Notes: Some people have come to me saying the scene with the gods was out of character for the Harry I have portrayed. At first, I was hesitant. I liked the scene I had written. But, a reviewer had called it anime-ish and I re-read the chapter with earnest. They were right. It was completely anime-ish. That wasn't what I was striving for. I wanted to write a cool scene. But, I reexamined the story and the part the Storm god would play. I realized, that it wasn't a very big part. It was so negligible that even if I put ANYTHING else in its place, the story would pretty much be the same. So…I took it out.

It wasn't until I read a very thorough review from coldblue that I realized I could fill that chapter with other things, people, etc. that would actually help the story. It would save me time from introducing certain things and people. So, I rewrote it and revised other chapters I have written. As I was writing it, I realized that I could do so much more now, because I would not have to search for places to incorporate Njörd. I also could focus Harry in a direction I wanted. I wanted to show the power of mankind. So many people use too much magic, too much outside influence that they forget that mankind has done all kind of great things without magic or gods (maybe in the name of a god), but without their direct influence.

I hope you guys like the re-work, I tried really hard to make it realistic and less 'anime'.

CHEERS!

289 AC

He had never been so angry in either life. For all the tragedy that had befallen him in the past, never had Harry been so enraged. Not when the people who called out for him to save them turned against him; fickly hailing him as a saint one moment and cursing him as a sinner the next. Not when he had discovered that his entire life was one giant scheme perpetrated by a senile, old man. Not even when his godfather had fallen through the Veil.

Never.

But, as his sister deteriorated, stepping closer everyday into an early grave, Harry's fury brewed in his chest like a storm. It grew to colossal proportions, threatening to explode if the wind caressed him in correctly. But, he held it in. His parents already had one child to worry over, Harry would not give them two.

Behaving was the only thing he could do.

When it had all started, he had prayed; something to do, something to feel as if he was helping somehow. Everyday, every moment he could, Harry kneeled before the gods the septums spoke so highly of. They were supposed to be gracious, merciful, and just. The Mother was supposed to protect children and the innocent.

Well, where the fuck is she?

It was as fair a question he had ever asked. If the gods where so merciful, so just, then who in all the hells that were and will be did little Shireen slight so badly as to waeeant the sentence of death through grey scale. She was only two moons old and already slated to die. Where was the mercy the priest ranted and raved about. Where was the justice?

His sister would not have to die for Harry to kill what little faith in the gods he had. His old life was one of magic, why would it be so hard to believe in gods. But, his magic had never failed him; acted in a weird way or not respond if treated with disrespect, but it never failed him when he had needed it. The gods had failed him, failed to prove the existed. He had went to them on his hands and knees for days, begged and pleaded, offered them anything including his own life, and what did he have to show for it? What did the 'just' and 'merciful' gods do?

They showed him that for being seven gods, they were just as useless as seven deaf, dumb, and blind mortals. Worse even, as at least mortals would let you know they were deaf, dumb, and blind. The 'gods' didn't even have the deceny to tell him 'No'.

All they gave him was silence. In his time of need, in his time of suffering, when he raised his voice to them, they said nothing.

So, Harry decided to return the favor. He would give them silence for their silence. He would say no prayers to them, give them no praise, and shun their priests. What good were words of priests whose gods did all of jacks-shit?

He would give apathy to them, just as they showed it to him. Harry would not rage at them, give them the attention they wanted. He would not give them satisfaction of thinking they broke his will. Harry would stay with his sister, give her the love she deserved, and be thankful whether she lived or died; for as short or long as it was or would be, he at least had had the pleasure of having a sister. If she died early, Harry would not have her question in the afterlife where he was. He would be next to her until the bitter end. If she lived, she would never question his love or dedication to her. When he would become Lord of Dragonstone, his little Shireen would want for nothing.

Harry was to make his way to his sister's bedchambers when Muirgen opened the door. Her look was so stern that it would have been misplaced if not for the current situation of the castle.

"My lord, you have a visitor and a message from the Princess of Dorne." She said, hiding her body behind the door.

