Disclaimer: I do not own Hary Potter or Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, They belong to JK Rowling and HBO/JRR Martin. All hail the masters of fantasy.

~o0o~

Chapter 3 - Falling

Lyarra was very excited... and nervous, as she made her way past the Armory and closed in on the entrance to the Gods Wood. She had butterflies in her stomach as every step took her closer to her forbidden goal. She had grown up with stories of the Old Gods from father and Old Nan. As she grew she had of course began to wonder why she wasn't allowed in the Gods Wood. Her father and mother had only said she wasn't allowed and that was that. She had been curious, but it wasn't until Jon started to make fun of her that she had truly longed to go there.

They had been pretend sword fighting with sticks that morning when the Septa had come to get her. Jon had made to follow her and the Septa frowned and told him she didn't think Lady Catlyn would appreciate a bastard's appearance on the way to prayer. She then told Lyarra to hurry along as she went to fetch Sansa. Lyarra had tuned to Jon, about to say something to distract Jon from the woman's mean words, but he beat her to it. What he did was not what she had been expecting though.

Jon frowned nastily at her and said that all 'true Northerners' worshiped the Old Gods anyways and not some silly statues from the south and that He was going to the Gods Wood. He had then turned and run from her, after making a face at her. It had hurt her feelings at first. Her and Jon were closer even than her and Sansa. They stuck up for each other. They may tease each other, but he was actually making fun of her this time. Lyarra had always had a quick temper, so that hurt she felt had quickly turned to anger. She wanted to prove him wrong. She was a northerner! She was a Stark. She was Lyarra Stark! and she would prove him wrong! ...just as soon as she could get away from her mother, that is. Mother could be quite scary when she wanted.

She thought she would have to sit through another prayer session since there was no way her mother would say yes. She had planned on sneaking off after prayers, when she wouldn't be expected anywhere. Luck seemed to be on her side for once. Not that she didn't like the Stranger's statue, but mother always gave her disapproving looks for praying at the only statue she felt anything for. Now though, she didn't have to sit and pretend to pray at to the Maiden. She could enact her small rebellion right away and hopefully catch Jon at the Heart Tree to really rub it in his face.

With father busy with a visiting lord and the Septa meeting mother with the others for prayer, she had a much clearer path to make it all the way to the Gods Wood. A lot of the servants and small folk kept her and her sister at a good distance when they could. They stared when her back was turned, but did not like to make eye contact when she look directly at them. Lyarra never really understood why, but at least it made sneaking easier right now. Out of the few who saw her, no one was confronting her about where she was going.

It wasn't long before she was looking into the entrance of the Gods Wood. This was the most she had ever been allowed to see of it. With one more step she would be farther than she had ever been before. She looked over her little shoulder to make sure the coast was clear and then she took that step. She waited for a second more before moving again. The butterflies were a riot in her belly, but nothing happened. She smiled widely and took off into the small forest.

It didn't take long for the scenery to totally engulf her. Thick, ancient trunks grew close together and thousands of leaves blocked the light from above, leaving only patches of sunlight to leak through. It was dark and gloomy inside the Gods Wood and if it weren't for the well worn foot path to the Heart Tree, she would have easily gotten lost in the place. Her enthusiastic jog slowly morphed into a slow, unsure walk as her eagerness slipped into unease.

To Lyarra, the place felt both foreboding and strangely... familiar. Her butterflies of anticipation turned to a twisting of pure nervousness. She was so affected that she nearly began to turn back, but at the last minute Jon's words echoed in her head. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. This was the place of her people, the Northern people, and she was a True Northerner! She would be brave and not be intimidated by shadows and trees for goodness sake.

It was only a short walk later that the path turned and she caught sight of her wayward half brother. He was kneeling in the largest area of sunlight she had seen in the Gods Wood yet. That was a side note to the tree before which the boy was knelt, however. It was The Heart Tree of Winterfell, a gigantic skeletal thing with a sunken face carved into its trunk. It was both awe inspiring and sad. Like looking at a beautiful tomb.

