G.O.W

Disclaimer: Everything except the divergent Plot Line and a few O/C's belong to G.R.R Martin.

"Enough Tom, it's time we end this! Fulguris!" Harry snarled, a bolt of lightning shooting out from his wand, only to slam harmlessly against the Dark Lord's powerful shield charm.

This was it, the final confrontation between Light and Dark. Harry was prepared to die, shooting spell after spell, uncaring of his quickly dwindling magical core. He couldn't afford to hold back or fight with cunning. Brute strength was all he knew, the disadvantage Voldemort unknowingly placed upon himself when he took Harry's blood into his body was making itself known quickly.

Any spells the Dark Lord used would no doubt harm him, but it would never kill him, no - only the Killing Curse could finish the job, and even the Strongest Dark Lord in recent memory couldn't fire it off continuously.

"Don't be foolish Harry! I will give you this one last chance to surrender, bare your neck and no more magical blood will be shed!" Voldemort cried out, batting away Harry's stunning spell and flicking his wand, sending a bright blue light to the side. Harry merely ignored the strange action, not willing to shift his attention from his opponent.

"Enough blood has been shed - by you! Sectumsempra!" Harry screamed, anger fueling the dark curse, giving it an extra kick. The cutting curse managed to cut Voldemort on the knees, making the Dark Lord drop ungracefully.

Quickly taking advantage, Harry made to cast a disarming spell when something smashed into the back of his legs, dropping him on the spot. The boy-who-lived landed harshly on his knees, scrapping the skin below the denim jeans.

'That light just now!' Harry cursed in his head. It was a technique only duelists of the highest caliber used, to curve a spell, and Harry had fallen for it like an amateur. Both his legs were now mangled horribly, he couldn't feel anything from the waist down anymore.

With a pained grunt, Harry pushed himself upwards on his hands, looking into the eyes of his greatest enemy, who was also on his knees not a few feet away from him.

The two stared, eye to eye for a few moments, keeping silent. Green met Red, Light met Dark - and with an unspoken signal, both of them snapped their wands forward, casting their final spells in tandem.

Again, Green met Red once more, the two spells crashing into one another in the middle, creating a devastating whip of fiery magic that made the ground hiss as it melt from the essence.

Harry could feel himself waning, dark spots dotted his vision, yet he knew he couldn't yield, he must kill this man before him. For neither can live while the other survive.

Then out of a sudden, Harry felt Voldemort's Killing Curse dissipate, the man in question gasped in horror, looking like his doom had appeared right before his eyes.

Making use of the unexpected opening, Harry quickly cast the disarming spell, and was surprised to see it actually worked. The Wand of Destiny flew through the air and toward him. Harry easily caught it in his hands, and when he looked back, Voldemort was already disintegrating into the winds. Harry didn't know what happened, but somehow somebody had killed the last Hocrux, allowing Harry to fulfill his destiny.

The war was finally over.

After months, nay years of fighting, Harry had finally fulfilled the prophecy. Voldemort was defeated by his own hand, the vile wizard's ashes scattered throughout world.

Harry was tired, he could feel in his bones, his very magical core, the heart of his magic was depleted almost completely. He'd dredged up every drop of strength he could call on to contest the Dark Lord's Killing curse. Harry's trembling hands were forced to let go of his two wands. The Holly and the Deathstick, which was now his by right.

'Not that any of it matters now.' he thought, grimacing. It was taking all he could to just stay conscious, he forced himself upright, steadying himself on his knees, wincing as he accidentally rubbed against an open wound on his thigh. His war-torn jeans were in a sad state, it probably matched the rest of him, Harry thought.

He could hear multiple footsteps converging on his location. Harry sighed, finally he could get some rest. The war was over and now it was time to start the rest of his life. Harry snorted, all his life his purpose was to kill Voldemort. Now that Ol' Tom kicked the bucket, Harry felt... empty of a sorts. Like he didn't know what else to do.

After months of fighting, killing and torture, Harry was slowly finding his existence to be quite dull. His romance with Ginny had quickly burned out rather pathetically. He couldn't even be bothered with his best friends anymore. It was always fight after fight, and now after fighting his whole life. The thought of going back to being a normal student irked him somewhat.

"-harry! Harry look out! No!" a voice screamed, Harry recognized it. It was Ginny, she was warning him, but Harry was too weak. Forcing himself upright, Harry prepared to face this new threat, but could not force his body to move.

The next thing he knew, something shiny had pierced through his chest, from his back.

'Huh?' Harry thought dumbly as he stared at the now bloody blade of Gryffindoor. His trembling hands grabbed at the razor sharp metal as he fell face-first into the dirt. He tried to turn his head, to see which coward had stabbed him in the back but his injuries prevented him. Terrible Coughs wracked throughout as blood spluttered from his pale lips.

Harry cursed as his eyes closed and he breathed his last.

.

.

"Don't worry, you'll breathe again soon enough." a dark rich voice stated in amusement.

