Special thanks to my Dad he helped a lot in getting the finer details in line. Yara Greyjoy is modeled after the profile picture of her (as Asha Greyjoy) in the ASoIF wiki.

Hey guys! We are almost at 1k favs. I'm so happy. If we get to 1k before next Sunday, I'll upload a 2nd chapter :D

The rewrite is going well. I already have about 20k words in two chapters. I want to get a good amount of chapters in, so you guys aren't kept left waiting. I don't like when it happens to me, so I figured I wouldn't do that to you guys.

People might say that Yara is OOC. But, it's important to keep in mind that Balon hasn't gotten his talons in her yet. She'll still be her, for the most part. But, I've had to change her because of that fact. A lot of aspects of her are characteristics I've heard of, seen, or was told from female friends. I thought important to obtain a woman's perspective as the character is female. That being said...my friends aren't the most...normal people. And that is including the voices in my head. So, when reading, keep in mind that Yara is...well, fuck it. She's going to be OOC from the Asha/Yara we know from George Martin's work.

Hope you guys like it none the less. Leave a review to let me know what you think :D

291 AC

~YARA~

It has been two months since her arrival at Dragonstone. The castle of the man who had crushed their ships at the Fair Isles and the boy who had killed her brother and forced her father to bend the knee.

If she were honest with herself, Yara would have said it not so bad. Even from her room in the castle, she could smell the sea and feel the breeze's light caress. But, she would never let them know that. She was their prisoner no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

A gilded turd was still a turd.

A knock came at her door. Judging from the position of the sun in the sky, Yara knew who it was. The boy she had wanted to despise.

She had drawn all sorts of images of him in her head: a tall, lumbering, and dimwitted beast the most popular. He had to be strong and tall to force her father to bend the knee. It was almost disappointing when he was of average height. He was broad across his chest and shoulders with strong legs, but he was no giant as she had imagined.

He was no dimwitted beast either.

At their first meeting he spoke warmly and politely, every part the courteous gentleman. He offered an arm, gently forcing her to take it when she had not done so freely. He kept mind of her strides and was polite to servants, knights, and guards alike. His kind would have been seen as weak on the Iron Islands, particularly because of his…complexion.

Harry Baratheon was pretty.

Not in the sense of a woman, but he had none of the roughness of the young men Yara had known in her home. Men of her home were salt, piss, and vinegar. Harry was water, sweet wine, and honey. The sort of man green-land women would feel trembles in their knees for. He held himself with a soft-spoken dignity that did not match the stories she had heard of him as he battled at Great Wyk or Pyke.

His eyes were what gave him away to her, told her of what sort of person he was. His eyes were as bright as emeralds, but sharper than any gem. Calculating. Yara would never have imagined herself engaged to such a boy in her worst nightmares. Soft-spoken he may have been to her, but she knew the saying.

Speak softly, and carry a big stick.

Pretty. Sweet. Intelligent.

They were not words she could successfully attach to a man she had imagined to marry. A dimwitted brute that only knew of raiding and sailing, she could handle. Men of that kind were easy enough to lead around by the cock. She had seen enough women do it. Seen enough men make fools of themselves over a buxom figure and warm cunt. More often times than not, the comely appearance was absent.

Any port in a storm, they used to say.

Handsome, smart men were not so easily controlled. Their minds were traps for animals, not of one. They could will events to happen with their words and cut men down to size with their tongues faster than any blade. Of course, being good with a sword helped.

It was a dangerous notion and Yara did not know if she was to be happy or pissed at her upcoming union to such a person. Delighted because he was more than she expected or crossed because he would not be easy to cow.

She had been given a fair amount of freedom within the keep and already she had heard the whispers about her. Thankfully, none of them were about her seducing the young lord of Dragonstone. She did not know if her stomach could take it. The rumors of him taking her as a saltwife as show of his strength, to enforce Balon Greyjoy's kneel, that she could take. For them to think she fluttered her lashes at him and seduced him…such thoughts made her want to vomit.

She was Iron Born. She did not seduce. If Yara had any notion of wanting Harry, she wouldn't have seduced him. She would have taken him wherever she damned well pleased. A part of her knew that it was just pride talking. The young man had slaughtered her brother Marion and brought the King of the Iron Islands to his knees weeping and crying like a newborn babe.

But, for all her apprehension of him, Harry was…docile. He reminded her of the few times her father took her sailing. The way the sea rocked softly, like a mother trying to lull her to sleep. Calm. Inviting. That was how Harry was, not at all like the monster she expected him to be. The monster she desperately wanted him to be.

