David Baratheon


Spoiler for Fate's Request Below

(This is an 'alternate' ending for my current novel, which hasn't even been finished yet, and yes, spoiler alert! David, after the battle of Hogwarts and accomplishing his task, retrieved the Elder Wand and went to perform the ritual that would finally free him from the Malediction.

Alas, Fate and Death stepped in and didn't allow him to complete it successfully, for David was a soul from another world and if he lived, would have continued to alter that worlds fate (He had some major plans for progressing and better hiding the Magical World that I will mention in Fate's Request). So, he was left dying on the floor in quite a terrible way, bleeding out from the curse activating prematurely while Hermione and Mel watched on in horror.

After he passed, Magic stepped in, quite unhappy with what Fate and Death had done and used what little power it/she had to send David to another world before his soul could fade away to nothing. They had a brief chat, which I won't be writing because I really don't want to write it… Anyway, he was sent to Westeros! Enjoy!)

(P.S. Remember, this is an ALTERNATE ENDING. Fate's Request has a happy ending, and this is just an easy way to reuse the character that is David Cross in a new world.)


David sighed as he was forced to the ground the fifth time this morning by his swordplay teacher that his 'mother', Cersei Lannister had arranged for him.

It had been ten years, or as they said in Westeros, ten name days since he'd awakened in the body of the newborn Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

He was David Baratheon, first of his name and future ruler of a Kingdom and now in a medieval world that been stagnating for thousands of years, He'd eventually gotten over the betrayal at the hands of fate and death but certainly hadn't forgotten it.

He was thankful that there was no meeting with the greater powers of this world before he awoke, for what he read of them wasn't very flattering. The Seven were pretty much this worlds version of the Abrahamic faiths, and that was enough to describe them.

There was a lord of fire, R'hllor, who was worshipped widely across in the sea in Essos, aptly named David had thought, for he had learnt about their obsession with burning people alive via his lesson with the infuriating Grand Maester Pycelle.

There were more like the Many-Faced God, worshipped in Braavos who's temple was headed by a cult of very skilled assassins' said to be able to change their faces at will and the rest weren't all that pleasant either.

"You'd best try harder my Prince, or your father will be disappointed in your… let's say, lacklustre performance?" Jamie, his uncle and member of the Kingsguard said, enjoying his clumsiness.

"Yes… thank you, uncle. I'll take your words to heart," David said grunting as he got back on his two feet, wooden training sword still in hand, having that particular skill from years of never allowing himself to drop or lose his wand.

"Not to mention my dear sister, who is most upset you went against her will and decided to learn the sword so early," Jamie further added.

"Early? Do not most sons of other lords begin their training with the 'finer' arts much younger?" David asked and he held the sword in two hands and pointed it towards his instructor.

"Spread your feet, my Prince, your footing is too narrow," his instructor said, a Hedge Knight from the Westerland's his mother had ordered Uncle Jamie to find for his lessons.

"Bend those knees as well. And to your question… well yes. But you're the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, nephew, we couldn't have you being grievously hurt, now could we?" Jamie finished with an evil grin plastered on his face.

David sighed. His mother's insistence that he not begin learning how to use a sword until he was older than seven names days was frustrating, to say the least, for David had spent many years trying to test his magic and all his efforts were lacklustre, his magic was literally non-existent in this life.

Without magic, he needed to excel in this worlds foremost form of self-defence, swordplay, for in a world like Westeros, most noble men needed to be able to wield a sword and they tended to begin their training quite young in their efforts to master the weapon.

David charged at his instructor with a side-swing as he'd been instructed earlier, his strike was parried instantly and the shock from it vibrated through his body.

David clenched his teeth and withstood the block, and for the hundredth time, cursed the somewhat sickly and weak body he was 'gifted' in this new life.

It was a miracle that he'd survived infanthood, the whispers went, for he was a very sickly child and it was quite shocking to all that David Baratheon had survived infanthood. Grand Maester Pycelle's reputation took quite a hit when the infant David pulled through and did not, in fact, die tragically.

He survived, but the damage had been done and he was smaller and weaker than other children his age, but that didn't mean his mind was hampered. No, he was still as sharp as he'd been in his previous life and the enormous learning capabilities of a young mind meant that he'd mastered the Maesters lessons long ago and it was well known in the Red Keep of Prince David's prodigious mind.

