Song of the Old Gods
In every myth, there is a spark of truth. In every old tale, a lesson to be learned. Will the people of Westeros choose to learn before it is too late or will they succumb to folly as their ancestors did? Fem/Harry
AN - Though this is posted under the TV Series, I have also read the books and have elements of both. Also, the chapters will be varying in length as each chapter is from another person's perspective. Now that that's covered, on with the show...
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, They belong to JK Rowling and HBO/JRR Martin.
Chapter 1 - The Maiden in the Weirwood
Eddard Stark stood in the fading light of the Gods Wood before the ancient face of his family's Heart Tree. He bowed his head and clenched his fists until his nails cut into the skin of his palms, drawing blood. He barely noticed the pain. The ache in his heart was worse than that of his hands, far worse. Worse than a sword wound, worse even than the pain he had felt at his sitter's passing. As much as he loved his sister, this was his child and he was powerless to help. So, with feelings of helplessness and anguish, he retreated to the only place that could offer him peace and, if the Old Gods were good, maybe even a bit of hope.
Ned dropped to his knees as the first of his tears fell, the small droplets landing with soft pats on the familiar smooth pale roots surrounding him. He turned to look up at the ancient face carved in the weirwood and prayed. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed before. He pored his heart and soul into the words that came forth from him, but it did not seem enough. How could one express with all their being the deep desire to save their daughter from the cold cruel hands of death. A babe mere hours old, and his beautiful Sansa wound never live to see the light of a second day.
After pleading and begging and crying out his love and aguish, he sat back and turned his face away from the blood red eyes. He could no longer look upon the stoic face of his family's Gods. The visage that once gave solemn comfort now only held cold indifference for the Warden of the North. Ned's grey gaze fell down to the dark pool that lay at the base of the weirwood, the pool that he had used to cleanse the blood of his enemies from his sword countless times. The same dark waters he had watched his own father do the same, as tradition demanded. It was as he stared into the dark as night depths and felt the sting of the self inflicted wounds in his hands that a thought occurred to him.
Blood.
Blood sacrifice had been the price of all great deeds brought forth by the Old Gods, if the tales were to be believed. His blood, the blood of the First Men, the blood of the Starks, was a powerful blood indeed. If any blood would be strong enough to stir the Gods, then surely his would. Would it not?
He hesitated for but a moment more before taking to his feet and pulling Ice from its wolfskin sheath. He held the great dark and smokey blade against the tender flesh of his inner arm. Blood sacrifices may have been outlawed, but for his family, his child, he would bare any consequence that befell him. With his mind made, he sliced his arm open with a sure stroke. The angry red wound bled freely over the bone colored roots. The stark contrast of red on white held his attention for a moment and he ignored the pain as best he could.
The blood did not travel far he noted, for the roots drank the crimson liquid up like parched ground soaking in a light rain. As the Lord of Winterfell turned his gaze upon the once immovable face carved into the Heart Tree he felt his pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with the pain in his arm. The eyes had alway had a look of crying bloody tears due to the red sap of the tree slowly leaking out though the ages, but this was not the same. The weirwood seemed to weep a steady flow now. Large trails of fresh viscous red poured from the tree's eyes.
Hope again fluttered in his chest. This could not be a coincidence. He had prayed to the old gods and paid the price. The only question now was... would it be enough for them to answer those prayers? It was just as this thought crossed his mind that he felt a flare of what he could only describe as a thundering power wash over him. It seeped deep into his bones and caused his wound to scream in agony.
Another wave of power, stronger than the last, washed over him. This one caused him to drop Ice and clamp a hand over the throbbing wound.. Then another wave of booming power came... and another... Until the thundering and pain drove him to his hands and knees. Fear gripped him as he felt his world grey around the edges and he toppled over onto the hungry roots. Would the Gods drink him dry? Would it be enough to save her?
He turned his fading gaze to the heart tree and used the last of his energy to plead one final time. "If it is my life, not just my blood, that you demand, then I give it freely... if only you answer my prayer and save her..." His vision was going black, but he had to make sure they understood. "Save my little one... I... beg you..."
Ned had no idea exactly when he had lost consciousness or for how long he was out, but he was relieved when he did come to. The Old Gods were merciful and had seen fit to spare him it seemed. But had his prayer been answered? Was his daughter safe? He tried to stand up too quickly and promptly fell on his backside from dizziness, due to the blood loss no doubt.
As the lightheadedness settled, Ned realized his arm no longer ached. He held it up for inspection and nearly gaped at the fresh, pink scar that ran across his arm. Fear gripped him. He was truly worried now. How long was he lost to unconsciousness? "Sansa..." He was just about to try standing again when movement from his periphery caught his attention.
