Warning: This is an 'a Song of Ice and Fire'-crossover, so keep in mind that this story may include, but may not be limited to: foul language, blood, gore, sexual situations, disembowelment, rape, character death, dismemberment, incest, defenestration and being burned alive.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Author Note: I am just a guy, who has far too many ideas and who finally decided to write some of them out. This story will probably be updated slowly and inconsistently.
Chapter One: The Birth of a King
Thunder rumbled ominously over the city of King's landing, echoing through the deserted streets, against the stone houses of the capital, amplifying the sound many times over. It was swiftly followed by yet another flash of pure lightning striking down from the swirling, angry looking mass of storm clouds resting in the sky that were briefly illuminated, down to earth, the world of mortals, leaving the smell of burnt ozone in its wake.
All over the city, people, children and adults alike, had long since fled the now muddy streets of the port city, which were rendered to little more than waterways due to the torrent of the storm. They had abandoned life outside in favour of the warmth and relative comfort of their homes, where they were protected from the rain pelting down on their roofs. They cowered in fear from what could be nothing but the wrath of the Gods in their eyes.
The long hallowed corridors of the Red Keep were held in the grip of another heart wrecking noise however. The Queen, Cersei Lannister, had gone into labour that noon, when all there was to see of the current storm was some dreary weather and an otherwise calm breeze that was showing no signs of picking up.
"Aaargh", the blonde woman screamed once again her heart out, as the near unbearable pain of another contraction coursed through her already battered body.
She was lying on the large bed in her own quarters, not having shared her husband's rooms ever since they realised she was pregnant, propped up against a veritable mountain of soft, gold embroidered cushions that gave her next to no comfort this time. Her normally beautiful hair, resembling spun gold when seen in the sunlight, was dark and matted, hanging limply from her head in a tangled mess. Her skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat, which gleamed in the light of the flickering torches, which dimly illuminated her room. Despite her current state she was still the very picture of beauty.
Released from the grip of her latest contraction, the young Lannister tried to gather her bearings. Her voluptuous chest was heaving from the effort as she took great breaths of air. "Someone tell me whether the King has returned from his hunt!" she rasped out to a passing midwife after having taken her arm in a death grip.
The poor woman could only give the pregnant woman some idle platitudes, all the while patting her hand in comfort. "I am sure his Grace is hurrying back as we speak and will be arriving any moment now", she said giving her a calming smile, which Cersei desperately wished she could wipe from her face. 'Idiots! They are all useless the lot of them', she thought irritated, looking at Grand Maester Pycelle and the assembled group of midwives.
She scoffed at the idea of her Lord-Husband hurrying back to her. It was quite simply laughable to anyone who understood the extent of their relationship!
The Queen couldn't help but curse him with a few choice words as she felt another contraction start to tear through her body. It was all his fault!
She had gone to their marriage bed with grand dreams of being a Queen, a wife and a mother, but that very night Robert Baratheon had managed to ruin all of those dreams for her. After he had lain with her and had finished by releasing his seed into her womb, he'd had the gall of drunkenly muttering the name of his one true love: Lyanna Stark. 'Curse him and his Northern bitch!' Cersei thought, gritting her teeth against the pain.
She had briefly considered leaving Robert to his own devices and to go behind his back to her beloved brother. He would probably not have noticed that she never let him come into her again, considering he never slept with her unless he was drunk, but the young bride had persisted. She had one job to do: get pregnant with the King and give birth to the heir of the Iron Throne. An heir with Lannister blood running through his veins, which would please her father.
So Cersei had persisted, letting Robert come to her bed whenever he fancied her in a bout of drunken revelry late at night. Luckily for her that wasn't all that often. The King preferred to indulge himself in the company of a whores.
Eventually though she had noticed that her moon's blood was late and the Grand Maester had confirmed her suspicions. Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, was pregnant.
Feigning discomfort from her pregnancy, she persuaded Robert to leave her alone, which was far easier than her pride allowed her to admit. She was a beautiful woman! What sort of man could possibly resist her perfect supple breasts and delectable butt?
This had allowed her to go back to her brother however, which was something that greatly pleased her. The warmth of his embrace, soon resulted in stolen kisses whenever they thought no one was looking. Cersei had been happier than she had been in a long time. The kisses ignited a fire inside her, which led to the siblings once more joining together as one. As they were supposed to be.
Thinking back to those moments, Cersei simply knew that she and her brother were simply meant to be together, otherwise it couldn't possibly have felt that good. The pregnant woman had briefly considered taking some moon tea in order to get rid of Robert's filth that was growing in her womb, but she had eventually decided against it.