There was false praise along with the true, of course, for people's comments always seemed to find their way back to his stature and how unlike his father he was. He was the son of Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm and many deemed him a poor successor, even if he was only a child as of yet.

His father was the mighty hero who struck down Prince Rhaegar Targaryen at the Battle of the Trident, where he crushed the Dragon Prince's red rubied breastplate with that monstrous Warhammer of his and turned the tide of the war and eventually saw him crowned as the Seventeenth King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Shaking his head at the thoughts of his frail body, David blocked a weak blow from the Knight and used what little speed he had for a counterblow.

He knew the theory well and how quickly real duels with the sword ended, many in only one or two strikes of the sword.

It was a little like a wizards duels he realised. When two equally unskilled opponents faced off, the battle tended to drag on, with needless spells being cast constantly, but when two proficient fighters crossed wands, their duels tended to be far shorter in length, going for the 'kill' as swiftly as possible.

Of course, there were those duels of the highest calibre that dragged on and on, but with how close range and 'final' a battle with a blade could be, the short duration of armed combat remained so, even at the level of fighters such as Ser Jamie and Ser Barristan.

This, of course, meant David realised the Knight was humouring him, and while it annoyed him, he decided to suck it up and learn all he could, for he refused to be held hostage by his new stature and body. Puberty was around the corner anyway, that would certainly help things, David hoped.

Unfortunately for David, he needed far more practice as he was overwhelmed and struck to the floor again.

David gritted his teeth as he heard his uncle roar with laughter. He promised himself he would get back at him one day.


David was bathing in his quarters after the tiring morning lesson of sword training when his mother unceremoniously strode in his room without announcing herself or knocking.

She looked around for him and when she saw him bathing in the large copper tub, rushed over and began to look him over in worry.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she said as she got on her knees and looked at him eye-level and inspected his face while palming his cheek in her soft hands.

David still found it strange to have parents for the first time in his technical 'third' chance at life.

His father was a drunken, whoring mess who used to be somewhat proud of him, but after his lacklustre showing in the training ring and all the whispers of just how unlike him he was, lost all interest in David and focused himself in his debauchery with glee.

He knew any other son would be in awe of their father, even if he was a slob, for the tales that were sung of him were certainly very flattering. However, this was David's third life and he really didn't care for the man at all.

David didn't have much of his previous and far more comfortable bodies appearance anymore. Previously, he'd had light blue eyes and brunette hair he cut short, but this time around he had his mothers vivid green eyes and his fathers pitch-black Baratheon hair.

Yes, his 'father' was merely a sperm donor in his eyes that gave him his new hair colour and high position socially as Crown Prince and future King if he wasn't assassinated or something like that.

But he loved his mother, even though he found it a struggle to do so at many a time.

It was ironic, David thought, for he finally had a family and they were a twisted bunch that he really struggled to care for at times.


(Flashback)

David was sitting in the hall where the Red Keep feasted, it was just another one of the many feasts of decadence that his father splurged money needlessly on and David was used to the waste of it by now.

He sat with his uncle, Tyrion and other distant Lannister family members, his siblings weren't allowed, for being too young and Cersei and Robert sat at the head table as King and Queen, in all their glory.

Only his mother remained at that particular table, for his father was off in the corner somewhere sticking his tongue down some maids throat and his fat fingers up her cunt in plain view of the entire court.

His eyes found his father and his uncle, somewhat drunk for he loved wine just as Robert Baratheon did, also found the King, who was embarrassing himself and the Queen in plain view of the court.

"Well, my dear old sister is certainly not going to like that," Tyrion said through a chuckle, draining the rest of his wine.

David just rolled his eyes, knowing that his uncle relished any pain his mother had to go through.

He cared naught for his father, but his mother was a far more difficult matter and it kept him up at night.

She was cruel, sadistic and incredibly petty. She fired servants left, right and centre. Turned her nose at almost everything and loved the power her position granted her even though she had no idea how to use it properly.

These were all things David had noticed in his seven years of life here in Westeros, mainly the Red Keep in Kingslanding for he wasn't really allowed out of it.