She tore her eyes away from the old giant and focused on Jon. A devious smirk played across her little lips. She had always been good at sneaking up on him, a favorite past time of hers in fact. It was time for a little pay back it seemed, so she made sure to keep her foot falls light and avoid any leaves or sticks on the ground. The young lady slowly made her way to the unaware boy until, breathing shallowly, she leaned her head over his shoulder. His eyes were closed in prayer and she had to resist giggling. This was going to be good!

She made sure to straighten her features and turn her face towards the tree, but kept an eye on his face from the side. "So this is the Heart Tree."

The girlish shriek that came from her big brother broke the flood gate. She was nearly brought to her knees with laughter as he stumbled back, a look of terror then confusion on his face. Her laughter cleared up his confusion quickly and it was good she hadn't fallen to the ground in a giggling fit.

With an angry whine of, "Lyarra!" Jon got back to his feet and began to chase her around the Heart Tree.

She swerved and jumped over the roots, nimbly evading him. Jon was laughing after a time too, swiping at her, attempting to catch whatever part of her was within reach.

"Some 'true northerner' you are," she teased. "You can't even catch a little girl."

Jon heaved himself forward and caught the edge of her skirt. Just as he managed this, he tripped over a root causing Lyarra to fall as well. The redhead managed to catch herself with her hands against the bone-white trunk, narrowly avoiding a good knock on the head. As she leaned on the bark, her hands began to feel... funny. She looked up and found herself staring into the sunken face of the Weirwood, but suddenly it wasn't the carved face, it was her own looking back at her.

She screamed as pain shot through her arms and her world faded to red.

The next thing Lyarra was aware of was the sound of her fathers voice. It sounded so sad. What could make her big strong father sound like that? Her eyes opened and she seemed to be looking down on her lord father from the high branches of a tree. Not just any tree, she realized, but the Heart Tree. And it was alive! Blood red leaves surrounded her and her panic momentarily blocked out her father's voice.

Lyarra had heard the stories that The Old Gods used to take blood sacrifices, human sacrifices. Was that what had happened? Did the tree eat her?! Was that why her father was so sad? Her father! She focused back on him just in time to see him slice his own arm open with Ice. "No! Father!" she screamed, reaching out to him, but unable to go to his aid. She watched him bleed upon the ivory colored roots, helpless. As her mouth filled with the taste of blood, she felt as if she was falling backwards and again her world turned to red.

The next time she came to consciousness, it was a much different scene to the dark one she had left. This was a different place... a different weirwood. As she looked out from the tree, she realized she was surrounded by dozens of small, strange creatures. She felt so disoriented and dazed as she overlooked what appeared to be a celebration of the small beings. They were... beautiful in their strangeness. Dark, nut-brown skin and most with eyes as golden as the sun, the beings moved gracefully around the clearing that was filled with woven flowers.

Were these the Children of the Forest she had heard stories of?

One of the creatures moved towards her with a smile on her face, holding a small bundle close to her chest. The others cheered the small woman-creature on as it came to stand directly in front of Lyarra, or the Weirwood she supposed. The bundle, it turned out, was a baby. A very adorable baby with bright moss-green eyes and white spots on its cheeks that reminded Lyarra of a baby deer. The mother took the baby's small four fingered hand and placed it on Lyarra's/the Weirwood's face. The sweet child's face lit up with joy and she could swear she heard happy baby giggles in the back of her mind. Her own smile came easily as the baby gave her a gummy grin. The light of innocence in the extra small being, lifted her spirits and chased away the shadows in her heart from the previous vision she had seen.

When the feeling of falling returned to her this time, she was more sad than scared. She did not want to leave this happy haven as the world faded from view and she fell forward.

This time she came to quicker and the sight blew her little mind. The small children of the forest were joined by humans, animals, and gargantuan creatures that could only be Giants. Not only that, but they were all working together to build a giant wall of ice. It must be The wall, she realized.

