Prologue

King's Landing, early 280 AC

Joanna Lannister yawned as her maid dressed her. She was exhausted, but not from being roused hours before the sun would be, nor from her body fighting off the winter chill that crept past the firelight. Not even the strange dreams that had been plaguing her of late, taunting her with distant screams and close in, accusatory whispers.

No, she was tired because this was not her bed, nor her home. The only place she slept comfortably was in Tywin's arms, in their shared chamber at Casterly Rock. But the Rock, the bed, the arms were half a world away.

She was in King's Landing for the same reason she was being pulled out of bed that morning; the impending birth of her first grandchild.

This is what Tywin and I have been waiting for, since the last time I took to the birthing bed, Joanna thought. It was difficult for her to be excited by being dragged from bed this early, into the cold. In truth it probably doesn't help much, for me to be there. I'm no midwife, but girls do scream for their mothers during this time, or so I'm told. Joanna couldn't remember if she had screamed for her own mother when she gave birth to her twins, a little more than fourteen years ago now.

The maid fumbled in the orangish halflight, some poor girl on loan from Dowager Queen Rhaella, just as the room was on loan. As strings pulled tight and fabric was tugged, Joanna reflected on the path that had brought her and her beloved to this glorious moment.

Nine moons before had been the lavish double wedding at the Sept of Baelor. Cersei had insisted her brother be wedded to his new lady wife, Elia Martell, the same day she was, and the charming Prince Rhaegar had happily accepted… or at least what passed for happiness with that boy. Not boy, I shouldn't think of him as such, but he's so young… better than that father of his.

Joanna shuddered at the thought of Areys, grunted when the maid apologized for how cold the room was.

The oily hair, the sharp fingernails, the foul breath of the departed king still haunted her. The way she had flirted with him, fawned over him, in the way she and Tywin had schemed. She and Tywin understood each other, and made agreements for things like this. For the good of their family.

It made Rhaella hate her again, sure, but Rhaella had hated her before when Areys wanted her. How Rhaella's eyes had burned when the betrothal was announced!

Rhaella might have forgiven her if she knew what had come next: the slowly dosed pinches of poison into his cup every night, helping him sleep soundly, sure, but also slowly killing him. Areys had died around the same time Cersei had announced her pregnancy.

If only Elia was so fruitful, Joanna thought bitterly as she slipped on her slippers, and followed the maid out of her chambers. Though, truth be told, it wasn't her fault. Joanna and Elia had spoken once on the subject, before she left the rock a moon and a half ago. Elia had claimed that Jaime only visited her bed once a fortnight, and often had issues… oh how did she put it, 'sustaining himself'.

And then, to make matters worse, the boy had insisted on leaving his bride at Casterly Rock and coming with her for Cersei's birth. "She's a Queen, with a husband, and soon a baby. You're the only son of Tywin Lannister, the heir to the Casterly Rock. You should be worrying about your own wife's-"

"Elia is a good woman, charming, but Elia is not Cersei" Jaime had said back.

She should have hit him for that. Screamed at him, told him how disgusting they were. But that wasn't in her nature. She was a lion in the sense that she would do anything for her cubs, and all she could do was sigh sadly and tell Jaime that he could come. "But every night until we leave, you will take Elia into your bed and do your duty." Jaime had paled at this notion.

Her soft slippers carried her soundlessly across the stonework halls of the Red Keep, the full winter moonlight sucking the crimson from the walls where it slipped through the windows. She heard the screams of her only daughter long before she reached the chamber.

The scream felt eerily familiar. As it should, she guessed, she wasn't her mother's only child, and servants gave birth all the time. But still… this scream gave her a headache, and made her feel faint. She paused, pressing her hands to her temples. She heard a hoarse whisper, hissing The deal is sealed. Your life… and she whipped her head around, but only the confused maid was there.

"Did you say something?" Joanna asked, her throat sore from sleep.

"No, milady," the girl shook her head furiously. Joanna sighed and kept walking.

It appeared that, with all the screaming, no one in the Red Keep was sleeping. King Rhaegar stood between his dearest friends, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and Lord Jon Connington, the Hand of the King.

