283 AC

"Just a little more, Your Grace." The midwife told Cersei Lannister on the birthing bed. "You're nearly there!" An agonized scream was the only response that she was capable of uttering at that moment.

As with Joffrey, her husband Robert was nowhere to be found. Had she not been exhausted and in so much pain, she would have been furious. As it stood, however, she could only focus on bringing her child into the world and praying that both of them would survive.

Jaime stood over them, giving her a silent smile. She gave a brief nod in acknowledgement and continued to push. Cersei had been in the birthing bed for several hours, and she dearly hoped that her agony would soon be over.

Whose son it would be, she did not know. The gods were good and allowed Joffrey to be of Jaime's seed. Robert had not visited her bed very often and even less as time went by, something she was deeply grateful for

"One more push, your grace." The midwife encouraged, her hands grasping the child's head. Jaime grabbed her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze and trying to hide how worried he was for her.

Cersei was covered in sweat and tears, yet still she managed to allow her child to be born. Would it be a boy or girl? It was said that a girl would usually follow a male child, but she paid little attention to such silly superstitions.

He was close, real close to being out of her. Cersei steeled herself against the bed, her hands gripping it as she pushed. Her eyes were blinded by sweat, too exhausted to even fear for her safety.

But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it was over. Cersei collapsed, barely conscious and severely dehydrated. Jaime wiped her brow, holding her hand and smiling at her. "I'm all right," she mouthed in an effort to reassure him, too exhausted to speak the words out loud.

"It's a boy, your grace." The midwife announced, presenting her infant to her. Even in her exhaustion, Cersei recognized the dark black mane that was on her son's head. She had not known, not for sure, whom this child would ultimately belong to.

Once she had recovered enough for her brain to acknowledge that he was indeed Robert's son, Cersei began to tremble in sheer horror. "Well… he's a handsome baby." Jaime did his best to hide his disappointment.

"No…. no, no, no, no, no…" Cersei repeated over and over, too quietly for anyone but her brother to hear.

"It's ok, I'm not angry with you." Jaime promised, clenching his fist at the thought of that… man who dared to proclaim himself king lying with his sister. There was little he could do about it, yes, unless he wanted to become a Kingslayer a second time.

Cersei could not tell him even if she had the strength to do so. Her brother would not believe her; no one would. The words uttered by Maggy the Frog all those years ago echoed through her mind: "Four children you shall have, three of them with golden hair, the fourth black. All of them you will see die, but your black-haired child will endure the most horrific fate of all. His screams will echo for the entire world to hear."

"Jaime… keep him safe." Cersei pleaded with her twin brother. She refused to allow her son to be subjected to such a horrible fate. She would see all of Westeros burn before she allowed that to happen. It didn't matter that it was Robert's instead of Jaime.

She smiled down on him as his fed, his crying fit having concluded. Jaime was more concerned about Cersei, even if this had been easier than her first birth.

She did not know how much time had passed before Robert returned from his hunt, holding a deer pelt in his hand. "So is it a son or daughter?" Robert's voice echoed through the room. He was still the powerful presence he had been during the war, although he was beginning to put on weight thanks to his excesses.

He grabbed his son from Cersei's grip without warning, leaving her terrified that the clumsy oaf would drop him. Robert wrapped him up in the pelt, brushing his finger against his son's cheek. In that moment, in Cersei's eyes, he almost appeared human. His happiness was plain to see.

"I'll name him Ormund, after my Grandfather." Robert proclaimed. His son looked up at him and actually smiled, making him laugh even harder. And thus Ormund Baratheon, Second of his Name, was born.

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AC 287

"Make it go away…" Ormund moaned, moving weakly from side to side in his bed.

"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Cersei pleaded with Grand Maester Pycelle. Her son had been sick for days and was steadily getting worse, leading her to fear that she would lose him before his life had even begun.

"I am doing everything in my power, your grace." Pycelle attempted to reassure, the old man hunched over her son. "Greywater Fever is generally not lethal, provided that he is given enough water." He grabbed another glass and carefully poured it into his mouth. "Most commonly found in the Neck, but…"

"I don't care where it's commonly found!" Cersei snapped at him, her fragile patience at an end. "Just cure him!" She squeezed his hand gently and sat by his side, feeling the wet cloth on his forehead. Ormund was burning up, but had fortunately fallen asleep.

More than anything, Cersei Lannister hated feeling helpless. There was nothing she could do for him, save to pray that he was strong enough to fight this disease. It was a disease she had contracted as a child herself, although she had been considerably older at the time.

"Your Grace, if I may interject… you are doing no good here." Pycelle pointed out nervously. "I will inform you when he wakes up and if his condition is improving."

"I am the queen; you do not order me to do anything!" Cersei screamed. "if you so much as suggest I leave him again, I'll stick your head on a pike!" Pycelle fell silent, not wanting to upset her again. She rubbed her pregnant stomach, knowing her son or daughter would likely be in the same position soon enough. Disease took many children, rich and poor alike.

Eventually, however, she did push herself to her feet. "Tell me the instant he wakes up," She demanded of Pycelle before department. She nodded briefly in approval at the guards outside the door. Cersei refused to let her children be in the Red Keep without a guardian, not even for a moment.

Robert soon approached, holding Myrcella in his right arm. Cersei wanted to scream at him for being so clumsy with her daughter (not his, a fact Robert was blissfully unaware of) but did not have the energy at the moment. "How's our son doing?" Robert asked, unusually quiet and somber.

"No improvement," Cersei struggled not to cry. She refused to show weakness in front of this oaf who dared to call himself her husband.

"When he gets better, he'll be running everywhere in the Red Keep." Robert chuckled. "I can't even keep up with him sometimes!" To Cersei's astonishment, he actually placed his hand on her shoulder. "He'll pull through, Cersei. He's a Baratheon; fighting is in his blood!"

"I hope you're right." Her husband's display surprised her, but Cersei did not shrug her off as she normally did. Occasions like these where the two of them connected were few and fewer with each passing year, but their son's illness had temporarily put aside the animosity they felt towards one another.

"Mommy, is my brother going to die?" Joffrey asked, a worried expression on his face. The two of them were all but inseparable, constantly exploring the Red Keep and had even attempted to explore the city itself, although she had intervened before they could.

"No, sweetling, he's not going to die." Cersei promised, hoping it was true. "Your brother's a fighter. He's not going to let illness take him." She hugged her oldest son like her life depended on it, not wanting either Joffrey or her husband to see her crying.

Many days went by and Ormund recovered slowly but completely. When she saw him well enough to leave his bed, Cersei gave a silent prayer to the Mother in thanks, however little she might have cared for the Gods.

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This idea has been in my mind for a long time and I decided it was long past time I make my own attempt at a frequent plot device in Game of Thrones. Just a word: he's not going to be the perfect prince, flawless, kind, unrivaled in combat… a Gary Stu in essence.

I'm hoping to have the second chapter up within a few days.