, he held his palm against the center of the bark. Green light pulsed along his arm and gathered in his palm. He pressed against the tree, and the light flowed through the tree, up to the tips of his branches, and into the ground beneath them. The light passed over the people and travelled up the shrubs and other trees in the godswoods. When the light finally faded, the trees, at least, all had multiple cracks in them. Suddenly, Bloodraven started to caw wildly and tried to burst free from Robert's grip. Around them, birds and small animals fled from their homes and disappeared into the Red Keep, crying out all the while.
Then, waves of darkness burst out from cracks.
Lyanna couldn't help but join the dozens of terrified shrieks that echoed in the air as the dark waves fell to the ground and passed over their feet. And when it did, dear gods did she leap higher than ever to cling onto her father. The darkness was, in fact, insects. Hundreds upon thousands of insects that bolted from the trees and out of the godswood.
People kept screaming even when the last insect vanished. It didn't stop until after Randy had torn the oak tree out from the ground—roots and all—and distended his jaw to swallow it in one bite.
Robert broke the silence that followed in his typical way. "What the fuck was that?!"
Randy shrugged. "Didn't feel like eating bugs. Or birds. Or whatever small mammals were in there." He picked his teeth with his pinky. "I mean, I'm sure I ate anywhere from a few thousands to a few million eggs, but you know, take the wins where you can. Also, you're all gonna want to sweep the Red Keep for bugs. For…ever."
He leaned/stretched forward to Robert, well, Bloodraven. Poor thing had passed out during the chaos. "Hey bud, how you doing?" He held his hands out, and Robert gingerly dropped the bird onto them.
Bloodraven groaned, and slowly came to. "Ugh, fuck me," he groaned. He shook his head and stood on unsteady claws. "Haven't felt that since I first started to warg."
"Yeah, sorry, but I wanted to get all the animals out of here when I planted the tree." He returned to his normal shape. "And speaking of, there are way too many people here." He placed Bloodraven atop his head and clapped his hands. A shockwave of pure energy buffeted them, the sudden force blindsiding Lyanna and overwhelming her senses.
When the sensation faded, the only ones left in the godswood were her, her family, Thoros, Robert, the High Septon, Randy, and Bloodraven. Everyone else that had been in the godswood had vanished.
The High Septon whirled around with wide eyes. "W-What has happened, Blessed One? Where did everyone go?"
"I set up a barrier around the godswood," Randy replied. "It expelled everyone that is not a true believer and follower of the old gods. You can see them just past the thresholds." Indeed, people were crowded behind a translucent, hexagonal barrier at the entrances to the godswood.
He frowned at Lyanna and her family. "Though I will admit I was hoping to see more than the Starks stick around."
Robert cleared his throat. "But, uh…I follow the Faith."
"As do I," Ashara said. The High Septon didn't say anything but did arch a brow as he gestured to himself.
Randy nodded. "Right well, I kept you in"—he pointed to the High Septon—"because if you're going to tell people what I'm doing after all this is over it would be best if you witnessed everything first hand."
The High Septon nodded gravely. "I shall of course spread your word far and wide, Blessed One."
"Sure." Randy gestured to Ashara. "I let you stay because now's as good a time as any to discuss repairing Dawn, and your brother's too much of a bitch to seek me out himself."
Ashara grimaced. "I wouldn't put it like that."
"Please do, Arthur's an asshole." Lyanna couldn't quite hold back her laughter at Randy's blunt response. Thankfully, Ashara just looked down forlornly—though Ned did side-eye her as he comforted his lover. "In any case," Randy continued. "Tell Arthur to bring me the broken pieces of Dawn after mine and Aerys's 'trial'. Right after, in fact." She nodded.
"That's all well and good," Robert cut in. "But why am I here?"
Randy shrugged and turned to face the hole in the ground. "Honestly there's no real reason for you to be here. But if the last two times the Starks were doing something and you were left out was any indication, you're going to pout and stomp like a child if I'd excluded you from this." He tilted his head backwards at a bone-breaking angle, staring at Robert upside-down. "Once is fine—everyone has a meltdown on occasion. Twice in a row is sad—and probably indicative of some deeper issue. Thrice in a row is just embarrassing—if you haven't sought help by then, you really should."
Robert, torn between indignation and embarrassment, said nothing.
Randy snapped his head back into place and pulled out the cloth Bloodraven had given him back in the courtyard. He unfurled it to reveal what could only be a weirwood seed. Lyanna had never seen one before—it was a lot smaller and browner than she thought one would look like.
Randy tossed the seed into the hole and closed his fists. The ground shifted, the hole filling in with dirt. He crossed his arms. "Alright, buddy, what's next?"
"Pee on it," Bloodraven replied.
