Hi :) This is one of the first parts to a new story running around in my head.

This will be a Robb/OC story, but I thought it was important to develop some foundation first.

Disclaimer: We all know I own nothing

When she was just a girl
She expected the world
But it flew away from her reach so
She ran away in her sleep

-Paradise by Coldplay

Prologue I

When father told her she would marry Robert Baratheon and that she would be Queen of all the Seven Kingdoms, Cersei half wanted to laugh and half wanted to weep. Being Queen...it was all she'd ever wanted—the power made her dizzy; the title was sweet on her tongue; how everyone would bow to her and do as she said no matter her gender was sweeter still—but a Queen's place was with her King, and a King's place was in the Capitol...with Jaime, her twin...her other half.

They'd never been apart; they'd shared a womb, a childhood, a life...but then she was taken away to Court at twelve and Jaime was left behind at the Rock. Cersei found herself reaching for someone that wasn't there, listening for a voice hundreds of leagues away, and lying awake at night wishing her twin was there beside her, in her, all around her, consuming her until she knew they were whole again. That had been ache she'd been able to handle, it was just her and Jaime after all, no husband or stupid cow of a wife to come between them. And when they were fifteen, when father had suggested Jaime marry that ugly fish Lysa Tully, it was Cersei who'd convinced him to join the Kingsguard, to be with her always, as they were meant to be. But that had failed when father interfered and took her back to Casterly Rock and left Jaime to guard the Mad King's sister-wife and son. Now Jaime would be part of Robert's Kingsguard.

In the wake of the rebellion, Robert Baratheon, the brave hero every girl in the Kingdoms wanted, had bought father's support when he promised to wed Cersei. Having Jaime so close in the Capitol would be a pain sweeter than blade's stab. Her sweet brother would want her, crave her, hate her husband for having her, but Robert would be her husband, not Jaime, and for once, she was content with that. She was happy with being queen and having a husband forged in steel. She'd always love her brother, much more than a sister should, but Robert was her future and she could not risk it if she continued on with Jaime.

Her stag was fierce and strong, and loved a woman so much he nearly burned all Seven Kingdoms for her. The thought made Cersei smile. He would love her like that, the Stark girl would fade away for him in time and soon he would see the beautiful golden lioness before him. Why wouldn't he? Everyone said Cersei was the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms, she knew the courtesies to say and how to use her mouth and hands and cunt (as perfected on Jaime, her sweet brother)...how could he not fall madly, deeply in love with her?

Robert stank of wine when he crawled on top of her the night they wed. It bothered her but she said nothing. He was her king, lean and handsome and she felt something for him him—not love, but it could be. He had won Seven Kingdoms with his strength and power and she was Queen. Robert Baratheon was her King and her sons would rule the kingdoms long after she was dead, her bones turned to dust, and people would forever sing her name: Queen Cersei, mother of the greatest king who ever lived.

He wouldn't always be so in his cups, she thought as he rutted on top of her, stabbing her with his cock so hard it hurt her. Come morning light she would find bruises across her alabaster skin, ugly and purple and she would be sore between the legs for days after. She could live with bruises and pain, just this once, for they would fade, but she would still be queen. Next time Robert would—

"Lyanna," he grunted into her ear as he began to tense up, "Lyanna, Lyanna!" Her thoughts halted. Robert didn't notice the change in his bride, did not care when tears threatened to spill from her emerald eyes. Cersei never cried in front of anyone but Jaime, not since she was a child and at that moment she hated Robert for humiliating her like this and causing her tears. She felt him spill inside her and wanted to push him off and beat him bloody for touching her while he thought of that rotted corpse. 'I'm alive you drunk! I'm alive!' she wanted to scream, but she resisted, clenching her jaw tight. Suddenly, Robert's body felt cold and dirty, like the carcass he loved so much, not at all warm and comforting. Not like Jaime's arms, she found herself thinking as Robert shuddered a final time before collapsing atop her, suffocating her while she could do nothing about it. It was his right as her husband after all.

When he finally pulled his crushing weight away from her, she turned away on her side, sore all over but nothing hurt as much as her heart. The next night she crawled into bed with Jaime like she'd done as children, numb and wanting—needing—to feel good, needing to know she was wanted, beautiful, desirable. It was weak, the need for assurance like a child. Cersei shouldn't need it, she was beautiful, regal, strong hearted and a Lannister. But then again a husband should want his wife, but Robert wanted a dead body.