David looked at her with a twisted disappointment, for he knew, for all her faults she loved him deeply and did her best to take care of him, even if her 'care' would have caused irreparable damage to a true child.

"She loves you, you know?" his uncle Tyrion whispered into his ear after catching David's look of mixed shame at his mother.

"Whatever do you mean, uncle?" David replied stiffly, taking a very small sip of the spiced juice that was prepared for him at functions such as this feast.

"Don't play coy with me, David. You may be young, but I know your mind is as sharp as mine, I know that look in your eyes. I know how you see your dear old father and I also know how you see your mother, our illustrious Queen… my oh so sweet and terrible sister," Tyrion said, continuing his whisper.

David was close to both of his uncles on his mother's side, but if he had to pick the one he got along with most, it was definitely his uncle Tyrion, the 'Imp' as he was so coined by the masses of Westeros.

So, in a brief lapse of judgment, he spoke the truth to his uncle regarding the woman that was his mother and to whom he had feelings of a twisted sort of love and discontent towards her, "She is cruel… sadistic and petty beyond words. All she cares for is -."

"Yes, she is all that and more. She loves her wine and thinks herself the second coming of our father when she is most certainly not. But you must remember, David, she is family and for all her faults she loves you with all her heart and would do anything to protect you, and already does so," Tyrion finished.

David didn't say anything, he just looked at her with an impassive face, not knowing what to think.

Tyrion sighed and said spoke again under his breath, but David caught it, "Ah, the curse of knowledge in one so young," raising his voice slightly, he continued, "Give her a chance dear nephew, she notes your lack of intimacy and it worries her…"

After a lengthy silence, Tyrion rose from his chair and sluggishly made his way out of the hall, most likely to fuck a whore as he so loved to do so, but at least had the propriety to do it elsewhere and not in front of a hundred nobles and servants.

David eyed him for a few seconds and once he left, turned his eyes back to the table where his mother was seated alone and looked at her intently, thinking of Tyrion's words.

Her face was blank, but he knew enough of her to know that she was seething in fury at the actions of her husband and would likely take her anger out on some poor servant or handmaiden at a later time.

Eventually, her eyes found him and they brighten slightly. She gave him a sad smile that was also filled with a hidden warmth in acknowledgement.

David found himself smiling back to her and a slight warmth rising in his chest, which surprised him, leaving him confused and knowing he had a lot to think about regarding his mother.


(Current Time)

"Mother," David said quietly in greeting, soaking in the warmth of the bath in a way that was very un-childlike.

The sight of her child, who at ten-names-days already acted as if he were twenty hurt Cersei deeply, but she was quite used to it by now and hid it well.

She loved her son, and she knew he loved her, and that was all she needed, the rest they could ignore and work on, one step at a time.

"You should have listened to me," she chided, glaring at him, "You're too young to be learning the sword. Why must you defy me so?"

"I'm the Crown Prince, mother, I must," David said, trying to explain, yet again to her why he refused to listen to her complaints about his learning of a deadly art.

"Exactly!" she shouted, "You're the Crown Prince and you have your uncle Jamie and Kingsguard to protect you. You don't need to ever pick up a sword!"

"Mother… I'll be King one day. And none of us can see the future… I may need to go to war or defend myself, or you, or my siblings. I need to learn this, no matter how painful it may be," David replied, hiding his sigh internally.

Cersei would have refused him right then and there, but Robert had spoken and approved of his proposal and while her constant nagging could work wonders at times, she knew she it was futile to stop this.

Seeing his mothers pain, David took his hand in his own, comforting her as he soaked away the pain and bruises he'd gotten hours earlier in awkward silence.


AN: So what do you guys think? I could have just used a David Cross who passed away at the ripe old age of like 150, but I don't think I want to write about a potential grandfather in the body of a child. And please remember, this is an alternate ending to Fate's Request.

If I do a second chapter and more, I will expand on the setting some more. Exploring his uncles on his father's side as well as his siblings. I think I'll do short flashbacks to show him growing up in the Red Keep and exploring his relationships with the various characters, while pushing forward the bulk of the story.

Also, as this is Game of Thrones it will have a decent amount of fucking, swearing and murdering throughout.