The door opened slowly without her permission. A head of black hair peered inside cautiously.

She wanted to snort.

He always entered slowly. As if she where always ready to lob an axe at him. The thought had crossed her mind and had been more than tempting. It would have served no purpose. Her father explained what was at stake.

But, if given the chance, Yara probably still would have. The real reason she hadn't was because she had no damn axe to fling.

"What in the bloody hells are you wearing?" Where the first words out of his mouth, his face twisted into a confused look.

Yara looked down at the dress the Lady of the castle had demanded she wear. Two moons of holding the woman at bay, two moons of wearing what she damn well pleased, and the woman would have no more of Yara's cheek. She had threatened to have guards' hold her down while Selyse stripped her bare and forced her into it. Yara very reluctantly gave in to the demand. She would rather have damned herself than allow the green-landers to paw at her like a piece of meat.

"Do you not like, my lord?" The title came out sarcastically.

"Your mother…suggested it." She growled, as she glared at the offending fabric. The stupid dress was sickeningly beautiful and definitely not something Yara would have donned by choice. Just having it touch her skin offended her. She would not abide with his mocking.

"Ugh," Harry groaned, "You'll have to forgive my mother. She has a picture in her head and anything that contradicts it does not suit well with her. I will wait outside, hurry up and change." He said as he turned on his heels and made for the door.

"But, your mother-" Yara tried. She would not tell him what happened, would not ask for his help. She was Iron Born, not some defenseless little girl. Though, in reality she essentially was for that occasion.

"I will handle my mother. Change." Harry commanded, as always his voice eerily gentle. Yara could almost delude herself into thinking it a request. But, she was not that naïve.

The dress could not come off fast enough. She grumbled the entire time about indecisive, fickle green-landers.

He was waiting for her outside of her quarters, with his back to the wall, arms crossed and fingers tapping at his sword hilt. She did not understand his need for a sword in his own castle. Initially, she thought it was Harry being cautious around her. But, from what she had discovered from the servants willing to talk to her, he always had his sword. Strange from what she understood of green-landers. She preferred believing he feared her.

Harry noticed her as soon as she came from her room. She was much more comfortable in clothes similar to his own: a leather jerkin over grey linen tunic and knee height leather boots that went over simple trousers. He seemed to appreciate how she filled it in, the trousers clinging to her long legs and jerkin stretched over her modest sized breast. If he were a man of a different composition she would have pegged him for having lustful thoughts. But, she doubted that was the reason he wanted to meet with her that day.

He presented his arm to her as he always did when she walked beside him. But, seeing as her arms stayed crossed Harry grabbed one of her hands and placed it on his arm as had become their custom.

She was strangely compliant when he made to do it himself.

They walked in silence and Yara, not for the first time, admired the walls of Dragonstone. They were strong walls of stone that were well kept considering the humid climate of the island. There were no mildew stains or water streaks from the rain or sea. It was with short order they made their way to the top of the castle, a beautiful view of the sea awaiting them.

He did not talk, merely held her hand on his arm, and Yara was not going to be the first to speak. She had tried to take her hand back once, but one of Harry's hands clamped over hers. Not harshly, but firmly and a look accompanied the action as if challenging her to try it again.

She did not.

"What do you want, Yara?" He asked, still looking into the ocean, finally let go of her. She could have been snide or sarcastic, but saw no point in it. She did not like him, but could respect the fact that he did not want to be married to her as much as she did not want to be to him.

"What does it matter?"

"I want to know." He replied, casually leaning his arms against the stone wall that came to just above his hips. She made no question to answer, instead stood her ground with her arms crossed. Harry looked at her with a raised brow and motioned with his hand as if to say 'well?'

"To command a ship." Yara gave in.

"Done." He interjected before she could go further.

His statement made Yara snap her gaze in his direction, mouth agape. No one just promises a bloody ship.

"Just like that?" She questioned, more than skeptical.

"Well, no, there is a price." Harry replied nonchalantly.

And there it was. Everything had a price.

He looked to her with a tilt of his head. When he spoke no words, she could only have guessed to what he wanted.

Her hands made her way to her jerkin, touching the buttons questioningly. What else would he want from her? He was going to get it anyway, what was a little earlier in exchange for a ship of her own. She would be free of Dragonstone with something to sail on. Yara knew she would have to be back eventually, but she could spend most of her time on her boat. She almost snapped at him when he took her hand in his.