She was dimly aware of the danger, but it added a bit of spice to their rushed thrusts. Cersei smiled when Jaime grunted Cersei in pleasure as he spent his seed inside her. But her smile quickly fell from her lips and a feeling of emptiness engulfed her and not even her sweet golden brother's kisses could fill the void. Why couldn't her husband be like this? Why couldn't Robert kiss her like Jaime did, touch her, pleasure her, murmur promises of devotion to her as Jaime had ever since they were children? Lyanna Stark was dead, what could Robert possible want or grain by lusting after a dead woman? For one mad moment, she wished Jaime was her husband.

For a little while it was silent between her and Robert; that name hadn't been so much as whispered since their wedding night. Robert still visited her bed, but most oft was drunk on sour Dornish swill. Foolishly, Cersei began to hope that Robert was growing some kind of warmth in his heart for her. It was still unpleasant when he took her, but at least he didn't shout that girl's name again.

Then whispers came that he had taken a mistress. It was not unusual, kings took mistresses all the time, but Robert was cruel enough and had enough audacity that he made no attempt to hide his whores, even in public. It hurt, very much so, not only her pride, but her well guarded heart as well. It infuriated her and saddened her with angered her all the more.

Robert first hit her when she confronted him about the kitchen wench he pulled into his lap at Jon Arryn's tourney, in front of hundreds of lords and ladies' eyes with Cersei by his side as he buried his face in the plump woman's tits. Later she stormed to his chambers, stalking past Barristan Selmy outside the door. Angry lioness she was, her fury scared the half naked girls from her husband's bed with only a fiery look from her emerald eyes. Only when Robert's whores were gone did she finally speak.

"How dare you!" she screeched at him later in his chambers. "Have you no shame?! No dignity! The lords laugh at me behind my back—!"

"Let them laugh." Her husband slurred, rising scantly clothed from his bed. He grabbed a horn and poured his wine. "You Lannister cunts are all the same: can't take any jest no matter how little; they laugh at you behind your back, you say?" he mocked. "Grow thicker skin, woman, words are nothing."

"Yes they are nothing; they call you king but all I see is a drunken whoremonger wearing a crown!" She spat. There were so many other insults she wanted to sink into him, make him hurt after months of humiliation, but at once, Robert's hand was raised and struck her across the face. He showed no remorse, and neither did she. Later she looked into a mirror and stared at the bruise, committing it to memory as it coloured and turned an ugly purple. A Lannister always pays her debts, she thought wrathfully.

When she went to her brother later in the night, he would draw his sword and march to the door, swearing to drive his sword through Robert's neck. Cersei was half tempted to let him, but quietened his sweet words with her mouth, hoping bringing Jaime pleasure with it would satisfy her wrath for Robert. If he does it again, she thought deliriously as Jaime worked his mouth and hand dexterously between her legs, I'll be the one to kill him, Jaime.

When her belly began to swell and Maester Pycelle congratulated her, she let nothing betray what she felt. "Yes, it truly is a blessing from the Mother," was all she murmured, her voice calm and quiet. "Girl," she called to one of her handmaidens. Quickly the creature scurried over to Cersei, averting her eyes in respect or fear. Cersei hoped both.

The queen eyed the girl up and down warily. If Robert hadn't bedded her, he would soon, she thought. Suddenly she wanted pasty faced chit out of her sight. "Fetch my husband to me." She very nearly sent for Jaime, but refrained. She'd only shared Jaime's bed that once since she'd married Robert, months and months ago and the other times they'd been together they'd only used their mouths and hands on each other. She didn't want Jaime's seed to take root, couldn't risk it. This was Robert's child.

Cersei touched the small curve of her belly. Her green eyes lit up once more in hope that had begun to die. This would be Robert's heir, a strong black haired boy...he would love her for the strong son she would give him. She wouldn't only be his queen, she'd be his wife. Finally, her marriage would have worth, some warmth for their beds.