It was only for a few more months, the blonde had reasoned, and after having given him a healthy heir she would be free from any duty towards her husband and her family. She would be able to be with Jaime completely and finally be happy again.
The Queen let out another ear piercing scream, fisting the white blankets on her bed in her hands. Curse Robert! She would have thought that at the very least he would deign her worthy of his presence and be present in the Red Keep while she was in the birthing chambers, but the man had left for a hunt the moment word reached his ears. 'Why can't that oaf show a little interest!' she thought, feeling the pain in her lower body, 'It is his first child that is coming on the world.'
'Right- he has a score of bastards running around by now', she bitterly corrected herself.
It wouldn't be that bad, if only he hadn't insisted on Jaime accompanying him on his hunt today. Her sweet Jaime would have been able to stay with her, to keep the pain and panic at bay with his mere presence.
An hour later, she let out a last heart retching scream, before a second wail pierced through the warm air, making the gaggle of women flutter around her with renewed energy. They were all around her, smothering her, wiping away the sweat on her brow with a wet piece of cloth and taking her child away to clean it up.
She felt herself fall back into her cushion, temporarily closing her eyes in utter exhaustion.
Before long though the Lannister felt a squirming, wailing bundle being pushed into her pale, tired arms. Opening her vibrant green eyes she looked down upon her child who was searching for her breast. Cersei sighed, 'I should have known that any child of Robert would be demanding from the day it is born', but bared her breast to the new-born child all the same.
As the baby eagerly latched on, sucking with wild abandon, Pycelle arrived at her side smiling down at her, though his eyes showed worry. "You have given birth to a healthy boy, Your Grace. Your family's claim to the throne is secured." The old Maester hesitated for a few seconds, before continuing, "His appearance though-"
The Queen felt worry flood through her entire being. Was there something wrong with her first-born son? Was her born an imp like her dastardly little brother? She was almost afraid to do it, but swiped back the blanket baring her son's little head to her searching eyes.
She blinked in surprise.
Of everything that could have happened, she had not been expecting this!
Pensively stroking her child's chubby cheeks, she fell back on the bed, too tired to hold herself up any longer and slowly fell into a deep slumber. She was genuinely curious about what her husband would say.
The following morning, when the clouds had cleared and people finally dared to come out in order to assess the damage which the storm had inflicted upon the capital city, the rattling sound of horses arriving in the courtyard travelled through the open windows of her chambers.
A few minutes later the heavy, oak door barring entrance to her quarters was thrown open and in strode her boisterous husband, the King, along with Jon Arryn and her dearest brother Jaime, all looking expectant to see the new baby.
Sitting straighter, she gave Robert a kind smile, though there was little genuine emotion behind it and spoke formally, "You have a son, Your Grace, an heir to the Iron Throne."
A happy smile spread across the former Storm Lord's face, making her heart flutter ever so slightly. It made her remember the foolish dreams she'd had. No! She wouldn't allow herself to fall into the same trap once again! This child was meaningless, it wouldn't be able to mend any part of their dysfunctional relationship!
When Robert arrived at her side, he bend over to get a good look of his son, fully expecting to see a healthy boy with hair as black as night and his own blue eyes. What he saw however made him reel back as if slapped, shaking his rapidly reddening head in denial, growing more and more enraged by the second.
"That thing", he roared loudly, pointing a trembling finger at the new-born child, "is not my son! I can smell the dragon blood from here." The King turned around and stormed out of the room, cursing all along.
The old Hand was shocked at his would-be son's reaction upon seeing his own child and took a closer look. He let out an involuntary gasp when he realised what the now crying child looked like. A small tuft of soft, silvery-white hair covered his little head and despite the tears that were pooling in his eyes, the old Lord could clearly see that they were a dark violet colour, only seen in those who were descendants of Old Valyria.
Giving the Queen a pained smile he left, in the hopes of catching up with his former ward. Now was not the time for rash decisions!
All Cersei had eye for, despite the crying child in her arms, was the pained look on her brother's face, when he came to stand beside them. Feeling his calloused hand intertwine with her own slender one, she made up her mind. 'I have done my duty towards the Seven Kingdoms', she thought to herself with conviction, 'Now I will take what I deserve.'
The Queen called out for one of the maids, who hesitantly curtsied, having witnessed the tragic happenings of what should have been a joyous occasion. "Take little Daemon to his wet-nurse", she ordered the young woman, passing over her son into the surprised maid's waiting arms, "I am still too tired to take care of him. Leave now."
