Hi.


Chapter 1: My Black-Haired Beauty


285 AC

A gentle hand held the child's, a mournful tear falling from her green eyes as the man began to angrily command the healers to do something or anything to save the child.

The individuals were the King, Robert Baratheon, and his Queen, Cersei of the House Lannister… And Grand Maester Pycelle.

Three days ago, there was a violent summer storm, it was cold for several days, and a number of young children throughout the city had died from a chill, and unfortunately, the baby and Crown Prince had caught the sickness.

Cersei prayed for the first time in years, begging the Mother to save her baby, who was so strong, but no child should have to be this strong. It was cruel to make him go through this.

Her firstborn coughed again, crying and whimpering from pain that racked him. "Shh… " She whispered as her hand went to her stomach and felt her next child, conceived not too long ago from Jaime.

Pycelle came to her side, "Let me, my Queen."

She wanted to snap and make them all leave, she had enough of Pycelle poking and probing her son.

Robert came to her and put his hands on her arms, "Cersei… " She whipped out of his grasp as she had tensed with his touch, reminding her of the nights he would stumble on her drunk and lusting, taking his 'rights'.

He didn't back down and pulled her away, but as gently as he could, Cersei turned back and heard her son cough whilst thinking this may have been all her fault.

The Gods were punishing her for her intimacy with Jaime, they had to be, and for what she had done to her friend as a child. She cursed the Gods but also prayed for them to have some mercy.

Jaime was waiting for them outside, her twin placing a hand on her shoulder, "Sister, how is my nephew?" He asked her with great concern in his voice, and Robert silently watched for a moment before sitting down and drinking from his sack of wine.

"He looks so ill, his sweat is hot, then it is cold, I... " She stuttered to speak anymore should tears fall from her face. She wished she could embrace Jaime for comfort or any semblance of support.

Pycelle and his assistant returned moments later, "I have done all I could, your Graces. I fear the Crown Prince's fate lies with the Seven… " No, it cannot be.

She pulled from her husband's hold and ran back inside the chamber to be with her son, "Get out!" She screamed, and Robert angrily pulled on Pycelle's chains, ready to hit him but threw the old man aside and began hitting the wall with that fury he seemed to conjure up.

It was a fury she envied but only for her enemies, not in sadness or when her child was hurting.

"Please... You have taken my dreams, and my Mother, do not take my son... " She whimpered as her hand held her son, "Henry doesn't deserve this..."

She stayed with him throughout the night, Robert had slunk off to his chambers, and Jaime volunteered to 'watch the Queen and Prince'. Her husband didn't pay much to it and let it be.

"Cersei, you need to sleep." She won't, not until she knows for certain that Henry will make it through the night.

She didn't take her eyes off her son, "The Gods took our Mother, I won't let them take my son." She swore and put a hand on her baby's own.

His breath was so shallow, that she could barely hear it.

The next morning had come, and she didn't know when she had fallen asleep, her green eyes fluttered open slowly, and then she widened them, seeing her son wasn't in his bed, and immediately shot up to her feet.

"Henry!" She shouted, fearing the worst and that none told her.

She was slightly put at ease when she went out of the chambers and saw Robert, their son in his arms, and Henry looked to be laughing with a smile.

Robert turned and approached slowly, "He had crawled out of his bed early this morning when I came to see him, our son is healthy." He is, she beamed and looked to cry as she took her son's little hand.

Not even the Gods could take him away, it seemed, and she hadn't even realized she had embraced her husband while taking hold of their son.

296 AC

Henry Baratheon, twelve-name days old, and his little brother, Joffrey, who was eleven-name days old, were in the training yard.

Watching over them was Queen Cersei Lannister, and training the two boys was Barristan Selmy.

"Prince Henry, you must watch your feet! Prince Joffrey, I insist you keep your shield up." Cersei leaned in worry when Joffrey nearly whacked his older brother up on the head, "Guard, my Prince, keep your eyes on the weapon."

Henry seemed to tire from today's session, he had never recovered physically since fighting off the stranger years before.