But still, a part of her whispered it should have been Jaime's child. He had never humiliated her by parading around with his whores in public. He had never given her bruises, or raised his hand to her. He had never said another woman's name while he was inside her, and he had never crushed her heart. But, young as she was, Cersei hoped.

Robert didn't strike her again, rarely raised his, and was discrete with his whores. She was never more hopeful than when he smiled after Maester Pycelle told her she was carrying twins. Everything was starting to fall as it should.

Nothing prepared her for the birthing bed: the blood, the pain, the people marching in and out with no regard for her dignity. She clawed the bedclothes with her nails as she pushed and panted, she screamed loud war cries every time a contraction hit her. She was a woman born, but she knew she was stronger than any of them; what man could possible survive this pain? Not Robert, not her beautiful twin, not even her father. It hurt so terribly, she thought she might hate the children she birthed for causing her such pain, such indignity.

Relief like nothing she'd ever felt made her collapse back onto the pillows when they pulled the boy from her body, screaming and red. When they laid him on her chest Cersei stared at the snorting, whimpering infant in wonder. A little face, a little nose, little mouth, little ears, little eyes, ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes, a small tuft of black hair dusting his small soft head...Cersei never thought it was possible to love something so much after only an instant—more than herself, even more than her twin.

She struggled when one of the midwives take him away. "Give him back!" she screeched, her voice raw and hoarse from the birth. But her struggles were stopped by the ripping pain that tore through her womb. The queen had been so enamoured with her first child, the little prince, she'd nearly forgotten she had another child to birth.

It was just as bloody, painful and messy as the first, only this time her work gave her a beautiful healthy baby girl with the same sweet, innocent features as her elder brother. Love, so strong and powerful it made her weep, bloomed in her heart, and she knew she would kill for her babies; she would burn the world to ash if it meant keeping them safe from harm.

Her children laid on her chest, Cersei felt complete for the first time without her brother at her side. Robert was out hunting and wouldn't be home for days, so it would be up to her to name them. As her children suckled from her breasts strongly, their little hands opening and closing against her chest, she cradled their heads and ran her thumbs across their soft hair. Maester Pycelle had gotten them confused, when he wrapped them up, calling her son the girl and her daughter the boy. Every lord who had come to see the little prince and princess couldn't tell them apart, but Cersei could.

Her son was a little bigger than her daughter; he liked looking around at the world when he lay in the cradle with his sister. He screamed loudly for her breast when he was hungry, and when she fed them, he seemed to like to push his sister away from her nipple. Her little prince was already demanding, already strong. A true lion, she thought. Her little princess was quieter but sweeter than her brother. She had a steady stare to her, her attention didn't dart about like her twin's, weather it was her brother or her mother she was looking at. She was weaker than her brother, a lot less wriggly, but that was alright; her strength would grow. Her son the lion, her daughter the little doe.

"Steffon," the young queen whispered, looking at the right twin latched on her breast, eyes closed, one tiny hand closed around his sister's fist. "Sylvia." She whispered, looking to the left twin, stroking her wispy hair with her thumb.

As she lay with her children, Cersei was finally able to say she was happy. Robert would love her for these two beauties; he would realize pinning over a corpse was a waste and see his queen.

She was sure of it.

But her joy died on her tongue only four months after the birth.

They were twins, just like her and Jaime. Two small little bundles lying next to each other so peacefully, and even in their sleep, they twisted around so they faced each other, little arms resting across the others. When they woke, they didn't cry for their mother straight away. They had each other and would coo and babble to each other intently, grabbing at one another's clothes, biting each other's fingers. When one was away from the other they both cried and looked for their twin. When one baby awoke, the other was quick to follow. When one cried for Cersei's breast, the other cried as well. When one child was sleepy, the other either fell asleep with them, or was perfectly alright to lie beside their sleeping twin, wriggling and cooing contently. Their bond was beautiful; a twin herself, Cersei knew how strong they were, stronger than any marriage, any friendship...they shared a soul, two halves of the same whole.

Cersei had never felt happier than when they set one child and then the other down across her chest, screaming and red and wrinkled they were, and if they weren't hers, she might have thought them ugly...but they were hers...they were hers! Hers and Roberts. They had the finest black wisps at the crown of their soft heads, small little fingers and toes, the softest and warmest of skin, Cersei could spend whole hours just watching them and never grow bored.