'What the hell?' Harry thought as he shot straight up. He gawked at the new location he was now in; King's Cross. His eyes scanned the environment for a few seconds before his eyes widened in terror. Looking down, Harry quickly patted himself, his jaws dropping in astonishment as the wound, every wound actually was non-existent.

"Over here Harry." the same voice called out, making Harry spin so fast he looked akin to a blur.

His eyebrows slowly rose as he found himself staring at an unassuming middle-aged man dressed in a crisp Italian suit. The mysterious man was shorter than even him, held what seemed to be an expensive cane and funnily enough possessed a six-pound haircut. His face was gaunt, although it appeared to be the facial structure rather than lack of sleep and food.

"Err..." Harry muttered in confusion as he tried to figure out what exactly was happening.

"Right let's get this over with then, I assume you know where we are?" the man questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Harry opened his mouth to say King's Cross but stopped himself short. This place looked like an exact replica except that everything was white. Just like when he died the first time.

"I'm dead aren't I?" he sighed despondently.

"Very astute Mister Potter, it appears that you find yourself no longer among the living. We are now in a place called Limbo and I, am your guide." the man replied.

'Guide?' Harry thought to himself, weird, he expected something more... menacing?

"That is because I don't want another one running and screaming his head off Mister Potter, Death does not enjoy playing tag." he continued, not even bothered by the fact that he revealed he was reading Harry's mind.

"You're the Grim Reaper? Er.. sorry then sir, I didn't mean any offence." Harry said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Then suddenly, he remembered how he came to be here, and anger filled his features.

"Someone stabbed you in the back, yes and no, I can't tell you who so don't bother." the man quickly said, cutting Harry off.

Harry was incredulous, was he serious? Harry quickly grew annoyed. He had been treated like shit by his own family, almost been killed by a Dragon, Basilisk, Death Eaters, fought wars and stabbed to death before he even got laid. The least he could get was the name of his murderer! The coward had ruined everything for him! He had plans after the war! He was going to...he was going to travel the world..and..be an Auror and then... oh who the hell was he kidding. Harry had been absolutely prepared to die today. He couldn't really find it in himself to be angry that he actually did, just annoyed that he was stabbed in the back.

"What now?" Harry said, feeling lost.

"You will be reborn." the man - no, Death, simply said.

"I- I thought that...I mean, why?" Harry was stumped, he was prepared to go into the afterlife, to finally be reunited with his family!

"When you defeated Voldemort and took the final Hallows from him, you became the so called 'Master of Death' from that exact moment till you died. The Master of Death is just that. You cannot die, and so you will be thrown into the cycle of Reincarnation forever more, accompanied by your experiences from your previous lives until the end of times." Death droned on, as if he was reading from a script.

"Fortunately for you, I have authority to choose when and where you will go, so tally ho! Off to Westeros with you!" the man cried out with fake amusement and proceeded to snap his fingers. Harry felt a familiar tuck on his navel, his eyes widened in surprised and anger.

"W-wait! No wait! You motherfu-!" his screams of defiance echoed throughout King's Cross, the recipient of those screams merely stood there, examining his fingernails till the sounds completely disappeared.

"Such language is unbecoming of a prince you know." the entity said as it slowly disappeared into nothing.

Harry opened his eyes, only to close them as the bright rays of the sun shined into them. He felt lethargic and sore all over. His eyes blinked rapidly as they slowly got used to the light. Quickly scanning his surroundings, Harry was not pleased to find himself in an unfamiliar location. At first he thought that maybe he was back in Hogwarts, seeing as the environment was almost a replica, but then he remembered Death's last words.

'Bloody git! Where the hell did he send me! and why do my arms feel so weird!' he raged mentally as he tried to stretch his body. Harry brought his arms forward to crack them only to freeze up in utter shock.

Two chubby little baby hands met his vision.

'What the fuck!' he tried to scream.

"Waaahhhh!" was what actually left his lips.

Sounds of panic came from outside the chambers and a young lady dressed in a drab, brownish medieval dress came running in. Harry on the other hand, was in the process of losing his mind. He thought he had gone insane, was this what Death meant when he was to be reborn? Harry didn't think he would literally be reincarnated. What sort of madness was this?

Here he was, in a fucking crib, swept away called 'Westeros' with no idea who where or what he was! The girl who just entered practically sprinted to his tiny crib, her red hair whipped about and her green eyes were wide with panic as she picked him up.

"There there little Prince, everything's fine now.." she cooed, stroking his cheeks and kissing him on the forehead. Harry just stared at the new arrival, completely transfixed upon her face. His cries of anger abruptly ended, his blue eyes also wide with shock.

'Mum!?' he screamed in his head. What the hell was going on here? Death had a lot to answer for! Who was this woman that looked exactly like Lily Potter? He had so many questions and only one person could answer them. Harry wasn't even sure how to get into contact with Death, he was completely stumped.

"See? Everything's fine now child, Anna's here, we're going to celebrate your first nameday tomorrow my Prince...-" the woman continued, rambling on, thinking that it was her voice that calmed the Prince down, which wasn't entirely untrue.

'Who the hell is Anna? Mum it's me! Harry!' the baby in questioned shouted, only to curse as a baby's cries escaped instead.