Randy chuckled. "Okay, now pull the other one." Silence. "…Wait, you're serious. Damn I thought you were having a laugh. Someone really has to pee on it?"
"It's either that or blood. Or shit." That statement brought out several disgusted groans. He looked back at them from atop Randy's head. "I don't make the rules! If you have any complaints, take it up with the gods."
"Good point." Randy tilted his head up. "Hey gods!"
The clouds quickly formed the words, 'Not our problem,' and vanished once again.
Lyanna shook her head at the lengths Randy went to for his ruse. She then did a double take as Robert stepped towards the mound of dirt, fiddling with his trousers. "Robert?" she asked. "What are you doing?"
Robert shrugged. "When a talking bird atop a godly being tells you to piss on a seed, you piss on the seed." Well, she supposed he had a point. And given the way Bran pulled a reluctant Ned forward, she wasn't the only one to come to that conclusion.
Lyanna turned around when their trousers dropped Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ashara do the same—though not before taking a long look at Ned's ass. Gross. Her father and the High Septon simply stared on in morbid fascination.
Bran whistled. "Wow, Ned. I'm impressed."
"Bran, please, shut up."
"I keep telling him he just needs to swing that around a brothel to have women swarming him."
"Robert!"
"C'mon man, it's for your own good," Robert replied. "You're going to end up embarrassing your lady love come your nuptials otherwise."
"Ashara has not complained before!" Ned spat.
"Aw, that just means she really cares about you," Bran chuckled. "Doesn't want to hurt your—wait, before?" Lyanna whipped her head towards Ashara. She was pointedly looking down at her feet but had a more than healthy blush on her face.
"Oh-ho!" Robert chortled. "So those balls aren't just for show!"
"If you all don't start peeing, I'm going to cut them off," Randy said blandly.
Robert scoffed. "Well, why don't you join us?"
Bloodraven hummed. "Unfortunately, the piss, or other bodily fluid or secretion, needs to come from either one of Children or First Men blood. Whatever the hell Randy is, it's not either of those."
"Besides, I don't pee," Randy added.
"Don't pee? What do you mean, everyone pees," Bran said.
"Not me."
"How, is that some sort of divine blessing?" Ned asked.
"Blessing-adjacent, I guess. I made it so my body doesn't have to pee. Or shit."
"But you do eat and drink, I've seen it." Bran said. "How do you expel all that?"
"I don't."
Robert let loose disgusted groan. "So, what, you just keep it all in your body?"
"No, I convert all the liquids and solids I consume into energy or matter I can use."
"What?"
"It's actually a very fascinating process. See, the human body—"
"For fuck's sake, will you all just get on with it!" Lyanna shouted.
"Yes, please!" Ashara sighed. "Aren't men supposed to be able to do this drunk?"
"I'd like to see you try!" Bran shouted back. "A little difficult to perform in front of so many people."
"I'll be sure to warn Lady Catelyn before the bedding."
"Ned, I swear, I will kick you right in the balls."
"For fuck's sake, move over!" Father bellowed. Lyanna heard him stomp forward, and her brothers and Robert exclaim as he no doubt shoved his way forward. There was some shuffling of clothes, and then a steady hiss of…piss.
Gods, for all that Lyanna had come to lov—appreciate Randy, he'd made her life so much stranger.
"Thank you," Randy said, relief clear in his voice. "Boys, cover up. You're embarrassing yourselves." Bran, Ned, and Robert bellyached, but did as told.
Finally, finally, her father stopped. "Alright, we're all decent. You two can turn back now." Lyanna did so, and pointedly ignored the wet spot atop the dirt mound.
The High Septon tapped his foot against the ground. "…Now what?"
"Normally we'd wait about three years for a sapling to grow, and then another five years to carve a face onto the trunk," Bloodraven replied. "All the while taking care of the tree by pruning it, defending it from pests, and occasionally peeing on it." He tapped a left claw against Randy's head. "But if this man can pull another impossible feat out of his ass, we can hopefully cut that time in…hundredths?"
"Thousandths," Randy said with a smirk. He held out his right hand. A pale green orb of light formed in his open palm. A sweet breeze flowed from it. Lyanna closed her eyes and took a long whiff—it smelled like the Wolfswood, back in Winterfell.
The orb rolled up his to his index finger. Randy admired it for a moment, before he snapped his fingers, and the orb burst apart, the breeze vanishing with it.
Not even one second later, the dirt mound burst apart, a fully-grown weirwood tree rising from the earth.
"Dear gods!" The High Septon exclaimed.
"Which ones?" Ashara murmured in wonder.
"And now," Bloodraven said, "to carve a face."
"W-W-Who—" Ned cleared his throat, his tone reverent. "Who among us shall bear such an honor?"