"I will see no one until my sister is gone or better. Arianne will understand me not writing right away." He said, pouring himself a cup of wine. It would serve to calm him before seeing the extremely disheartening sight of his sister.

"Your sister is why you have a visitor, my lord. She is some priestess, to some god across the sea. She says she can rid little Shireen of greyscale."

Harry wanted to scoff. His own gods did not help him, gods that he had been blessed under when he had been born.

His father had offered riches fit for a king . Many a man and woman claimed to be able to cure Shireen. Maesters, clerics, witches, priests, and priestesses they all claimed to be back to do what others could not. And they had all failed in equal manner.

Still, she was not getting any better. What harm would come from another try, it was better than doing nothing.

"I will see her." He commanded, sitting behind his desk. It was a thing he had learned from his father as a child. When Stannis has used to scold him, he always sat behind his desk as if it was only the offending object that would save Harry. If the desk were not between them he would be in danger. It used to always set Harry on edge making him feel insignificant and small, at least until he grew older and learned the secret to such a strategy.

The priestess to enter was not what he had been expecting. Most septas were old, undesirable, and stern faced. It was a common joke amongst the kingdoms that their vows of celibacy had robbed them of all pleasurable faces. They did not smile or laugh much from what he had seen, causing their wrinkled skin to form frown lines so deep that their expressions would forever be dour.

But, not the woman Harry mentally called the red priestess, for just about everything she wore was red. From the red flowing silk gown, reddish hair, and plump red lips. She was taller than most men he had seen, but not to the degree of Muirgen, with a body that was almost perfect in its balance of slender stature with the right amount of curves to exemplify her status as a beautiful woman. It did not surprise him when she walked into his study with grace befitting a dancer.

What did surprise him was the aura that accompanied her. It was a sense of something he had not felt in a long time and not in all of his travels over Westeros.

Magic.

The woman was no common priestess, but one who was imbued with magic. Not as heavy as some of the great wizard and witches of his old world, but enough for his senses to sing.

"Greetings Azor Ahai, I am Melisandre, priestess to the one true god, R'hllor. I have travel far to finally meet you." She greeted, her voice sonorous, polite, and oddly seductive.

Harry would have been entrance if she had not gotten his name wrong. But, that was not what he cared about. She could have called him a horse's pimply arse so long as she could do as she said.

"You said you could heal my sister. How?" He asked, though feeling as if knew the answer.

"I can do many things, the lord's chosen. R'hllor lends me his power to do many great deeds, see many great things. It was only through him did I find you."

The woman was obviously insane, but Harry could feel her power. He just did not know if it would be enough to fully heal his sister.

"Why not go to my father with your services? He is the one offering the reward. I do not have as much as he to offer."

"But, you do. It is you that has what I desire, not your father, Azor Ahai." She had said that name again. It was almost as if it were a title, but it was not one that Harry had heard of or earned. The way she answered all his questions in a way that only led to more questions also annoyed him greatly. His temper was already at an all time high, the woman was going to push him off the edge if he did nothing to stop her.

"Speak plainly. Explain fully before I lose what little patience I have." He growled.

"I did not mean to offend, but it seems I have. I apologize." Melisandre said with a small bow. "I have seen your face in the flames. R'hllor has chosen you to lead the fight against the Darkness and sent me to show you the one true way of the Light."

Harry snapped. She had said so many words that meant absolutely nothing.

"What does that have to do with healing my sister!" He roared at her. "I said speak plainly witch! But, you spend more air on nonsense. I don't care if you worship fire, water, air, or the earth. How are you going to heal…my…sister?" His breathing was deep through the nose, an attempt to calm himself, so he would not give the command for Muirgen to run the woman through. It was on the tip of his tongue. But, it would not have been just.

"The Lord of Light, R'hllor will cure your sister through me. She will live, cured of fever and scars. But, for such a great feat requires a great price. I will take the disease from her and place it in you." Melisandre finally explained.

"You would cure the babe only to kill the son? Are you fucking mad? My lord, give me leave to dispose of this woman." Muirgen exclaimed, hand already on her sword.