And so begins the tale of Crown Prince Orys Baratheon, formerly known as Harry Potter.

Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm was having mixed feelings. Everyday he thought of his beloved wife Lyanna, whom had died of fever, alone in Dorne. How afraid must she have been. Kidnapped and separated from her child, all alone in a foreign land.

Robert growled menacingly in the Iron Throne, he wished Rhaegar Targaryen could be brought back to life, just so he could crush him again. That was what the fucker deserved for stealing his beloved. Robert was willing to let the incident at Harrenhall slide, he told himself the Crown Prince bestowing the title Queen of Love and Beauty to his wife was a compliment. He should have killed that damned Dragon right then and there.

Robert was saddened and enraged to hear his Good-Father and brother had been executed at the Mad King's orders. They were just as furious as he was at Rhaeger's unexpected crime. Robert himself had received the raven to halt his bannermen's rally and prostate himself before the King, to for his supposed crimes. It didn't take long for the sparks of a Rebellion to burst into a raging inferno.

Robert knew he had to kill the Targaryens if their family were to live in happiness and safety. Ned and Jon hadn't needed much convincing, the Tully's however had demanded an alliance through marriage. The Lannisters and the Ironborn kept silent, choosing to stay out of the conflict. Dorne had no choice in serving as the Mad King's personal cannon fodder. Robert didn't know what the hell the Tyrells were thinking, choosing to support a fucking Mad Ruler for a King.

The Rebellion lasted for a year, ending swiftly when Robert and the Crown's forces crashed against one another in at the Trident. He remembered clearly, his Warhammer smashing against that breastplate filled with those fucking rubies.

And now he was to marry Cersei Lannister, to thank her father for joining the Rebels at the very last minute and sacking the very city which was to be his Home as King. Robert wanted to take Tywin's head for himself when that damned Old Lion presented the bodies of mutilated children to his new King, assuming it was a big fucking prize for a him! Robert almost puked at the sight of those tiny bodies cloaked in Lannister shrouds. That could have been his little Orys...

Damn Jon Arryn! Robert didn't want to marry anyone! If Lyanna couldn't be his Queen then no woman would. No one was good enough to replace her, especially some Westerlander woman whom was rejected by The Last Dragon. Already he received whispers through Varys, regarding plots to disinherit his first-born son, because apparently Orys was born before he ascended to the throne.

They wanted his little Stag to be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands instead, inheriting what should have been his originally, and giving The Iron Throne to his next son with Cersei Lannister, who would be born as a Prince, to a Queen and a King. Hah! Simply fucking ridiculous! Orys would be a perfect King, the intermingling of Stark and Baratheon blood would give birth to the greatest Monarch in Westerosi History.

Ah... the thought of his beautiful son always brought a smile to Robert's face. Orys took after him in the most obvious of ways, the seed of Baratheon was strong after all. Robert only hoped that his mother's features would emerge when the boy grew up. The newly crowned King cursed the gods for taking his wife away from him, for taking his son's mother from him.

Robert was scared, he knew he couldn't raise a child all by himself, hell he was a grown man and he couldn't even take care of himself! The King sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. Lyanna would know what to do, she always did. He remembered the first time they met, she was only five-and ten, a bit younger than he was. Her fierce determination, her confidence, her fiery temper, Robert loved everything about her. He thanked the Seven that this beautiful girl would be his.

Robert remembered going horse-riding with his enchanting she-wolf of a wife. Lyanna rode like the wind, it was as if she was half-a horse herself. Robert never won their races, but when it came to hunting, it was there his skills outshined hers. It was during these adventures where the two truly grew close. Lyanna confessed that he wasn't what she expected. The Stark had thought that he would smother her, keeping her in a castle where she would be forced to be a mere high-born wife, sewing silks and taking care of the children, not being allowed to do whatever she wished.

His open-mindedness, kindness and charm was what made Lyanna fall in love with him, even when she knew that Robert would have a bastard born soon from a night with a serving maid in the Eyrie. She even said once that she would like to have the girl with them in Storm's End, to be raised with her father. She couldn't bear the thought of the baby being cast out, not even knowing her sire. He knew right then and there that Lyanna was the only woman for him.

Robert then quickly ended his time in the vale and with the blessings of Lord Rickard and Jon Arryn, they quickly married ahead of schedule in the Eyrie and within a few weeks, the couple were pleasantly surprised to learn about the gift blooming within Lyanna. Lyanna had originally wanted to name him Steffon, after Robert's deceased father but Robert insisted that he bore the name of their forefather Orys.

When he son finally came, Robert finally had everything he wanted in life.

Then everything went to shit.

He knew he shouldn't have gone to that fucking Tourney in Harrenhall. Lyanna was still weak from childbirth, her young body was strained terribly during childbirth, after all she was only six and ten. But the news that everyone would be there prompted Lyanna to convince her him to make the trip. She missed her brothers terribly and so, Robert caved and the family of three journeyed to the Cursed Castle.

Now he was King, but he had lost everything.

A/N: A strange twist in the Black Prince genre. Hope you enjoy!