"Randy," the warg blithely replied.
"Woah, wait." Randy plucked Bloodraven off his head. "You weren't kidding about that either?"
"It can be anyone in truth, as Eddard previously stated. But for our purposes, you are the best choice." Bloodraven's tone softened. "You don't need to start immediately."
"No, no I do," Randy said as he stepped forward. Bloodraven flew off his head and landed on a branch over the weirwood tree's trunk. "Any particular face?"
"Just whatever pops into your mind."
"Blessed One, I must object!" The High Septon stepped forward. "For you to take part in this—"
Snap
"-!" The High Septon froze and clutched at his throat. His eyes widened, his mouth open, but no sound came out. He—everyone—stared at Randy in shock and horror.
Randy stared back with a bored expression. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not be distracted." He turned back to the weirwood tree without another word and started carving into the white bark with his index finger.
Lyanna stepped forward to stand beside her family, just behind Randy. The way he stood there, carving without a care for anything else, his broad, strong back to them. The way Bloodraven stared down at him with that beady, intelligent gleam in his eyes. The sheer power rolling off him in waves.
Lyanna dropped onto her knees to pray. Her family followed suit, though she suspected they were praying to distinctly different gods.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, watching Randy carve a face for the old gods. But by the time he was done, the sun had set, and her legs were on pins and needles.
Robert moved over to help her up. She took his hand and sent him a silent nod in thanks.
Randy stepped back, panting as he wiped sweat from his brow. His hands were sticky with blood-red sap. "Wow…that…that was something."
"I've only seen such devotion in carving from the eldest of the children," he said, solemn. "…Who are they?"
"…Doesn't matter." Randy stepped away and let them see the face he'd carved. She couldn't tell if the face was of a man or a woman, but it was the smoothest, clearest face she'd ever seen carved into a weirwood tree. Its eyes and mouth were closed, crimson sap, lips curved up into a soft smile.
"Now what?" Robert asked.
"Now is when the Children or First Men commune with the gods for days on end to allow the old gods to fully take root."
Randy hummed. "I've got a better idea." He stepped forward to the carved face. He started at it for a moment. He reared his hand back, and quick as a flash, slapped the face. "Wake up!"
The face pinched as if it were made of flesh—it really shouldn't have been so shocking compared to everything else, but it was. It yawned, more sap pouring out from its now open, cavernous mouth and eyes.
Its gaze shifted between all of them—Ned looked as if he was going to fall to his knees again—before settling on Randy. Its smile widened. It spoke in a voice equally soft yet harsh. Warm yet cold. Old yet young.
"A new face," it rasped. "An old land. Forgotten truths. Remembered lies. An old stage. A new play."
"Okay, enough of that." Randy clamped his hand over the wooden mouth. "I brought you here to help reestablish weirwood trees south of the Neck, not speak in riddles. You gonna stir up shit?" The old god rolled its eyes—a disturbing practice when there were no eyes to roll—and nodded. "Great." He tilted his head up. "You guys gonna stir up shit?
The clouds shifted. 'No,' they read.
"Great!" Randy stepped away, the old god working its wooden jaw after it was freed. "Now if you all don't mind, I'm gonna get some sleep. Got a king to kill tomorrow!' He snapped his fingers, and the barriers around the courtyard vanished, people crashing down onto the floor. He pointed his left hand up to the sky, and his right hand to the weirwood tree. Lightning shot out from them, flying into the sky, and impacting against the old god's wooden face. "There. Made my whole 'inherent magic' deal stick for a few hours. Praise them, curse them, ask questions, whatever, don't really care. Just don't bother me."
The clouds shifted. They read, 'Wait, what?'
"Ah, it'll be fun!" Randy replied with a dismissive wave. "Oh, almost forgot." He snapped his fingers at the High Septon, who gasped loudly.
He stared at Randy with such adoration it was, frankly, embarrassing. "Blessed One, thank you so much for this grand opportunity. To directly commune with the gods as you do! Such a grand boon!" People had started to clamor around them, more than a few reaching up to try and grab him. Lyanna fought the urge to sneer—just this morning these same people were calling for his death! They were little better than vultures.
Randy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, keep it in your pants." He floated into the air, said, "See you all tomorrow," and vanished from sight.
It didn't even take two seconds before people started shouting their questions at the gods. The Seven, specifically. No one paid any attention to the old god.
Thoros—who Lyanna had almost forgotten was with them—came up beside her. "If I'm being perfectly honest," he said, "I'm a little jealous that Randy didn't offer the same for the Red God."
Lyanna snorted. "No offense, Thoros, but the last thing this place and its people—well, one person—needs is the ability to commune with a god made of fire."
/+/+/+/+/
A/N: I spent more time on the pee thing than I thought I would.