But, Harry held up a hand to stop her. It was not a price he was unwilling to pay. He had offered his life to the gods in exchange for Shireen's. To go back on that now, even if it wasn't them to answer, would make him an oathbreaker. No one would have called him it, but Harry would think himself one.

"I will give my life for my sister's." He intoned, standing tall. Harry would not go kicking and scream to his death. He was to willingly die for someone he loved, he would accept his fate with dignity.

"You cannot be serious, my lord." Muirgen said, roughly passing the red priestess, "there will be another way. I know you love your sister, but you cannot be sure that you will survive or that this…woman," she spat, "can even do as she says."

Harry just shrugged.

"If she cannot do as she says, then you have no reason to worry. As for surviving, so long as Shireen does I do not care." He said in a tone that let her know the matter was closed. She showed her displease by bearing her teeth at him, before spinning on Melisandre with murder in her eyes. Before his Sworn Shield could get out a word the priestess of R'hllor spoke past her.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken Azor Ahai. I only said that you would have greyscale, not that you would die. You have still much to do before the Lord of the Light accepts you into his embrace." Her words made Muirgen freeze in relief, before skepticism set in.

"Greyscale is always fatal in grown men. Children are known to be able to battle it, but even that is no guarantee. Shireen will have a better chance of defeating the disease than my lord would. She may come with scars, but her chances of survival are higher." Muirgen practically shouted at the red headed woman.

"That is where you are wrong. He has something that his sister does not," Melisandre explained without explaining, "The light of the Red god R'hllor is within him. It is a bright fire that will burn the illness to ashes."

"So I just…take it and that's it?" It was Harry's turn to be skeptical. There was no way it was that easy.

"No, there is a price." Of course there was. "All things come with their prices, I just said you would not die."

All their arguments were nothing. It didn't matter. He would pay the price. He took the woman by the hand. If not for his urgency, he would have noticed the surge that traveled between them. Harry had never transversed through the castle as fast as he had with the witch in hand. Servants scurried out of the way at the sight of him, his face set into a very impressive scowl.

He bypassed the guards guarding his sister and shoved the door as if the thing had deliberately offended him. His mother and father were actually civil, sitting together at Shireen's side. Harry saw Maester Cressen administering another concoction to his sister. He had lost count of how many the wizened man have give his sister. Harry did not want to be hopeful, but could not help hoping that it would be the last.

"Heal her." Harry said pointing at the babe who wriggled and writhed in agony. He was thankful she was silent. His heart would not have been able to bear it if she cried out. Harry could only take so much of seeing her struggle, seeing her pain before his own ache became too much to bear.

Melisandre reached into her long flowing sleeves, but Harry had seen such things before. Powders to create colored smoke. Showmanship. Not something he cared for. His fingers curled around her arm in a iron grip.

"No parlor tricks, no gimmicks. Just heal her, give the damn thing to me and let us be done with it." He was trying to stay calm, lest his excitement transfer to his parents. His father looked at if to say something, but Harry just held out a hand as if asking them to wait. Stannis was not happy, but nodded his consent.

Melisandre tilted her head in a respectful bow, removing her hands from her sleeves. She showed him her empty hands to show her sincerity. The priestess made her way towards the child, cooing at it as a mother would, and place a hand on the babe's face; it was where the scales had started to form.

"Be brave young one. It will only hurt for a few moments." She whispered before chanting underneath her breath. It was an act Harry could appreciate. Melisandre could have chanted loudly, testifying to whose strength and power she was using. But, she did not and Harry appreciated it.

He had felt her magic and was not at all convinced that is was because of a god.

Shireen cried and screamed like she was being set on fire. From the smoke coming from her face, Harry was inclined to believe it. He had to hold Muirgen back and his father kept a firm hand on his mother's shoulder. It seemed like an eternity that his sister shouted in anguish. He had to steel himself from pushing the red woman off, fearful that if he stopped her, 'treatment' would not take.