"Amazing," she breathed out. Surprisingly one of the children of the forest with bright red eyes turned to her as if it had heard her speak. It began to walk over to this vision's weirwood that held Lyarra. Before it could close in on her, she was falling backwards into time.

The scene changed again and again. She saw oaths and weddings, fire breathing dragons and giant ice spiders. She even saw the dead rise from the ground with ice blue eyes, but she had quickly been whisked away from that scene before she could make heads or tales of it. She saw amazing things and mundane things. She was in some places for a long time or a very short time, but she was always pulled away with a sense of falling forward or back.

Finally she arrived at a scene that left her scared and confused from the beginning. There was no sense of awe and wonder in this memory. Only fear, anger and sorrow.

There were great rows of humans tied to posts with gags in their mouths. Men, women, and children were trussed up like so many animals for the slaughter. And that is just what the Children of the Forest did. They slaughtered them indiscriminately, allowing the blood to pool in great quantities at her roots. The metallic taste that overwhelmed her senses made her want to vomit. She cried in great heaving sobs, pleading with the creatures she had once thought kind and gentle to stop the horrible thing they were doing, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. And just when she thought the vision before her could get no worse, she was proven wrong. Small weeping mothers, brought a dozen of the fawn speckled children to the massacre... and added their own offspring's life blood to the gore.

The view shifted violently and Lyarra watched as the sea rose up in great waves. The land trembled and great cracks appeared in the earth across a long stretch of land. Hills and mountains alike collapsed and were swallowed up. The sea came rushing in and Lyarra felt it as thousands of lives were ended in an instant. Their death cries rang through her very soul beside those that were sacrificed to commit this atrocity.

Her tears came hard and angry. For the first time since this strange journey began, Lyarra ripped herself away with every ounce of will she possessed. It was a relief as she felt the sense of falling pull her away from that horrible place of death. And fall she did. For longer than she had felt herself fall before.

This time, she did not feel as if she suddenly awoke in a strange place. No, this time it felt as if she had been slammed to the ground by an angry bear. And there was no tree either, she realized quickly. She was in a human body. A woman's body. Her body, but not hers. She was Holly, no Lyarra, yes Holly, Holly Potter... and she was in danger. She pulled against the magical restraints at her wrists and ankles uselessly and Lyarra cried in fright. What was this place and why was she here.

No! focus, she was Holly Potter, the-girl-who-lived, Twice damn it! and she would get herself out of this one. But she wasn't. She was the young Lyarra Stark, and she did not like the look of the scary men in dark robes surrounding her. She felt helpless as she pulled again and again against the bonds holding her to the ground.

And suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, she was sure of who she was. The memories were coming back now. She was Holly Potter, daughter of Lilly and James, god-daughter of Sirius Black... The Chosen One...

Ah yes. 'The Chosen One'. That's what they used to call her. At least, that is what they had called her before they found out about her other title. The one that she never asked for. The one that she never wanted, but was unable to escape from. It was this other title that brought her to her current predicament.

One of the robed men came close to her, cupping something in his hands. For some reason a sense of intense dread flooded her, but she couldn't remember Why.

"Please understand Miss Potter. You are doing our kind the greatest service one could," he told her in a sympathetic tone. "You are Wizarding kind's savior once again. You should be proud." Holly spit in his face and the man looked utterly surprised.

"Leave her be Hawkworth. You're not going to convince her," another man said. This one sneered down at her as he approached from her other side with three wands in hand. "If that were possible, she wouldn't have needed to be restrained." He then gestured for two others to come forward. "Travers. Malfoy."

The man named Travers stopped at her feet, holding her father's shimmering cloak in hand. The other man was the one that drew her attention the most though. She tilted her head back to look into the familiar grey eyes of her once childhood rival. There was guilt in those eyes and perhaps he would be her last chance to stop these stupidly foolish men.

"Draco," she begged, "don't do this, please. You're making a big mista..." Holly grunted as the first man kicked her in the ribs.

"There will be none of that, Potter. Lets get this started before she tries anything else. We can't afford to loose this opportunity."