As his warrior's eyes naturally tracked the movement, he was filled with shock. There, in the shadowed depths of the tree's red leaves, were a pair of glowing emerald orbs. This was not the reflection in a predator's eyes, nor a play of light through the leaves. This light came from a pair of iridescent irises, greener than the grasses of a warm summers day, casting their own inner light like twin beacons of wildfire in the dark. The shock slowly turned to wonder and awe as those same eyes drew near and the shadows of the branches melted away to reveal the face of a beautiful young woman. Said woman stopped just outside the last warm rays of the day cast by the dwindling sunlight and they observed one another silently for a small stretch of time.
This creature before him, Ned realized, was a reflection of the tree from which she appeared. Pale creamy skin was framed by dark locks, reminiscent of freshly spilled blood. Long tresses that seemed to flow as if under water trailed around and behind her. Her hair stretched out in liquid crimson ribbons that tangled with the entirety of the tree, twisting this way and that. Again she moved, seeming to float down from above and closing the gap between them ever more. The motion seemed to echo out from her as every length of those deep red locks slid through the branches gracefully, never once snagging or even disturbing a single leaf. In fact, the only thing that seem to mar the other worldly perfection of the woman before him was the jagged scar on her forehead. It was almost rune like in it's appearance.
As interesting as the woman's reality defying hair and curious scar were, they could not hold his attention for long because this maiden with the eyes that shone of summer began to speak to him.
"You are a curious one," she said as her bare feet came to rest on a large white root. She tilted her head gently to one side, as if pondering a puzzle. "Tell me, little King of the North," she began again, "would you truly give your life for that of your daughter's?"
Still in shock from seeing what was, more likely than not, the visual representation of one of the Old Gods, Ned could merely blink at the ethereal being before him. No amount of will he possessed could make his mouth form a response to this would-be deity.
Seeming to sense his distress, the beautiful creature sighed and stepped down to the mossy ground before him. Her eyes seemed to dim to a more subdued glow than their lamp like quality of before and she knelt down to be at the same hight as him. Watching the northman carefully, she hugged her arms around her knees, covering her modesty. Though her long tresses had done a fair enough job up until then in keeping her more... delicate parts from view, the move seemed to make her somehow more... human. Less unattainable.
"Do not fear, Winter King. I have no intention of steeling the life from your body this night. Now tell me," she demanded softly again, "what tragedy has befallen your young one that you would risk your own life's blood in sacrifice to rectify it?"
"...L-Lord," he managed to finally stutter out before finding the use of his limbs again. He righted himself to bow on the ground before her as she cocked an eyebrow at him. She was seemingly thrown by his response, so he continued as best as his stumbling tongue would allow. "I am no king Old One. I am but a mere lord. A father who's newly born daughter fights for every breath after a rough birthing," his own breath caught in his throat. Did Sansa still live? Had he been too long in the Gods Wood? Was he too late? He voiced his thoughts to the one being who might be able to tell him. "That is," he clenched his jaw, but forced himself to continue after a hard swallow, "if she still draws breath."
He chanced another glanced up to the visage of the living goddess. Her deep green eyes pierced his own in a way that made him feel as if his soul were laid bare for her. After what felt like and eternity, but was probably only a moment, she turned away from him to face the Great Keep. Her eyes flashed as brightly as they originally had for a brief span and then the red haired beauty looked back to him with a face nearly as stoic as the Heart Tree's, but her voice was not unkind. "The girl's spirit has yet to leave the realm of the living, but she is not long for this world."
A soft sob of both relief and sorrow escaped him. "Then," he choked on the words, but continued on, "then have you come here to answer my prayers?"
She looked away from him again, her gaze seemingly peering into the ether and losing focus. With every moment of delay, he felt his heart sink, but he was unwilling to rush the Old God's answer. He would hold his tongue even if every moment was agony to his heart.
Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, those green, green eyes turned back to him. Again she seemed to be seeing the here and now, but the gentle downturn of her lips did the lord's fragile heart no favors. "Tell me, Lord Stark, what will you give in return? What would you offer me to keep the girl safe from death's cold embrace?"
"Anything," he responded immediately. "If my death would prevent Sansa's then so be it," he answered. His wife's sickly, tear stained face flashed across his memory and he knew he made the right decision. He had no doubts.
She shook her head as if disappointed. "It is not your death that I desire Eddard Stark," she announced as she stood. The weirwood colored maiden reached out her hand to help him up, which he hesitantly took.
A spark of energy surged through him as his fingers met the cool flesh of her own. He was no longer weak and drained as he had been. He was on his feet in a flash. "How," he began in wonder, but shook his head. It didn't matter. He looked her directly in her beautiful, unsettling eyes and asked the important question. "If it is not my death you desire, then what is it you would ask of me?"
She smiled a sad smile. "It is your life that I desire."
"I do not understand my lady," he stated. His confusion causing him to slip into the courteous speech he had been raised with.
He was startled to see a tear slide down the porcelain skin of her cheek. Before he realized it, he was reaching out to wipe the offending wetness away. He hesitated at the last moment, realizing the familiarity with which he almost touched the goddess. Said goddess seemed to have no qualms with it however. She leaned into the touch and sighed at the contact. Her eyes closed and her deathly cold skin seemed to warm at his touch.