After forever, Melisandre pulled away sweating profusely and dropping to the floor. Her hand was covered in silvery scales, but glowed with power. Harry rushed past her to look at Shireen. The anger he had felt early that day turned into joy of equal measure. She cooed for the first time since he could remember, looking up at him with the blue eyes of his House. Harry made to take her, but Melisandre reminded him of the price he had to pay.

"I cannot hold it forever, Azor Ahai. I weaken by the moment. It must be now." She grunted out painfully.

He could have left her with it, allowed her to suffer the ordeal that his sister had went through. But, that was not his way. His sense of honor would eat at him if he did. Harry had made the bargain, his life for Shireen's. He would live up to his word.

What was a man without it?

Harry knelt in front of her, ignoring his mother's shout of "No!" She would understand, his father would understand. Just as his father would keep his word about a reward, Harry would keep his word of taking the disease into himself. He had no idea if Melisandre's words about his 'fire' burning it away and frankly, it did not matter.

He did not flinch as she touched his face, the same side that Shireen's affliction had been on. He did not flinch as he felt her transfer him the greyscale. But, he did keel over when the soothing warmth of her magic disappeared.

The feeling of being beside a warm fire was replaced with…pain. It was a poor word to describe what he had felt, for no words would ever be able to explain just how truly awful it was. Harry could fully comprehend why his sister screamed and cried day and night. If felt as if gravel had invaded under his skin, scraped at the walls of his veins, and froze his blood. Simultaneously, he started a fever. He felt so hot that it was as if his skin would melt from his bones, scales and all.

He did the only thing he could do.

Scream.

Harry yelled long, hard, and angrily. Never had he felt such pain. No heartbreak or no failed dream would ever compare. No wound by sword or arrow or spear or mace would ever trump what it felt like to have the disease inside of him, spreading, threatening to overtake him. Shireen had weeks for the illness to spread, but with Harry it multiplied exponentially, fueled by Melisandre's magic. He had no need for air, paid no attention to how his throat started to crack and bleed, or the voices of the others in the room that were just background noise to him. Even, the happiness of his sister being cured left his mind.

He only knew pain. It blanketed his mind like the furs of his bed covered him on chilly nights. It was all encompassing and brutal, oh so brutal.

It was a surprise that a voice broke through the fog his mind had become. It was not Shireen's cries, his father's stern voice, his mother's doting tinkle, or Muirgen's devoted belief in him. It was the echoing voice of Melisandre, that seductive, soothing flame that guided him back.

"You must fight Azor Ahai. This is nothing. You are the Lord's chosen. He has filled you with his fire, his power. There is nothing in the darkness that cannot be banished by the light. So fight, Azor Ahai. Fight because the darkness you face now pales in comparison in what is to come. You must be strong. Fight!"

As her voice faded, Harry felt it.

The presence he had felt inside of himself for so long, but could never touch. The aura that surrounded Melisandre when they had first met; a feeling he had thought long gone, a memory of a past life. It was not as strong or bright as he remembered. It was a lit match in a sea of blackness, nothing much at all. But, it would have to do lest Harry succumb to the darkness in his entirety.

So, he reached for it, commanded it and it obeyed. The pulse was close to nothing, a blip in a room full of noise. Harry was thankful that was all it took. He thought he would find himself wishing that potions were an actuality in his world, but he had made due with a spark of what his magic had been.

The disease fought, raged against him, but Harry would not be cowed. He had fought through the pain and would not allow himself to be cast back. He did as Melisandre said and fought with a will that would rival the most stubborn beasts, pushed the grating feeling that loomed over him, wanting to turn his flesh and blood into stone.

If his waiting for Shireen to be healed was an eternity, then his battle with greyscale was two. But, he preserved and beat it back, equating the strain to fending off a lion with a twig.

Harry was now surer than ever that the gods did not exist. It was not the gods that talked to him, that helped him.

It was him who did it. His magic. His will. The stubbornness that had followed him across dimensions or universes or whatever anyone wanted to call it. He did it.

If the gods had been at work, if the powerful and undeniable beings that kings and peasants alike bowed to had their hand in it.

Then, Harry would not have passed out from the burden.

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT. LEAVE A REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK.

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