"No, not that." He informed her, paying no attention to her glare as he took her hands away from her blouse and used one hand to redo the wooden toggle she had managed to slip off.

He was sure, confident, and not at all bashful. It was no stretched of the imagination that he had undressed a woman before. Probably many with the dexterity he demonstrated.

She frankly did not know whether to be impressed or offended.

"The price is my trust." He informed her, smoothing down her jerkin, touching her as if were the most customary thing to do in the world. She could not fathom why she did nothing to stop him. It wasn't lecherous or seductive, just done, like how a father would smooth his daughter's dress. The fact that his hands were so close to her breast did not even seem to register with him.

"And how do I go about buying that?" came her sarcastic reply.

"By listening." Harry replied bluntly. Yara shrugged, if that was all she had to do then it was a small price to pay. He didn't say she had to agree.

"I have always wanted to make Dragonstone great. We grow little, we have little, but we are in prime positioning in the sea." He preached, once again turning to stare out into the vastness.

"Aye. A strategic place to hold in case of invasion by sea." She agreed, but Harry just looked at her disbelievingly.

"No, not war. Trade." He said with an exasperated shake of his head.

"We control entrance to King's Landing, which holds roads north, south, and west. The opposite is also true. Merchants could sail to White Harbor but roads inland are dangerous and freezing. They could try and dock at Storm's End, but bigger ships would have to peril Shipbreaker Bay. They could go through the Sea of Dorne, but pass too close to the Stepstones, which is filled with brigands and pirates. Gulltown and Wickendon are mountainous terrain that would be extremely hard to travel. We hold the best entrance in and out of Westeros. We could become a central hub for trade and create great wealth for our Houses."

It sounded interesting, if a bit broad in its design. There were many things that needed to be filled in with specifics. The part to catch her attention most was 'our Houses'.

"And how can my House benefit from the wealth of Dragonstone?" Ignoring the fact that in short order, she would be of House Baratheon of Dragonstone, not House Greyjoy. If Harry had not acknowledged it, then she wasn't about to.

Yara did not believe in the Old Ways and did not like them at all. It made the Islands weak. If they killed for everything, there was always a chance of them being killed. And if they could raid to their heart's content, there would soon be nowhere to raid. They would have taken it all or people would eventually move more inland, better securing the few ports they would need to keep out of necessity. They were the best sailors of the seas. They should be ruling it, not using it to raid and run.

"Greyjoy do not sow." She stated.

"Well, that's good because I'm asking you to co-own what can be one of the largest merchant fleets ever to sail…not become a farmer." Harry replied back with a playful grin.

Yara found the stupid look infectious, as her the corner of her lips curled of their own accord. Only slightly, but there was no doubt he saw it. And once he saw it, Harry's eyes lit up. He knew he had her attention.

"You wanted a ship. I am offering you an entire fleet of ships."

Yara saw how happy he looked as he talked about his imaginary venture. He damn near glowed when he went on about it. It would have been nothing for her to crush his dreams, to talk small to him, but Yara could not find the heart in it. There was no purpose in her being needlessly cruel. It helped she found herself genuinely intrigued.

It would take much planning with learned men who could cover the logistics. Harry would have to find some way to fund the entire thing. Even, with only twenty ships they could rake in a significant amount of coin in a year. Not anywhere near the amount he was expressing, but enough to live decently as nobles.

"What would I have to pay in return?" Everything cost something. She may not believe in the Iron Price, but she knew that she would not gain all he promised without something in return.

"Not much, just convince the Ironborn to lend men and ships." He said offhandedly.

Yara could feel her face drop as she just stared at him with a deadpanned look. He may as well have asked her to give him the moon or to fuck her where they stood like a halfpenny whore. Both were more likely to happen than the lords of the Iron Islands giving help to him. He who men sung praises about for his actions during her father's rebellion. He who sunk numerous Ironborn ships and killed countless sons and friends of the lords she was to convince.

"Oh, is that all?" She asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes even as she leaned on the stone next to him.

"You cannot tell me that they all believe in the Old Ways. There are always some that go against the grain." He said, completely missing the point of her sarcasm.

"Of course there will always be. But, what of the rest? A few Houses of the Iron Islands, one that my father surely will not be part of, even if they agreed, they will not loan enough ships to make a difference. That would open them up to attack from other Houses. And what backing would they have to so willingly accept this proposal, ours?" She scoffed at the thought. They would be called young and foolish. Laughed at for an idea that while promising meant nothing coming from those so inexperienced.

