Prologue

A Bird Without Feathers

The babe had not a hint of Lannister about her, so Cersei named her Joanna to make up for what she lacked. The morning dawned bright through her window, and she could hear bells ringing outside. Grand Maester Pycelle had said that the babe would not last the night, and yet here they were. The little thing, tiny and pink and frail, was still breathing. She was swaddled in Cersei's arms, head covered in dark downy hair, fast asleep.

Cersei had almost made her peace with losing the baby. She had only carried the babe for seven months before she came suddenly into the world. The moment that Cersei had felt the first pain of childbirth, she had begun to accept that the child she carried would likely not live to see the daylight. All throughout her pregnancy, she almost hoped that something would happen, prayed for something to relieve her of the burden of bearing Robert's child. She had begged the gods for the child to be rid of her body so she wouldn't have to do it herself. And yet, as she sat through the night with the tiny creature swaddled in her arms, she prayed to each of the seven gods for one more chance. One chance to bear Robert's child, and perhaps that would make him forget about the Stark girl once and for all.

Now that she held the baby in her arms, she could not stand to lose her. She belonged to Cersei. For seven months, she had strained to carry Robert's child, the child of the man that she, in such a short time, had grown to despise. Looking down at the babe, the very reflection of Robert Baratheon, Cersei knew that she could never fully love the child. But it was hers. Never Robert's, never anyone else's. Joanna belonged to her.

The little thing squirmed in her arms, whining softly. She had been silent when she was born; for several moments, Cersei had been sure that her baby hadn't even had a chance to live. Then, suddenly, just as she'd changed her mind and prayed to the gods for her baby to live, a small cry pierced the quiet night. It was a half-cry, and only one, but enough for Maester Pycelle to wrap her in blankets and hand her to Cersei.

Cersei tilted her head as she looked down at the little thing they'd handed her. She was hardly the length of her forearm, and weighed so little that Cersei felt only the weight of the blankets in her arms.

"She looks remarkably like Robert, doesn't she?" Jaime commented, leaning over Cersei's shoulder to look at the babe she was holding. Cersei hummed softly.

"She'll be a beauty," she responded, voice soft. Half of her wanted to imagine a happy life with Robert, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, bearing children with black hair. Perhaps now that she'd born him a child, he would leave the past behind. But the rational part of her mind knew that those thoughts were foolish. Her marriage to Robert had been doomed before it started, and the moment he'd called her Lyanna in their marriage bed had only cemented the deal.

"Like a little bird," Jaime continued, carefully running his finger over Joanna's cheek.

"Careful," Cersei chided, moving the baby away so Jaime was no longer touching her. "Maester Pycelle says she isn't out of the dangerous time yet."

"Her whole life will be dangerous," he informed, trying to be gentle. "Even once she's riding off to be married to a great lord, she won't be out of the dangerous time."

"Don't say such things." In the silences between them, she could faintly hear the baby's quivering breaths. When the sun broke, and Maester Pycelle had returned to check on them, he'd told Cersei not to expect Joanna to last the day. But the babe wasn't supposed to live through the night, and had. Cersei wasn't willing to give up on Joanna yet. Not now that she wanted her to live. "Has Robert returned?"

"He is expected to return before noon."

Robert was worthless. She knew that the news of her labor had reached him during his hunt, and still he'd waited out the night to return. While she was laboring in bed with his child, he was drinking and sleeping with whores. Sometimes, when the sleepless night got to her, Cersei imagined that it was Jaime's child she was holding. She could pretend that the black hair was brilliant gold. Jaime had stayed with her through the night, had slept beside her as she sat, unsleeping, with Joanna in her arms. He was the only one who deserved for her to love him.

The bells continued into the high morning. Cersei's eyes flickered shut, and several times she nodded into sleep before jolting awake once more, worried each time that she would awaken and the baby wouldn't be breathing anymore. She dreaded the moment that the celebration bells would turn to mourning bells. She started awake again when the doors burst open, Robert striding in. He was tall and handsome, robust and strongly built, his dark hair tied back. His stride quickened when he was in the room, until finally he knelt at Cersei's bedside. He gazed at the baby for a long moment.

"Leave us," he said, voice strong and low. Jaime hesitated for a moment before he left the room, closing the doors behind him. Cersei was sure that he was standing guard at the door. "Let me see her."

Reluctantly, she gingerly passed him the tiny bundle in her arms. To her surprise, Robert held her with the utmost care, making sure not to jostle her too much. Cersei heard his soft intake of breath.

"How long will she live?" he asked quietly.

"Maester Pycelle says this will be her only day."

He brought up a large, calloused hand, and brushed his fingertips over the soft, dark hair on her head. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

"No," he said. "She's going to be stronger than that. She's going to hold on."

He handed the baby back to her, standing and leaving the room. She watched the door with disbelief for a moment, seething that she spent hours birthing his child and he'd hardly spent more than a moment with her. But he was right. She was going to live – she had to. Cersei could not bear if the child the carried, the child she labored for, didn't even last the day.

"You'll live," she hissed at the baby, almost desperate. She could not bear the thought of Joanna taking her final breath. "No matter what, Joanna, you'll live. Please. You must live."

A/N: I'm BACK!

Hello again everyone, and hello for the first time to people who haven't read my previous GoT stories. So, the Game of Thrones bug bit me again, and I finally decided to get back to writing some of the stories I'd started planning out. I still haven't gotten all the way through Season 5, but with Season 6 premiering tonight, I figured I'd give the show another chance.

Like with my previous story, this will eventually wander into AU territory, but we'll stick to canon for now. As for when I'll be updating, I'm not even going to pretend to update regularly. I have every intention of finishing this story, but I want to enjoy writing it, and don't want to add more stress to my life by giving myself deadlines on this. I'd like to not go several months without updates, though, because that sucks for me and you alike.

If you enjoyed the prologue, or if it piqued your interest in any way, I'd love to hear it! It's always much easier and much more enjoyable to write when I know there's an audience enjoying my work. I always love to hear your thoughts!

Thank you all for reading, friends. I'm sure I'll be back soon.

Until next time,

Rex