And Robert began coming to her apartments more often now, and this filled her heart with joy. With the birth of their children, his son the future king and this little beauty a princess, it finally seemed as though her hopes that Robert Baratheon would love her were finally coming to life. He would come and watch them in their cradle, eyes filled with wonder, hold them both in his arms, laughing as they wriggled around and grabbed at his tunic. He smiled when they grabbed his hands and chewed on his fingers with their toothless mouths. Her heart warmed at seeing him smile with their children. Little did she realize Robert had bastard children he had the same interest in before Sylvia and Steffon, and that fascination had faded, as it always did with Robert.

Then, one of her little doves began to stop feeding from her breast. Her son, named in honor of Robert's father, grew pale, fever burning his delicate little skin, and he stopped feeding, no matter how she cried and begged. Cersei felt helpless, a feeling she had never felt before. Her son began to grow skinnier and skinnier, his skin like fire against hers.

Terror, mad and wild gripped her as her little love withered in her arms. Sylvia, laid in the cradle, screaming for attention as her mother held her twin. The queen refused to let anyone touch her healthy baby, paranoid that if anyone were to touch her, they'd give her the same fever that was taking her son. It was only when Robert stormed into the tumultuous chamber and ordered the wet-nurse to tend to the squalling, hungry, and soiled infant, that Sylvia calmed down some. Cersei glared at Robert through her reddened, watery eyes but was unable to argue as Maester Pycelle looked over her unusually still son.

For days Cersei held her son close, (her arms cramped but she didn't care), hoping, praying, every day and every night for the gods to give her children back to her. If one twin died, the next would surely follow. The gods would not be so cruel as to keep one half alive while taking the other...it'd be like taking an arm and leg.

Steffon fought, he held on days and days longer than the Maesters said he would. Cersei was so frightened she could not do anything but hold her baby and watch in anguish as the fever slowly took him.

Robert, for once in their marriage, stayed by her side as his boy languished, more for his children than his wife, but he stayed. Jaime guarded outside the chamber when all he wanted was to storm in the room and take Cersei in his arms and make all the pain go away. Cersei didn't care who was by her side at the moment, all she wanted was her boy to wriggle like he used to, scream for milk, push his sister. She wanted him back.

Her baby's life left her arms as she dosed against the top of the bed. Her boy lay in her arms, her daughter slept in her cradle and Robert had left hours before to do whatever depraved act he wanted. Her eye lids wouldn't stay open no matter how hard she tried. She was so exhausted she didn't realize Steffon was gone until the morning came.

The early waking hours of that day was a blur to Cersei. She remembered waking up, looking down, and thinking—hoping, praying—she was still dreaming. Her baby was pale, still, gone...and a part of her died the moment she realized it. Her face crumbled, her heart crushed inside her, a strangled sob tore from her throat as she threw her head back in pure agony. She screamed louder than she'd ever screamed before, louder than when her children were birthed, louder than when the Maesters told her that her son would not survive.

It would later be said her scream of grief was heard throughout the castle, they would say Robert, Jaime, Pycelle and many others rushed into the room as Cersei clutched her son sobbing as Sylvia screamed with her from her cradle. She screamed and battled as they took the dead child from her arms, clawed at the arms holding her back as she tried to grab her lost baby back again. Robert beat his hands bloody against the stone walls and then grabbed her when she leapt at one of the Silent Sisters who was taking the body to be prepared.

She remembered that Robert held her as she cried, as she fought and cried "please" over and over again. She later thinks it was because he was hurting as well; he had lost his child too. He didn't love her, and she didn't love him, but they had loved their son. She would think that this was the thing that killed her marriage. The loss of their boy took something from both of them because it was their child together; it was what had bound them together in that marriage. The septon may have joined them together by the gods, but their twins had sealed it.

Now...one was gone, and part of them both of them had died with him. The blame would come later; the hatred and bitterness would grow and fester as they sought comfort out elsewhere, Robert with his wine and whores, Cersei with her brother. But for now, all they were were two people who had lost their child, each grieving for the loss.