"Well, of course ours. But, my father's too." Harry replied back with an equal scoff, his more jesting than her ridiculing one.

"I will convince him. It would not be such a hard thing to do. He will more than likely be pleased with the idea. Running a business is like being a lord. And with his support as Master of Ships, it puts us at an advantage."

Yara turned away. He had an answer for everything. That did not mean she would not poke whatever holes she could. For it to work, all the bases would need to be covered. One weak point and it would shatter like a ship crashing against rocks.

If she could think of it, then someone from the Iron Islands could as well. It was just their nature. They did not trust green-landers.

"There will still be Ironborn who want to raid. That has been too ingrained into some of them. They will not like paying the gold price." She was surprised when Harry just smiled. He clearly already had an answer.

"Then we let them." He leaned in close to whisper in mock conspiracy.

His breath tickled at her ear, his voice unnaturally husky. She could not stop the blush gathering around her neck and cheeks. Yara forced her eyes to stare straight ahead, not chancing a look at him or his stupid grin.

It may have been her imagination, but she would have sworn Harry was trying to seduce her. What else could he be doing with his enticing promises of gold, power, and raiding?

"Are you trying to seduce me?" She asked, not quite believing it. The entire notion sounded ridiculous as soon the words hit air. Even under torture Yara would have denied the slight hitch in her voice.

"No," Harry replied in shock, before his face morphed into a grin and he further invaded her personal space until their shoulders touched, "Unless it's working…then yes."

She could hear a voice in the back of her mind telling her to step away, not to allow him to get too close. But, her body refused to obey. Instead, she struck him in the arm with her elbow and garnered a laugh. She would have slugged him, but lacked the control to even make a proper fist.

She didn't know what it was, but the boy was maddening.

The worse part was, whether he meant to or not, his inane seduction was working. His words were alluring, enticing, and all the other 'ings' that made caused her confliction. His stupid laugh was like a siren song. Drawing her into peril with his undeniable magnetism.

But, Yara would force herself to resist. Her elbowed found his arm again, just to do something. There was no telling what else she would have done if she hadn't.

"You would support raiding of the coastal towns?" Yara asked, not bothering to reply to his unasked question, not trusting what her answer would have been. Her mind said 'no', but she could not fully trust her body. Maybe when it started listening to her. When her fist actually listened when she commanded it to punched him in his pretty face to wipe that gods-damn enchanting grin off. Then, she would trust herself again.

"No," he chuckled, causing her skin to flush even more. What in the name of the Drowned god was wrong with her, she was blushing like some silly little girl.

"We can use them as privateers. Raid acceptable locations such as the Stepstones. Any loot will be theirs to keep, after a small tax to us. We can even go with them once in a while. Show them that being married to a green-lander hasn't diluted any of the salt and iron in your blood." He added with amazing foresight. She could only nod, her throat unnaturally dry.

Yara hated to admit it, loathed admitting it. Every lesson her father had taught her warred with Harry's words. She was Ironborn. They paid the Iron Price. But, his words corrupted her already alternative beliefs. He turned her only slightly skewed viewpoints utterly treacherous.

What had the Iron Price ever gave them?

Her father had lost his crown and had to sell her like chattel to hold on to his seat as Lord Paramount. His life was spared on the whim of a boy who could have easily just sliced him from ear to ear.

It wasn't as if Harry was asking them to give it up altogether. They could still raid. Raid against those who had things of value to take, who would always have things to take. It was a better alternative to having all the other kingdoms loath them. They could raid, still hold onto some of their old beliefs, and would become richer and stronger than before.

She was all of about to agree when Harry added a caveat.

"But, I will not abide by them taking saltwives. There is nothing I can do about the thralls and saltwives they already do possess, but they will take no more."

That made it all the more difficult for her to sell it and she informed Harry of such. She had almost been completely seduced by his verses, his words that oozed into her mind like venom, until he had said that.

"Play to the crowd, Yara. Tell them of all that they could gain, if they would only give a little. They are your people. You know them best. You can make them say 'yes'. I may know nothing else about you, but I do know you have spirit. I would not have brought this to you if I did not believe you capable." Harry spoke honestly.

Yara hated herself.

She hated herself for being so weak as to be so easily tempted. So easily swayed by his tender encouragement. It was hard not to. The only person to give her kind words was her mother. And she had not been in the best health when Yara had left Pyke. Harry was just so warm, so damned inviting, to turn him away would have been like kicking a child.

And what reason was there for her to hold out?