And Joff, being the second son and spare thought to wield a blade over the last three years, and has been with his elder in the training yard.

Nine-year-old Myrcella tugged on her skirts, "Mother, Tom threw his cake at me!" Indeed he did, Cersei thought and leaned down and picked it off the teary-eyed girl.

Tommen, even at four years, isn't very courteous, about as rowdy as Joff was when he was a babe.

"My Prince!" Barristan cried out, and she quickly turned and saw Henry lying on the ground, Joffrey was at his side, and her eldest looked to have gone unconscious.

She rushed down, leaving Tom and Cella with their caretakers, and hurriedly made her way down to her other children.

"Get the Maester!" She screamed furiously at the Kingsguard, returning her attention to Henry, "Come on, my boy, please wake to mommy!"

Robert and Jaime were the first to arrive, Maester Pycelle slinking behind like a slug with his tools. The Hand, Jon Arryn, and his boy were the last, she almost shouted for Lysa's pestilence of a child to leave lest he hands his ills to her own son.

Joff didn't look too concerned, in fact, her second son seemed indifferent to what his elder sibling was going through but Cersei put it out of her mind and continued trying to comfort her firstborn.

Gently, they all took Henry to his chambers where she once more prayed for mercy, Robert tried consoling her like before but she was far from desiring such affection from the man.

The doors opened, and Pycelle exited, "Tell us, what is wrong with him, Pycelle?" Robert asked, not making eye contact with the man and simply looked into the room as she was.

Pycelle sighed deeply, and Jon Arryn narrowed his eyes, "Hurry, Maester, as this was not the first time."

No, this had happened thrice in the last few years. The first was when Henry rode for the first time, she remembered him laughing happily but was suddenly worn out when he was done.

The second time was walking from the Red Keep to the Great Sept for prayer with the High Septon.

And now, this...

"His body is far too weak for anything too strenuous, I, he will live, but... He cannot do things as other boys can." That was never a bad thing for her, so long as her son was comfortable and safe all his life, she would call that a victory and live with it.

Robert, on the other hand, wasn't alright with his son not being exactly like him. "Are you saying he can never fight? What if war comes when he is King? What if he couldn't lift a sword, let alone ride a horse... " Robert stormed off without another word, and Cersei had to bite her tongue, or else she would have called him a bastard for saying such things.

Her eyes widened when she saw Henry had heard everything Robert said, and his eyes looked hurt, angry, and ashamed of himself.

Joffrey had also walked off, She turned to Lyla, her maid, "Take Myrcella and Tommen to their rooms."

Myrcella tore her hand away then, then ran inside her brother's room and hugged him tightly, "I love you, big brother! Always!"

Henry seemed stunned but a warm smile soon formed as he reciprocated the embrace, "I love you as well, sister." Cella kissed Henry on the cheek before reluctantly leaving with Lyla.

Alone, she strode over and sat on her son's bed, he was twiddling his fingers and avoided her stare, "Look at me, son." And he did.

She used to struggle, seeing Robert's face every time Henry looked her way, it made her feel horrible and ashamed to call herself a mother. Cersei reached her hand and stroked her son's cheek, seeing his black hair dangling in front of his beautiful blue eyes.

"He's going to hate me. I know it- "

"Your father would never hate you, Henry, you are his firstborn and heir." Robert just never knew another way to be a leader, he was a warrior, plain and simple, and thought anything less was a craven.

"I'm weak, a- A King has to be able to fight for what is his!" Henry said aloud, and he was right, but not all fights are done on the field of battle, she would have him know this.

She sighed, folding her hands over her lap, "Did Daeron the Good fight with a sword or his mind? Did Aerys the First compete in tourneys or duels?" Henry shook his head at both of her examples, "You are different, yes, but that doesn't mean you are weak, or will be a weak King."