Holly chanced another glance up at Draco Malfoy, his brow furrowed, but there was a look of determination there that wasn't there before. 'Sorry,' he mouthed as he brought out the stone that she had thought she had finally hidden away permanently. A tear finally broke free and rolled down her cheek. Draco was unable to hold her gaze after that and looked back to the little leader of their group. She only knew the man as Smith, if that was even his real name. He was an unspeakable, or, at least he was before the Great War had caused the fall of the British Ministry of Magic.

The Great War, a war to end all wars... it was the reason they were even here, why she was here. The Muggles had eventually discovered the antiquated wizards as their technology moved forward and her own people stagnated in their traditions. They never seemed to learn their lesson, even after the war she had fought in her childhood. The war that had her combine three fateful objects and made her these men's target... their would be secret weapon.

Holly remembered it all now. The way she had failed to age as fast as her friends, the uncertain looks from the public as time went on. The escape of long captured Death Eaters, the public attacks on Muggle Parliament, the first attack on Diagon Alley... the first atomic bomb of her time. Despite all their power with magic, the muggles were numerous and tenacious in their war capability. Wizards were loosing and these few that were left of old proud families were unwilling to see the end of their way of life. These purebloods were unwilling to hide as pretend muggles and unwilling to die. Instead, they would use her and the magic they had come to realize she now possessed.

Draco was one of the few she had thought had changed. She had apparently been mistaken. He had only recently had to bury his son and grandson, if only she had known sooner. It was a tragedy that could warp any man, but his grief would cost so many. While the last Malfoy's visage had grown even more aged, reflecting his recent woes, Holly sported the face of a young woman still in her prime. With the rumors of the hallows and her unchanging appearance, it did not take him and his compatriots long to figure out that the rumors were true. It only took them this long to find her after she found out what they were planning to do with her.

They dove deep into their sordid ancestors' grimoires and, with the help of that Bastard Smith, they had come up with this abomination of a ritual. Blood magic of the darkest kind and her at the center. A source of death its self... the idiots.

Didn't they understand? Death is not something to trifle with. It is not something you can direct or control. It is a part of life, a part of the great cycle. To try and command death to follow the whims of the living? Well, the tail of the three brothers was more than a child's fairytale, obviously. It was also more than a recorded history. It was above all else, a cautionary tail. They were going to doom the world with their arrogance. This crime against nature they were about to commit would end poorly for everyone.

Why, oh why had she trusted that ferret again. Damn her and her saving-people-thing. Draco's grandson had already been dead and gone before he begged her help to him save the boy. You think she would learn... Well, this wasn't a lesson she would soon forget. Nor, it seemed, one she would have to remember long if they had their way.

"Please, Smith," Hawkworth spoke again. "She deserves at least to speak her last words. It is the least the Savior of our kind deserves. Even criminals get that right."

Smith looked like he had swallowed something sour, but waved a dismissive hand. "Fine," he grunted. "Just make it quick. We only have a short time to do this or we'll have to wait another year for the next winter solstice. We won't last that long Hawkworth!"

The elderly man swallowed hard and nodded. Apparently he still held compassion for her even after the stunt she pulled earlier. "Please Lady Potter," he said in a kind voice. "We would hear your lasts words, for posterities purpose, if nothing else."

Holly yanked uselessly at the bonds one last time and her tears streamed freely from her eyes now. They were going to destroy the world and she was powerless to stop them. She was as powerless as that little girl locked in the cupboard under the stairs. She looked the fool directly in the eyes as her anger melted into sorrowful helplessness. "You will destroy us all, and there is nothing I can do to stop you." She let out a sob, but it was abruptly cut off by Smith putting her in a body bind with her own damn wand.

"Let us begin," Smith spoke loudly so those in the circle at the periphery of her vision could hear.

The group chanted in latin as, one by one, each of the four main wizards placed their artifacts on her abdomen over her womb. First, Travers lay down the cloak. Next came the three wands laid in an triangle over the cloak. They included the Elder Wand, her well loved holly wand, and one she had hoped to never see again. Some miserable bastard had found her wand's brother. Voldemort's bone shaped yew wand completed the shape and she cursed whoever found it to the depths of Hades.