Cersei didn't know what had made her call her son Daemon of all things. It was surprisingly fitting though. She had no doubt that Robert would rather give his crown to Tywin Lannister, a man he resented, than to allow it to grace the head of another dragon. She was certain that Daemon Baratheon would be considered to be little more than a bastard in the eyes of his father, just like Daemon Blackfyre had been in reality.
The young mother ripped her eyes away from the violet orbs of her son, who was looking back at her pitifully crying over the maid's shoulder as she left the room for his wet-nurse, and looked deeply into her twin's green one's, which were identical to her own.
She felt him squeeze her hand a little tighter and smiled.
Jon Arryn found the King in the royal chambers, where he –by the looks of it- had smashed one of the heavy, comfortable chairs into his desk, splintering it to pieces in his enraged state. His old ward was sat on his bed drinking heavily from a pitcher of wine, spilling wine into his beard, from where it streamed over his clothes unto the bed.
"More wine!" the enraged man yelled at one of the servants who had just knocked on the door, throwing his now empty pitcher towards the oak surface.
The Hand frowned his bushy, grey eyebrows in disapproval. "Robert, we need to talk about your son", he said soothingly. "We cannot afford to anger Lord Tywin. Our current situation is too precarious to jeopardise our alliance with the man, by calling his first grandchild a bastard."
"Besides," he continued, looking sternly at the adult before him, "you know perfectly well that your grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, a dragon Princess. It is perfectly possible that your son got his looks from her."
With an angry roar, Robert jumped from the comfortable bed and stalked like a predator towards his old mentor with a meaty fist held up threateningly. "Do not speak of such matters!" he growled out, his blue eyes gleaming with drunken rage. "They are Targaryen filth, the lot of them! They do not deserve to exist, to sully these lands with their presence."
Jon Arryn, couldn't help but feel a tingle of fear run down his spine, as he saw Robert advance on him, with a mad fire burning in his eyes. He held up his wrinkled hands in a placating manner. "Peace Robert. Peace", he said softly, concerned for the man he considered a son. "I know you hate them and you have every right, but this is your son! Your own flesh and blood. The Gods would curse you if you did something to him."
The King blinked his heavy eyes at his Hand's fearful face and dropped his fist, feeling his anger abate ever so slightly, allowing him to think more clearly. His shoulders slumping in defeat, he scoffed bitterly, "The Gods seem to have already cursed me. The dragon spawn have taken everything from me: my mother and father, my beloved Lyanna and now even my own bloody son."
The large man turned and sat heavily on the bed, which creaked under his ever increasing weight. After a few moments of silence, he nodded slowly, looking up at the Lord of the Vale with his watery blue eyes. "Fine!", he bit out, "I will let the spawn live, even though I should just get rid of it, the Gods would not look poorly on me for ridding the world of such filth. I won't tolerate it as my heir though! Do whatever it takes. Tell them the Targaryen madness makes it too dangerous to accept him as the heir of the Seven Kingdoms. It has happened before, just get it out of my sight!"
"Now leave!" the King ground out, feeling his anger return at the injustice of it all. "And finally bring me that bloody drink I asked for."
The Hand of the King bowed and left pondering over today's happenings. Sighing he could only conclude that things could have gone worse, not by much of course, but it was enough for him to hold out some hope. 'Surely Robert can't hold a grudge against his own child', the man thought, though his mood suddenly turned southwards as his mind conjured images of the bloodied bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon lying on the floor of the throne room.
He walked slowly to his quarters thinking about his next course of action. Under normal circumstances the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor would be ringing jubilantly by now, signalling that the heir to the throne had been born. Normally the Grand Maester would be sending the whole flock of messenger ravens out to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms heralding tales of the birth a King's son.
Today however all he did was send a single letter to Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, informing him of the birth of his first grandson and the unfortunate circumstances of his birth.
Despite that though, soon the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms had heard about Daemon Baratheon, First of his Name. After all, the rumours started by a simple maid had a way of sounding louder than any bell could ring and move faster than any raven could fly.
They told stories about the little King-Who-Would-Never-Be, who had been born while the Seven showed their displeasure at the injustice that was to occur, with a storm rivalling the one heralding the birth of Daenerys Targaryen, the Storm Born.
Soon everyone knew about Daemon Baratheon.
The Silver Prince.
Author Note: I hope you liked it! If you have a minute to spare: leave a comment down below and let me know what you think. It goes without saying that I would greatly appreciate any feedback.
The story will follow Harry as he tries to find a replacement for his dysfunctional family and tries to take and keep his rightful place in the world as the King of the Seven Kingdoms.