Harry was promising her a fleet, gold, and power, even if she had to share all of it with him. It was more than she could have imagined when her father had informed her of their betrothal. More than she would have had if still with her father and more than she have hoped for if she were to marry anyone else.

There was only one request that she needed, one thing for him to promise her. If Harry gave her that, she would have no will to resist.

"I want to fight. I won't be some green-land woman who sits in a castle waiting for babes to slither out between her legs. When we raid, I will be on the shore with the men, taking my spoils. Iron is in my blood, I will feel it in my hands." Yara said, turning to him with a determined look on her face. She would do as he asked, but he had to agree. Yara would not settle for anything less than exactly what she had demanded.

Part of her wanted him to say, 'no'. It would have given her an excuse, a reason to hate him, to deny him all that he asked of her. Even, if it meant receiving nothing, she would not yield to him unless he gave her that. No matter how tempted she was to just give in.

"Iron is so crude. Steel would be better." Harry joked, copying her step to him with one of his own in good-humor. They were practically chest-to-chest.

Her arm lashed out. She had every intention of roughly grabbing his collar threateningly, but her body had betrayed her. Instead, she could feel the skin of his neck against her fingers. The urge to curse was real, but she held her tongue. She would give nothing away as her mistake.

"Do not speak to me as if I am stupid and do not toy. That is my price. I want a ship and I want to fight." She glared and growled; all too aware of how close his lips her to her face.

"Very well. We areto be married and though we may never hold any affection for one another, but I would see you happy if I can help it." Harry sighed, as if admitting such a thing was some great tragedy. He was entirely too flippant, something that bothered her greatly. Especially, when her own heart was threatening to come out of her chest.

"Say it." She demanded, yanking at him.

"You first." He fired back in a teasing voice that grated on her nerve, still grinning that damned insufferable grin.

"Deal." The word had been scratching at the back of her throat, demanding release and it left her lips in a harsh hiss, as if they were angry with her.

"Deal." He replied, tone matching the stupid look on his face.

She hated that look. Hated the stirring it caused in her, the way it made her flush. No woman would have blamed her; Harry was handsome-looking. They way a corner of his lips curled ever so slightly, how his eyes glowed brightly in laughter. He cut a fine figure: tall, broad, and strong. Harry was everything a woman could have wanted, even with the imperfection above his eye. And Yara did not know why, but it irked something inside of her to have him look at her that way.

Genially. Friendly. Jokingly.

She was to be his wife. He should want her, lust after her, or something. Yara was not so naïve as to believe they loved each other, but she wanted something more than his contentment, his pleasantness.

She knew she wasn't the most beautiful woman in all the Kingdoms, but she looked good enough to at least inspire some wanting. The pimples that had plagued her had cleared, leaving her porcelain skin unblemished if not slightly wind chafed. Her nose was too large for her face and sharp, but not enough to make her undesirable or abnormal. Her hands may have been a bit rough, but that came at the price for their strength, and her lips were thinner than most women, but still kissable. She did not have the most pronounced of breasts, but they more than noticeable. All her time aboard a ship, fighting the to and fro of the waves gave her nice, strong legs and a firm arse.

And yet, Harry paid attention to none of those things. He stared into her eyes when they spoke, never touched her in a way hinting to him desiring her. It was with courtesy, a sense of propriety. The look never changed, whether she had worn the dress or breeches, his look never changed. Even, in their position, when all he had to do was tilt his face just slightly to kiss her, he used his lips to grin, his eyes boring directly into her own.

Yara hated him. Hated that his smile made her blush like some silly girl, hated that he was so kind, and hated how his lips unknowingly taunted her to taste him. But, most of all, she hated that it was only her that felt such things. Harry was more than comfortable with talking business, jesting with each other like old men at a tavern.

"Are you going to let go of my neck soon? It's starting to develop a crick—"

She just couldn't take it anymore, his congenial indifference to her. Something inside of her snapped. Made Yara realize how nonsensical she had been. She blamed it on his stupid smile and bizarre eyes. They dazzled her dim in their luster. It was not a mistake she would make again.

Her blood was of iron and salt. She was Ironborn, what did it matter if he wanted her or not. All that mattered was what she wanted. Ironborn took what they wanted. It was one of the Old Ways that she agreed with.

Want.

Take.

Have.

It was ridiculously easy to maneuver Harry's back into the short wall they had leaned on previously. Yara took a small pleasure hearing him grunt as he collided with the unforgiving barrier. His hand made to push her off, but she just swept it away before grabbing it. Yara put it exactly where it belonged, where she wanted it: right on her arse. Her fingers flexed around her own, making him grab her. She would make him appreciate it, appreciate her times spent fighting against the sea. He would realize that no green-lander woman would have an arse firmer or finer than hers.

