Title: how way leads on to way

Summary: This world has no need for her, offers no destined paths and fated battles, for it is not hers to save. [Was never meant to be saved.] But Harry — Harry, whose father was brave enough to face Voldemort head on, whose mother was brilliant enough to outsmart him, Harry, who has Lannister blood running through her veins and magic purring under her skin — Harry will reshape it all the same.

Elyanna Baratheon is born with the breathtaking, terrifying might that is a life free of a prophecy's shackles. Luckily, she's got twisted family drama, an ill-timed reawakening of the Magic of Old and the powder keg that calls itself the political climate of Westeros to keep her occupied.

Pairing: Robb Stark/Elyanna Baratheon(Harry Potter)

Tags: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Master of Death Harry, Reincarnation, Gender Changes (And Subsequent Issues) Due To Reincarnation, WIP, Family Feels, All The Usual Stuff You'd Expect Of Westeros, Arranged Marriage, Morals Are Not Needed In Westeros, We Save Those For The Real World, Robb Stark Is A Gift, Sibling Bonding, Of The Stark And Lannister Kind (Though Each Family Separately Of Course), Not Gonna Lie It's Gonna Get Messy, BAMF Harry, Arranged Marriage, Family Issues, All The Lannister Family Issues, Slowest of all Slow Burns, Protective Joffrey, Insightful Joffrey, Now There's Two Tags I Never Thought I'd Need, Unreliable Narrator, It Takes A Long While Before Robb Shows Up Though, Be Prepared To Be Patient, This Is Family And Friendship First Romance Second, (Yes Even Between Robb and Elyanna), Don't Worry Though There Will Be Romance, The Tag Isn't Just Decoration, Not A Fix-It, More Of A Break-Things-Differently, Identity Issues Due To Reincarnation, tbc.

part i

281 AC

They do not tell her that he is dead, but she knows.

[Not Harry! Please, not Harry! Take me instead!]

She knows when she demands to hold him. Her son, her little boy, a tiny, wrinkled thing with black hair and flushed skin. He is perfect and empty and gone, and she clings to him. This small, beautiful child the world will never have the chance to break. Clings to him as she cries, sobs, screams, desperate and mindless with it.

They take him away and Robert holds her, not soft, never soft, but strong like their son was not meant to be, and she has never felt hatred like this, never wanted to make someone bleed like this — has never thought of flames in their infinite greed, the terror and pain of the burning, has never thought she would one day understand the Mad King so well, would want to set the world on fire and watch it burn—

She screams. Her throat aches, but she doesn't stop, feels like she's chocking on it, the grief, the loss, the pain.

The pain doesn't abate and it is not until her midwife cries out that she realizes it is not just her mind — her heart — that is consumed by an agony she has been ill-prepared for. It is her body as well, blood and water dripping down her shaking legs still and she curls into herself when another wave of pain hits her, barely aware of the septon urging Robert out of the room, the calls for fresh water and when will it end—

[They did not expect a second child, for indeed, how could they have foreseen such a blessing?]

It takes forever and no time at all, before the sweetest sound she has ever heard fills her ears: a child's first cry, weak and painfully shrill and so utterly alive she weeps with joy.

"A daughter, my lady," her midwife whispers, and does not protest when Cersei demands to hold her close.

Her arms are trembling with the effort to support the little head, just as dark as her brother's and just as soft to touch, and as the child's cries quieten and Cersei feels the soft, barely there puff of breath against her sweat-covered collarbone, she knows a love she has never felt before. So deep, so utterly all-consuming, she could drown in it and a kinder death she could not imagine.

She barely notices the king's return to her chambers. Barely feels the heaviness, the solid shape of him at her side.

[She has no room to spare for anything but this, a treasure all her family's gold could not have bought her, nor indeed be worthy of the miracle the Seven have granted her.]

Robert's hand shakes as he reaches out. Brushes bloodied knuckles gently over a downy-soft cheek, with a care she has never seen him show anyone but the dead. It does not surprise her when the king opens his mouth, no question or hesitation, as he announces with gruff solemnity, "Her name is Elyanna."

[It breaks her heart, or what little is left of it for the husband she cannot bring herself to love, when all that she is and will be is consumed by this little bird in her arms. But this is not a bitterness that will fester tonight, for tonight they are in agreement with each other. Tonight, they have created something far better and purer than either of them could ever hope to be. And Cersei cannot, will not forgive, but, for tonight at least, she allows herself to forget.]

"Elyanna of House Baratheon, princess of the Seven Kingdoms," Robert continues, strong and uncompromising, a truth written into stone so that it shall never be undone.

"My lord," the maester murmurs, worry aging his face beyond his years as he leads Robert away. "If I may, I urge you to wait with an official announcement for at least a fortnight. I fear the young princess may not make it through the night."

The maester takes care to speak quietly, wary of her state of mind perhaps or simply correctly guessing that Cersei would have thrown something at his head had he stood a little closer — and if she did not have to let go of her child to do so.

She would have been tempted to do so all the same, had Robert not interrupted the maester. Impatient and cackling with barely tamed violence like her brute of a husband always is. It does come in handy on occasion.

"I will hear no more of this!" he snaps. Orders the maester to see to her and the child and leave the ruling to the one crowned king, already striding back towards her side — towards their daughter — as he does so.

And then quieter, but no less determined for it: "She will be a princess worthy of the name she carries, for mark my words: She will live. Her blood is strong."

Looking down at the small, flushed face, so much and not at all like her father, Cersei cannot help but agree.

[Cersei has never loved Robert, only ever the idea of him. A love that has been torn asunder by careless cruelty and dismissal. A love she has no interest in learning to regrow. But in this moment, she comes as close as she ever will. It settles something, within her and between them. An understanding that will not mend what has been broken, but may yet solidify into a foundation to be built upon.]

The babe snuffles, one tiny, little fist clasped tightly around Cersei's finger, and its grip doesn't loosen until it falls asleep.

And Cersei. Cersei is exhausted, tired beyond measure. Covered as she is in blood and grime and sweat, she wants nothing more than to sink back into her ruined bedding and sleep the barely dawning day away. But she doesn't dare close her eyes. Too afraid of what may lie in wait in the darkness, too afraid what she may find once she wakes. [Another child gone. Another not yet grown body, still and cold.] She watches instead, entranced, as the child in her arms sleeps on and Robert lingers, the quietest she has ever seen him be.

Hours later, she wakes, eyes wet with tears, chest heaving with terror, to the demanding cries of her firstborn daughter.

[The maester's warnings of a body born too early and too weak to survive continue, and in another life Cersei might have believed him malicious and foul, might have had him hanged or worse, but she cares not for one grey rat or another. She has a daughter who needs her. A daughter she will not leave in the hands of wet nurses and maids, barely lets out of her sight — for if she lost her — a daughter who, despite the warnings and the concern and the lacking weight, keeps on breathing.

"She will be a breathtaking princess with a beauty to rival your own, your Grace!" a lady from one minor house or another gasps in awe.

No, Cersei thinks but does not say, as she carefully turns her little girl away from the far-too curious eyes of the vipers surrounding her, her smile as lovely as it is cold. She will be Queen.]

end of part i

Full disclosure: This was a spontaneous idea I wrote down in 45 minutes. I have about 1.67% of a plan on where to go with this fic. But it's the first time in months that I've felt truly inspired to write something, so I figured I'd post it anyways. Hopefully it will give me some added incentive to stick with it.

What do you guys think? This is me dipping my toes into 50% of a new fandom, soooo. Intrigued? Worried? Not interested at all? Let me know if you would like to see more!