Cersei was not able to look at her remaining baby for days and days after Steffon died. At first, she felt thankful and numb, thankful that she had her healthy daughter left, but that was all. Then she ordered the wet-nurse to leave for the night to see to Sylvia by herself. It would be odd, she knew and most likely painful. Cersei had never had Sylvia without Steffon, but now that's all she would ever have, just Sylvia, an eternal reminder of the child she's lost, a blessing and a curse.

It was cruel of the gods to leave Sylvia with her. One twin should not live without the other. She will be incomplete all her life, Cersei thought as she stared at the cradle from her bed, firelight flickering across the gossamer veils. She'll never feel truly happy without her brother; she will always have the pain of the loss in her soul, even if she doesn't realize what it's from. Cersei couldn't imagine living in a world where Jaime was not, it was too painful to think of. They came into this world together; they would not dare leave the world without the other.

Cersei stood from her bed and walked to the cradle, and looked down to the little black haired child she loved and grieved for. Sylvia was peaceful, but her legs kicked in her sleep, her face turned to her side. She always did that, it was what she and Steffon had done; they faced each other when they slept so when they awoke they knew they were safe. She would never feel safe when she awoke again.

Carefully reaching a hand out she pinched the blue blanket covering her daughter's restless legs, still too afraid to touch her baby. It's a mercy, something mad whispered in her ear. One twin cannot live without the other.

She did not realize she had lifted the blanket until she laid it over Sylvia's face. Cersei froze in horror at what she was doing, shame and fear and dread and pain—oh gods the pain—striking her chest. Her legs grew weak and she collapsed on her knees beside Sylvia's cradle. The emotions swelling in her were so powerful, so consuming she doubled over with its strength, her forehead coming to rest against the cold stone floor. She felt like she was going mad. The young queen was ready to scream and tears gathered in her eyes when she heard a strange sound she realized she had not heard in a long time: her baby's coo.

A sniffle left her and she took uneven breaths to keep from breaking into sobs, and Cersei slowly stood up as Sylvia's disoriented coo grew into a panicked whimper. Looking down into the cradle at the wriggling infant beneath the blanket, Cersei pulled the fabric away and looked at her baby, feeling so ashamed and heartbroken.

She loved her, so, so much. Carefully, fearing she'd drop her, Cersei lifted Sylvia into her arms and sniffled as the baby settled quietly against her mother's bosom. Sylvia loved her as well. But gods forgive her, Cersei couldn't look at her daughter without the pain coming back again, without thinking why did the gods take the boy and leave me with the girl? She hated herself for thinking such things when she loved Sylvia so much.

Tears dripped down Cersei's face as she sat back against the pillows on her bed. Sylvia nuzzled against the silk fabric of her shift, looking for milk and made a small whimpery sound. Mechanically, feeling strange that she could do it by herself now that one hand was free, Cersei pulled down her shift, exposing her breast. She cradled her daughter's head in one hand while she held her breast in the other. Instinctively, Sylvia opened her small, pouty mouth wide and began to feed.

Cersei smiled for the first time in weeks as she watched her baby feed, but it was a sad smile. This would be the last time she would feed her daughter herself. Her heart hurt too much, and she was afraid of herself, of what she may do if she was left alone with Sylvia again. Cersei could already feel bitterness and anger form in her heart where her son once occupied. That bitterness was too close to her daughter, and Cersei had to protect Sylvia from whatever animosity she would form towards her remaining child.

But Cersei wept as she held Sylvia, for everything that had happened, everything that would happen, all she'd lost and the one she will lose.

It wasn't two months later that she caught Robert fucking one of her handmaidens against a wall close to her chambers. Anger and hurt struck her. How dare he?! Their son had died only two moons past and there he was making another child with some fat toothless whore? When she went to Jaime, she didn't need to use her words. The next morning, the handmaid's body washed up along the shore. That same night she and Jaime fucked for the first time in a year. And it was good.

For a long time afterwards, Cersei went nightly to her brother, mounting him and riding him like a stallion, wanting him to make her feel something other than pain and despair, other than the crushing grief and sadness she felt everyday looking at her remaining baby, Sylvia. She longed to have her daughter close to her, but she just couldn't...the pain was too raw yet.

She made Jaime finish on her thigh or belly because she wasn't ready to bring another baby into the world, it was too soon after she lost one. Jaime didn't care; he obeyed her wishes as he always did. Robert came to her bed drunker and drunker as the months rolled by, so delirious that he didn't remember if he finished in her or on her face or in her hands. He bellowed about needing heirs one night before he struck her and sent her sprawling to the floor.