With no warning she jumped back from Ned, no longer looking at him. Her crimson hair swirled around her as she dipped down to lean against the weirwood tree's trunk. She looked almost as if she were... scared or perhaps... in pain?
He reached out towards her, but soon allowed his arm to drop back to his side. He had never been good at comforting women, what chance did he have at comforting... her.
He needn't have worried though. She spoke again before too long had passed. "Time grows short for your little one." The pain flared anew in his chest at her words. "So tell me Eddard Stark," she turned red rimmed eyes to him, "are you willing to take the consequences of your answered prayers upon yourself, till the end of your days?"
He straightened his shoulders and told her firmly, "I am."
"And will you be an attentive and caring father to your children?" He went to answer in the affirmative, but she cut him off with narrowed eyes and sharp words before he could. "Even to those not born from your loins, but gifted to you by the whims of fate?"
Ned felt that familiar spike of panic he got whenever he felt someone might have stumbled too close to the truth of Jon's birth. Then he nearly laughed at himself for the absurdity of it. This was one of the Old Gods. If anyone would know, it would be her. He smiled and told her in a sure voice, "Always."
She gazed at him intensely from over her shoulder, as she still clung to the ivory bark of her weirwood. "So be it." With that, she jumped back up into the ever darkening shadows of the Heart Tree's branches. Her hair shifted along as it had before, but he lost sight of the actual woman herself. "Bring the child here quickly," she called down to him from somewhere within the red leaves. "Lay her in the waters of the pool and I will do the rest." Her voice seemed to waver slightly at the end.
He turned to leave in a hurry, but her voice stopped him before he even made it three paces. "Oh, and Lord Stark," He very nearly tripped actually, but her grave tone set him on edge, "the girl that comes out from the water shall never touch the bark of a weirwood. Am I understood?"
"Yes my lady," he answered "I will make it so."
"See that you do little lord..." her tone was soft and melancholy, but he did not have time to dwell. He took off in haste towards the keep and towards his frail daughter waiting for her father to come and rescue her.
His task did not take him long. His poor wife had very nearly lost her life to the ravages of a birthing gone wrong. The woman had barely stirred in her sick bed as he rushed in to take his daughter from her bosom. Catlyn would not hear of them taking the dying girl from her after they placed Sansa in her arms. If her baby were to be taken by the stranger, she had told him through heart broken sobs, then she would at least go surrounded by her mother's love.
There would be no death here this night. His wife was no longer in danger of meeting her own end, merely exhausted. And Sansa, she would be saved by the Old Gods and no "stranger" would be taking his baby girl from him.
Ned did not escape the keep unnoticed however. Jory, his ever faithful Captain of the Guard, trailed behind him. The man was casting suspicious glances between his lord, the swaddled bundle in his arms, and their surroundings. "My lord?" Jory finally voiced as Ned's rushed steps lead them further away from the buildings of winterfell and through the opening to the Gods Wood. The Captain's torch lit their way, as the dark forest surrounded them.
"There is no time my friend. She is already so..." he could not finish the sentence. He would not give voice to the fears that coursed through him. He merely focused on reaching the dark pool of the Heart Tree as fast as possible.
The Warden of the North only slowed in his swift stride to assure his footing as he made his way into the black waters. He removed the swaddling from his baby girl and dipped her in the water reverently, ignoring the worried shout of "Lord Stark!" from Jory.
He cradled her tiny head in his hand as her limbs floated limply beside her in the water. He deathly pale skin all the more obvious against the dark waters. It was as he watched his baby girl closely for signs of recovery that he realized she had stopped breathing. In a panic he turned his face to the shadowed canopy above. "Please!" he cried out, "tell me what to do!"
"Let her go..." the voice seemed to echo from everywhere and no where.
Jory dropped his torch in surprise, the light of the fire nearly going out. Ned could barely make out the sweet face of the babe just before he let go... and she was quickly swallowed up by the pool.
There was a splash as Jory jumped in after him and made as if to grab for the girl, but a blast of power knocked them both off their feet. The men came up spluttering and coughing to the surface of the water.
As they pulled themselves from the water, they were met with the sight of falling red all around. Hundreds, upon hundreds of weirwood leaves fluttered down around them. The five-pointed leaves covered the ground in a crimson carpet and choked the waters below.
The Captain recovered his fallen torch to save it from being smothered by the falling vegetation. His self appointed mission of saving the smallest Stark seemingly forgotten in the face of the otherworldly occurrences, Jory turned to his lord with wide eyes. "Please, my lord, what is happening?" he pleaded to Ned.
The water bubbled and churned, drawing the men's attention. Entangled weirwood roots slowly raise from the water. Nestled in the center of the knotted roots lay two redheaded baby girls holding tiny little hands together.
"A miracle, my friend. A miracle is happening," he answered as he jumped back into the now warm waters of the pool to collect his daughters.
IVX: Thanks for reading. See you next chapter. ^_~