Joanna couldn't help but feel unease at the young, fire haired Hand. It should still be Tywin, she thought bitterly. Lord Connington had an energeticness to him that Rhaegar utterly lacked, and yet the two were thick as thieves.

Joanna bowed to Rhaegar. "Your Grace, how fares the young Queen?"

Another scream shattered the air. "That seems to speak for it," Connington murmured, and Joanna shot him a glance.

"Maester Pycelle says the labor is quite robust, Lady Joanna," Rhaegar said with a polite nod.

"Yes, it has come on very quickly and strongly," Pycelle said, appearing from seemingly nowhere over Joanna's shoulder. "Surely a testament to the strength of the son within."

"Have you thought of names for the babe, Your Grace?" Joanna asked. Of course, she knew Joanna wouldn't be a choice, or Tywin.

"Cersei has been insistent on naming her daughter Myrcella."

"Not a very Targaryen name," came another voice from behind, this one just as familiar to Joanna, but not as friendly. She turned and saw, near a window, sat the dowager Queen, with her five year old son Viserys curled up on her lap. At least someone can sleep through the noise.

"I beg to differ on that one, Queen Rhaella," Lord Connington said. "I would almost call it a reference to the Princess' grandmother, as both names end with 'ella'"

For once in her life, Joanna was thankful for Lord Connington. "And for a Prince?" Joanna asked.

Rhaegar sighed. "Since I was very young, I've wanted to name a son of mine Aegon. Cersei has been very insistent that this child will be a girl, though." He looked uncomfortable at that.

Part of the reason why Joanna had come for the birth was the hysterical letters she had gotten from her daughter. Cersei had been spouting nonsense about a cruel old sorcerer, and her friend Melara's death when they were children, and burning. None of this she had shown Jaime, or anyone but Tywin, but it was obvious that Rhaegar had heard at least one raving.

"None but the Seven know a child before it's born," Joanna replied.

"But the Seven Kingdoms will know soon enough," said an aproned young midwife, entering the accompanied by another scream from Cersei. "Lady Lannister, your daughter would really like you in here."

"Of course. By your leave, my King," Joanna gave a courtesy, motioned for her loaner maid to stay in the outer room, and entered the bedchamber.

A large fire roared on one end of the room, lighting much of the chamber and boiling water and wine. Lit candles covered most of the surfaces of the room, their small flames flickering and almost going out from the draft that came through the open window. Along with a pair of midwives, one old and one young, the room was filled with the ladies in waiting.

Lady Wynne Whent was there, the pretty maiden daughter of Lord Walter Whent, as was Miriah Blackwood, the younger sister of the newly ascended Lord Blackwood, Tytos. These girls were still in their dressing gowns, listening keenly to the sharp orders of the elder midwife.

Ashara Dayne was sitting at Cersei's right hand. She patted it gently and cooed quietly, the firelight making those violet eyes dance. Jeyne Farman, Cersei's friend since childhood, was wiping her forehead.

Joanna was disappointed that her nieces, Cerenna and Myrielle. She had brought them along to be her own handmaids while she was in King's Landing, but had handed them over to Cersei upon arrival. Oh sure, Wynne and Miriah and Ashara were from important houses, but that was almost threatening to her daughter. Rhaegar was promising young king, Aerys had been too at that age, and everyone knew his lecherous eye. Cersei needed to be surrounded with family who would advocate for her, Joanna had decided, and Cersei had taken the girls in.

Her children, as selfish and daft and spoiled as they could be, were family, and family was all that mattered in this world of intrigue and infighting. A house that fought itself would be swept away by an invading force. But a house that grew, that gathered allies and sent out chutes only to be woven back into the main branches, that was a house that thrived.

And that was what Cersei was doing as she screamed in the predawn gloom, tears running down her face as the fluids associated with birth ran down her thighs.

The fresh scream brought Joanna back to reality. "Cerenna, Myrielle, don't look so green. You'll be doing this in a few years yourself. Now go fetch…" but she didn't quite know what to tell them to fetch. The only times she had been in a birthing chamber before this, she had been in the bed.