Yara's other hand scrapped against the short hairs along the side of his scalp before finally finding purchase at the longer strands on top of his head. With a tight grasp she forced his neck just far enough for her to rise on her toes and take what she wanted. It would not be said that he helped her. That he had given assistance.

She. Took. Him.

No one had wanted to kiss her before. Boys had mocked at her for her pimples when she had been young, so Yara did not exactly what to do. She just did what felt natural, whatever she damn well pleased. And it pleased her to find out if Harry did taste the way his words flowed; as sweet as honey.

But, as she smashed her lips against his, bit at him, and forced her tongue into his mouth. She had to admit he did not taste sweet. He tasted like pheasant, probably what he had last eaten.

However, he was intoxicating.

When he had gained enough sense to press back against her she could feel herself getting lost in their moment. He knew what she wanted, how she wanted it. His hands groped her backside in earnest, almost to the point of it being painful, but falling just shy. He had no problem returning her treatment as he grabbed the base of her neck and pulled her to him. Harry gave as well as he got. She was enjoying herself so much, not paying attention to how Harry had gripped her hair in a vice like grip. Yara groaned when he yanked her head to the side and attacked at the side of her neck. A moan left her unconsciously when he started to nibble and suck at her flushed skin and it was her turn to grin. An open-mouthed grin that allowed her breath to leave her in pants.

She had been right in her earlier assessment; Harry had been with other women.

But, she did not mind so much as he used skills he had learned from them on her. They didn't matter. They were nothing. There was no love between her and Harry, maybe never would be. As long as the others, if there were others, knew their place he could fuck them if he wanted. Harry just had to be ready when she wanted to take him. Yara would quickly remove anyone who made Harry forget what she was.

She wanted him. Took him. He was hers. If anyone stood in the way of that, they would learn how truly heavy the Iron Price was.

Gods, why couldn't he have been an arse…

~Harry~

Life is what we make it.

It was a saying Harry remembered. A cliché standard that people used to make themselves feel better. To make them feel like they had total control of their lives. He used to believe it too. Harry used to believe that if someone had the will, the destiny of their lives could be altered.

Changed.

It could…to a point. Muirgen was the perfect example of that: a bastard born to the North that became the first Dame. Such a life was one fit for stories, tales taught to other children of lower standing, because for them, it could very well come true.

But, climbing up a ladder was much easier than climbing down. There were always people on the rung above that could lend a hand. Much like Harry had done for her. She had more than earned her title, but regardless of her deeds Muirgen would not have had it if not for him. That was not bragging.

That was fact.

Harry did not have her luxury. He had learned that at an early age. When he had been younger, he had been about the high road, the good road. But, life had been quick to smack him down. He had been taught that even the high road still sometimes led to hells because people made it that way.

The world he lived in was not a peaceful one. War was the way of the land and the only way for peace to reign was to fight. The saying, 'if you want peace, then prepare for war' was never so apt as it was to where he lived.

He had tried. Honestly, he had. To be good, to be peaceful, to give the chance he had an honest shot. All he wanted was a normal life. But, it was all for naught. No one liked peace. Even when there was peace, people, high-born and common alike, called for blood. When he was younger, Harry had been appalled. It was not the life he wanted.

But, nature had taken over. He had been forced to adapt or become extinct. Peace was always going to be preferable to him. But, he was not the same boy anymore. There was no more hesitation, hadn't been for a long time.

There couldn't be.

'You have to mean it.' That sickly, mockingly childish voice played in his head.

He had to mean it. There was no room for second thoughts in his life. Swinging a sword hard and fast were the only options most times. If Harry didn't strike fast enough, his chance would be for nothing. His lives would mean nothing.

When steel could not work, the answer was gold. Steel and gold are the only true kings: a sad, but unfortunately truth.

That was his reality.

It could have always been the reality, but he was too stubborn to see it. How many men had he seen waltz away from justice because they had enough gold to spread around? How many slip through the cracks because people feared the reprisal of their power?

Love could not protect him anymore. It was a wondrous thing, a powerful thing if wielded correctly. But, it was also the end of many. And he would not see his end because it failed him.

He would not fight valiantly, but in vain again.

When it was all said and done, no one would be able to hurt him or those precious to him because he lacked strength. No one would be able to question his power.

For all his misgivings and evilness, he at least got that right…