"You have one," she said. "Sylvia."

"A girl cannot rule an entire kingdom!" Robert shouted drunkenly. Cersei knew this, but wasn't one of his children enough, even if she was a girl? Couldn't he raise her to run a kingdom (although she knew it was Jon Arryn, the Hand who managed the kingdom)? She wouldn't be able to fight in battle, but she could rule in the council room.

It was when Robert talked to his council about bringing Edric Storm to court and legitimizing him as his heir that Cersei's ambition reawakened in her heart. A bastard of Robert's would. Not. Rule! A Lannister bastard was worth a hundred thousand for every one of Robert's bastards.

Her children would still rule. Not Robert's. She'd rob him of that. That night she clutched Jaime's hips as he drew closer and closer to climax and smirked at his delighted face when she wrapped her legs around him to keep him from withdrawing.

Her belly grew once more, though not as large as it had before when she carried twins. Cersei felt nothing but satisfaction through her whole pregnancy that she had bested Robert. She felt no particular affection for the babe itself. Sylvia, now just over a year old, still had a part of her heart that had not frozen over. She was Robert's child however, black hair, blue eyes, none of his features, yet she looked like him. Cersei was coming to hate Robert, but yet...part of her still felt something for him, stupid as it was.

When Joffrey was born, the birthing bed was just as she remembered unfortunately, only this time Jaime was with her, holding her hand. With the twins he'd remained outside, angry she was birthing Robert's children. Jaime never cared for either child, but held her as she wept for them.

When they set the screaming infant in her arms warmth spread inside her for the first time in nearly a year and the painful love she felt for her daughter was now pushed back to make room for this lion cub in her arms. Her son screamed, as if knowing their words were Hear me Roar. This was her future king, golden and beautiful, a Lannister through and through.

Her daughter, while she loved her—painful as it was—was a stag. Stags and lions do not mix, she realized as she thought of her husband. Lions devour stags, but now, a stag rules a lion. That must never ever be...when Joffrey was king he would be a lion and rule the all the beasts in the forests, all the flyers in the sky, all the creatures of the sea. Everyone will bow to the Lion.

Robert didn't care for the boy, not like he cared for Sylvia. He favoured the little dark haired child, saw her more often than Joffrey, gave her more toys, smiled at her...Joffrey got none of that, not that the boy seemed to care very much. Whenever Robert tired to hold the baby, Joff would screw his face up in disgust and let out a helpless scream of fury. Robert soon lost interest in the child that had no interest in him and focused more on the daughter that liked following him like a puppy.

And so Cersei's first daughter was pushed behind Joffrey, the golden sun outshining the pale moon. While Robert favored his black haired doe, Cersei favoured her blonde haired cub. Danger increased as Jaime got two more children on her, but Cersei had no care. Sylvia was Robert's child everyone knew it; Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella simply favoured their mother. But people began rumours that Sylvia was Robert's bastard from another woman.

This infuriated Cersei. She may not know her daughter well but she loved her as much as she loved Jaime's children. The fact that Sylvia's father was a drunken bastard who spent his time humiliating and hurting his wife spoiled a bit of that love, however. Whatever she exactly felt for her eldest was a mystery: she did not hate her entirely, nor did she love her as much as she once did, she pitied her and yet feared her slightly for what her existence may bring. She loved Sylvia enough to fight when Robert suggested she marry a Martell or one of those Tyrell snakes. She laughed in his face when he even said the name Frey and called him a bastard when he suggested a Greyjoy. Every protest gave her bruises, but she did not care. Her daughter would not suffer as she did.

Despite the love she had for her eldest, Cersei kept a careful distance, never remaining long enough to get hurt. Lions and stags do not mix and damn it, it still hurt looking at the girl and remembering the small, black haired boy she'd come into the world with.

so...tada... please be gentle. That's all I ask, be gentle.

I know Cersei may seem...OOC (_) in here, but I'm thinking of how she became that ambitious bitch we absolutely love. I'm using Cersei from the TV series 95% of the way so she did have a child with Robert and did have hopes that maybe they could make it work.