"Maybe I'll be a septa," Myrielle moaned, falling against Cerenna.

"Oh hush and be helpful," Joanna hissed again before leaving them in the corner. She went to her daughter's side, waiving away Ashara Dayne. Her daughter was not the usual picture of prettiness and poise that Joanna had taught her to be, but who could expect her to be in this moment? She was nearly naked, only a small shawl thrown over her chest. The long golden curls were hastily pulled back from her face, tied at the nape of her neck with a cloth, and her legs were spread, bearing her gaping cunt to either midwife.

"I'm here, Cersei, it'll be over soon and you'll have a Prince-"

"Where is Jaime?" Cersei panted, not even looking at Joanna. "I'm dying, I can't die and never see him again."

"You're not dying, sweet Queen," Joanna cooed to her daughter, petting her head. "Your husband, the King, is outside waiting, and Maester Pycelle-"

"I want Jaime!" Cersei wailed, and Joanna cringed. Jaime was, as he had been every night since they arrived, behind a locked door with loyal Lannister guards outside of it. They were under no order to let anything disturb him, or to let him leave at night. She had been careful about allowing him anywhere near Cersei, keeping him busy with appointments during the day and making sure whenever the twins were together, they weren't alone. They'd seen each other over dinners with the king, him stopping in to Cersei's sewing circle with her ladies, but never, never alone, and never would he be by her birthing bed.

"Hush my sweet, just focus on bring your child into the world. You're going to be a mother soon."

"I'm going to be dead soon!" Cersei screamed, the end turning into anguish.

"Every woman feels she's going to die the first time she goes to her birth bed," Joanna said flatly.

"We can see the head, my Queen!" There was a thud in the back of the room, where one of Joanna's nieces had fainted. Cersei's hands gripped her mother's hand, and Jeyne Farman's hand, and Cersei screamed when prompted to push.

But Joanna's mind was gone. It had fled to a far away time, the last time she had gone to the birthing bed.

That second time had been far before Joanna's nine moons had passed, her stomach still small. There had been pain, but not as much pain as the twins had broght. She and Tywin had laid together nights before her pains came, whispering names, tasting them, feeling them out to see what felt right. Tyrion, they had agreed for a boy, but for a girl they debated. Tywin had wanted Janei or Lanna, and Joanna wanted Rohanne after their mutual grandmother.

Joanna screamed all four of these names, sobbing as she lost her child. Her last child.

A child, she suddenly remembered, she had agreed to lose.

X X X

It was a dream, Joanna was sure. A grey frosted field under a grey frosted sky, a creature of shadows standing before her.

You will die. Soon, as soon as that baby within you quickens. Your death will be the downfall of your house, your husband will turn bitter and brittle, your golden twins will damn each other with their sick love, and the one within you will slay your own love. The war brought on by those will distract the realm from a truer threat, and then...

There were visions of blood and snow. Her own Tywin slumped over, a crossbow bolt through his belly. Her Jaime losing his hand. Monsters scampering over ruined blocks of ice. More and more vile visions...

"STOP! Stop, make it stop…" she had screamed, then whimpered… then the visions did stop, and it was just her and the creature.

It shifted forms as it spoke, from black wolf to black goat, to a hooded, genderless figure, always shifting, only staying on a given form long enough to make it out before it curled in on itself again.

The voice came at Joanna from all sides. I can make it stop, I can save you. You'll see your daughter a Queen and your son a lord, hold Rhaegar's firstborn child, your firstborn grandchild, within your arms. It will be as you have wished it, and I can give it to you… for a price.

"What's the price?"

First, the babe within you must die. You will never fall pregnant again, your twins will be your only children.

That thought broke her heart. She had been so happy to be with child again, she and Tywin had always wanted a large family... but there would be grandchildren to dote on, grandchildren who would be Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies…

"I agree."

Wait… there is more. By agreeing, you will damn another to die the death you would have died. Another woman, at another time, in another place, will have her own body torn, ripped by her own babe, a babe she will never hold or care for. You doom that child to grow without it's mother's love.