Draco was the next to add to her growing collection. Carefully avoiding her eyes, he placed the Resurrection Stone with the wands. It rested at the top of the triangle, close to her belly button. Then, lastly, as the chanting grew louder, the sympathetic Hawkworth finally revealed his treasure. A small acorn was the prize he had been cupping tenderly this whole time. The man hesitated momentarily before finally laying it opposite the stone in the triangle created by the wands.

The minute he stepped back from her, she felt it. There was a pulse of magic that both broke the spell holding her in place and trapped her all on its own. A sharp pain immediately ripped through her gut and the acorn was no longer an acorn. It was a rapidly growing sapling, and she its fertile soil.

She felt every twist and turn of the roots as they tore threw her. Her tortured screams were silenced shortly as the wood pierced her lungs, robbing her of her breath. She heard and felt the angry crack as the roots pierced her bones and rapidly grew to large, splitting them, shattering them and absorbing them. Holly watched through tear blurred eyes and the bark of the tree began to bleach white the fresh green leaves bled to crimson to match the blood that was choking her, drowning her, feeding it...

As the pain became the only thing she knew, her world faded to red... and she was falling.

~o0o~

IVX: So a glimpse of the past and a very unfortunate trip down memory lane for our curious redhead. For those of you familiar with the lore of GOT, I hope you got some of the references...

Extra AN:

Just some fun FYI I found while doing research for this story. It helped shaped my ideas and got me interested in the first place as the plot bunnies bounced around in my skull. Thought I'd share... ^_~

A tree spirit in mythology : a nature deity related to a tree. Usually young women, often connected to fertility and tree worship lore.

Celtic tree mythology:

Holly- Controlled the darker winter months of the year. In celtic mythology it is The evergreen twin to the oak. it shares many similarities with oak's qualities. They are resistant to lightning due to the spiky leaves as mini conductors. Associated with celtic and norse thunder gods Taranis and Thor due to this. Also believed to protect against evil spirits and witchcraft. New chieftains crowned in it and new born babies bathed in water from leaves to protect them. Taking cuttings was ok but cutting a whole tree is bad luck. As a flower remedy holly is said to rid people of jealousy and hatred and open the heart to love.

Qualities: natural leader, determined, generous

Celtic name: Tinne

Yew: associated with longevity and resurrection, it is said their is no reason in nature why a yew tree should die. Churches often build at the site of yew trees. Ancient celtic groves, a place of several yew trees, were places of worship for druids. The long life and rather strange way of regenerating itself was what made the tree sacred to both ways of life. It grows its branches down into the ground to form new trees that often twist together surrounding the old trunk. As old branches die, new life can form within them. It is thought of as a guardian of the dead, possibly because of its position in graveyards. Ancient beliefs link yew with death. Yew wood is the densest around, so dense it sinks in water. Arrows were dipped in its toxic sap to poison enemies. Just about every part of the tree is poisonous, even wood dust, so it also gained a reputation as the death tree. It is now being use to treat cancer though.

Name: Iodha

Oak: Known as the king of the forest for it's strength and longevity. The oak is the most sacred to Druids and the word druid comes from the celtic word for oak Duir. Also linked to the celtic god of thunder Taranis as well as Thor. Oak is the tree most prone to lightning strikes and when struck will continue to thrive. Its wood is strong and used for building. Its bark was used to tan leather and when mixed with the leaves was use as antiseptic tonic. Acorns could be use as a replacement to make bread in tough times. The Acorn symbolizes unlimited growth potential. An acorn can grow into a great oak which can seed a whole forest.

Qualities: strong, protective, optimistic, harmonious.

Name: Duir

As an extra little tidbit, when a Night's Watch recruit dies in the group with Yoren, one of the boys tosses a handful of acorns on top of his body, so an oak might grow to mark his place. No one seems surprised by this, lending to a fact that it might be customary.

...hm, wonder where they might have gotten the idea for that old custom...