"But father- "

"Your father will realize his faults and come to ask you for forgiveness, he is quite stubborn like that." She was happy to hear him laugh, even if he wasn't Jaime's, he had her brother's laugh. "Now, rest and gather your strength, Henry." She kissed her son on the forehead before rising and leaving the chamber, and she saw the new Kingsguard knight on duty, "Ser Arys, right?"

Arys is a handsome man with light-brown hair and a comely face. He turned and lifted his helm from his head, "Yes, your Grace."

"I want you to be my son's personal guard, be with him at all times and guard his secrets, be loyal to him as your future King." She commanded, and Arys looked a little unsure of what to do but nodded.

"With my life, my Queen."

On that, she turned and left down the hall, returning to her own room.

297 AC

It was early in the year 297 after Aegon's Conquest when Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, Lord of the Vale, and Hand of the King died at the age of nine and seventy, leaving behind a widow and a son of six.

The Silent Sisters circled around the late Hand's corpse in front of the throne room, their incensed lanterns letting smoke leave a flowery smell about.

Elsewhere throughout the castle, a young man of thirteen was playing on a harp, and his hands delicately pulled the strings to the tune of 'Alysanne', a song created for the Good Queen and wife of Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

It was one of the few things he enjoyed doing, as training in the yard for too long had a habit of exhausting him to an early slumber.

"Henry!" He pulled too hard, a string had come loose, nicking his finger slightly and causing it to bleed. He quickly used a loose piece of cloth to wrap it, setting down the harp to his stand.

Cool eyes of blue scanned and found his youngest brother standing by the door, Ser Arys was giving him an apologetic shrug.

"Yes, Tom, what is it?" He asked, and Tommen ran to him with tears falling from his eyes, "What's this about?"

"It's Joffrey, he threw my duckling over the wall." Henry frowned, thinking of his other brother, his cruelty getting worse by the year, it seemed.

Soothing his little brother, he spoke, "I will get you another duckling, maybe a cage and a leash as well." Tommen seemed to calm with the promise.

He had just given that duck to Tom on his last name day, the mother had been taken by a predator in the water, and he saved it despite the risk to himself doing such an action.

It was for this reason, he would be traveling in the wheelhouse to the North soon.

Henry was sorry for the loss of Jon, and felt worse for his wife and son, who had left before the bells rang to announce the Hand's passing. Was it suspicious? Not really, as Lady Lysa and Lord Arryn held very little love with one another.

"Ser Arys, let's find my Mother, hand Tom, and Joffrey's cruel behavior to her to handle." He said and rose from his chair, taking Tommen's hand and the knight leading the way.

Along the way, Tommen asked him what the North was like, and he couldn't really say.

The farthest he had been from the Red Keep was just outside the city whenever his father threw a tourney, and his weekly visits to pray at the Sept of Baelor.

He has, however, read up about the North from the castle's library.

"The North is said to be the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, that it is vast with hills, rivers, bogs, and forests." It is a wild place, Pycelle stated with a sneer when he asked, but Henry had to admit he was a little excited to see it. "Some in the south call it a savage place for savage men, or so the books tell... "

He was more interested in seeing Winterfell, Moat Cailin, and the Wall. The last may as well be a fantasy though he wished to see it someday.

Tommen gleamed, "It sounds scary, like the tales mother tells about grumpkins and snarks."

"Indeed, little brother, so I insist you be on your best behavior, or a Wildling will steal you while you're sleeping." It was in jest, but the words were written by Grand Maesters who have seen it tell it as fact, and it was frightening.

Of course, Tommen didn't shy away, "Then let's hope one steals Joff, he's the naughty one."

Henry laughed, "Now, now, Joff is a cruel little shit for sure, but he is still our brother," And cruel little shits aren't worth crying over, so his uncle Renly says.


AN: How is everyone? I am doing very well, sorry for my absence, as Starfield and soon Phantom Liberty will be taking up plenty of time.

For this reboot of the last one I wrote, I wanted to do the Black Prince differently as the ones before had been peerless warriors and commanders, not to say Henry won't lead well I just wouldn't put him in the top ten swordsmen of Westeros (that role is more for his Kingsguard anyway).

Now farewell.