"I agree," Joanna said again, immediately. Women died in the childbed all the time, in their stinking huts and dusty hovels, leaving their first dozen babes motherless all the time. It was the way of lesser women, she had been told, and told how lucky she was to be a Lannister.

Her Tywin needed her. Her Jaime and Cersei, her cousins and family, they all needed her, and she wouldn't let some nameless backwater woman dying shadow her conscious.

The deal is sealed, your life for your babe's life…

She had woken that night, so many years ago, from a nightmare she couldn't remember. Her bed had been full of blood, and she had hidden the lifeless, deformed body of her little Tyrion before calling for help. She had refused to let anyone see the stillborn, not even Tywin. She wouldn't let her shame be used to shame him.

X X X

She was back in Cersei's bedchamber, in the Red Keep. She was there, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that figure again, shifting, slinking out of view as Joanna turned her head.

The deal was sealed, your life for your babe's life. The life of your unborn babe, and the life of this grown babe, damned to die the death you would have…

The scream pulled her back, and her head whipped around as the midwives pulled a babe from between her daughter's legs. "A healthy princess!" The young midwife proclaimed, lifting the screaming infant up.

"Oh… oh no…" The older midwife proclaimed, her eyes widening. Joanna looked, as Lannister crimson gushed after the baby, pulsing, pushing out more and more with each beat of the Queen's heart. Cersei's hand went limp in Joanna's hand, and Joanna saw how pale Cersei had suddenly become, like ash. Like the dead.

The Queen's eyes rolled into her head, and she moaned "Jaime" once more as her neck lost it's tension and her head fell forward.

"Maesters!"

"Towels!"

"A Septon, quick!"

Joanna was shaking. She let go of the corpse's hand she'd been holding. She knew none of that was of use now. Her daughter had been right all along, it seemed. She went to the midwife and took the bloody infant from her. Another woman, at another time, in another place, will have her own body torn, ripped by her own babe, a babe she will never hold or care for.

The babe had emerald eyes, a true Lannister green, but the platinum Targaryen hair of her father. Other than that, her little face was smushed, as all new babies are, and Joanna couldn't place any familiar traits in the nose or mouth. The memory of those words echoed through Joanna's thoughts, taunting her. You'll see your daughter a Queen and your son a Lord, hold Rhaegar's firstborn child, your firstborn grandchild, within your arms. It will be as you have wished it...

And that she had. Joanna had seen her daughter the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms for six moonturns, and here she was, holding her firstborn granddaughter as her own precious daughter slipped away. My fault, all my fault….

She sat by the window, wrapping the princess tight in a blanket, and her own skirts. The little girl's hand wrapped around her finger. You doom that child to grow without it's mother's love.

"Little Princess," she whispered as the baby's cry died away. The windowsill was a moonlit island of calm in the chaos brought by the young Queen's death. All decorum and respect for Cersei's dignity had been forgotten as maesters, septons, and courtiers seemed to flood the room, trying to help a useless cause. "You will have your grandmother's love. You are still a Princess, and I swear no one will ever forget that. You will always be a Princess, a Targaryen yes, but still a Lannister. Little silver lion, little green eyed dragon… little Princess."

Joanna looked up, and her eyes met another set of eyes, deep indigo eyes below an onyx and ruby laden crown. There were no tears in her green eyes, and no tears in the indigo eyes. She could hear crying, but it sounded so distant. Nothing existed in that beam of moonlight but the two sets of eyes, and…

"My King, may I present you to your firstborn, your daughter, the Princess Myrcella."

X X X

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy the beginning of this story! This is my first time writing fanfiction. I am in love with the Song of Ice and Fire books (not as much the later seasons of the show, I avoid these please don't spoil past season 5), the world George RR Martin has written is just so enthralling. I hope my love for the world shines through in this AU timeline piece.

I have a plan for 5 parts to this story, each part will contain multiple chapters. I want to keep as true to the characters Martin has built, but at the same time exploring the butterfly effects of my divergence point.

I'm excited for feedback. If you see any flaws in the timeline I'm working off of, grammar or spelling issues, anything at all please tell me so I can thank you and take your advice/fix things.