Warnings: violence, deciet, slash and much more! muhahahaha

Note: I wrote the first six chapters a while back and posted them without reading through them once again only to realize that there are still quite a few spelling grammer mistakes. As such I am working on both writing the seventh chapter and going back and correcting the first six. At this point the prologue and the following chapter have been corrected. I will write corrected at the start of every chapter here after that I have finished re-posting. ;)

Chapter 1: Eeny, meeny, miney, mo

"If there is an afterlife, I want my soul intact. And then maybe I'll see you there."

I smiled, somehow calm now that I was facing something inevitable. I was getting the good-bye I'd always wanted. - Nikki"
― Brodi Ashton, Everneath

All those months ago when Harry had made the decision of how and by whom his death would occur, he had been reasonably sure that once his heart stopped beating that it would not be the end.

However, 'reasonably' is not an overly reassuring adjective when in reference to one's preplanned death. And no—he would like to make it abundantly clear that despite his many fool hardy, unthinking stunts and his many past brushes with death- Harry was not actually suicidal.

That did not, however mean, that he was not keenly aware of the fact that he would not be living much past his seventeenth birthday. And all things considering, he had actually lasted longer than he had initially planned, which was surprisingly neither a good or bad thing: It just was.

This extension of his life, had allowed him a longer stretch of time for him to mentally say good bye to his two best friends—because despite all the road bumps along the way, Harry had no doubts that Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were just that: his best friends. It was unfortunate that the events that had led him to prolonging his ever dwindling life, had prevented him from the same luxury with the rest of those he had come to love. But there was nothing for that now; after all he had known all along that this would be irreversible.

Still as he stood in the vast vacant mass of white fog, he hoped that Neville had managed to complete the last task he had left for him…and that someone—anyone really, had successfully landed the killing blow on the tyrant better known as Voldemort.

He knew that they would, they were stronger than most believed…just as he knew that he no longer had to worry about them. It would be a rather pointless exercise in futility now anyway. There was nothing left that he could do for them, he had done his part—sacrificed all he could; his life in fact… now the rest was up to them.

It was strangely freeing: as though a terrible weight had been lifted from him. He felt as though he could finally breathe again.

And breath he did. Allowing his shoulders to fall back and his eyes to drift close; simply allowing the cool mist around him to cloak him like a comforting blanket and allowing his mind to drift back to the day and the information that had changed everything…..

Flashback: Late June of 1997

He stared at the wrinkled, smirking—was the horrid thing actually smirking at him?—goblin whose name he could no longer force his frenzied mind to recall. And while normally this fact would have bothered him, (for he had always hated those wizards who thought they were so superior to everyone, that they couldn't even be bothered to learn or remember the names of those that handled their gold: a stupid and foolish decision in Harry's opinion) at the moment, after receiving the news he had just received, he thought he could be excused for such a lapse.

He really didn't think that anyone could blame him for it….after all, it wasn't every day that you learned you were playing pack mule to another person's soul….a murdering psychopath's soul at that. So yes, he thought that his momentary lapse of politeness could be excused…well that, and his sudden inability to think.

"I…what?!" was all he managed, still hoping that this was some strange, rather cruel version of a goblin joke. That they would tell him at any moment that no, in fact he did not have Voldemort's horcrux—was that what they called it?—lodged inside him. Oh, and that the only way to get rid of it was to die by the very same mad-man's hand. No….really it had to be a horrible joke.

Unfortunately the 'just kidding' part never came.

So after several minutes in where he found it hard to draw breath and expelled the contents (what little contents there were) of his stomach all over the goblin's pristine carpet (said goblin did not looked pleased at this) Harry managed to fight his way back to the surface of his all consuming terror and gather his wits.

"So….I need to die? To let Voldemort kill me?" Harry finally managed to squeak out—ignoring how his voice shook nearly as much as his trembling hands.

"Yes" grouchy goblin number one (the name Harry had subconsciously bestowed him from here on out) said—looking far too pleased by this pronouncement.

And what could Harry say to that? While he had realistically always known that this horrible fight between him and his parent's killer would result in his death, he had at least thought that he would be able to defend himself; to try and be the one who came out alive.

Guess not.

Just before he could allow his thoughts to fall further down into a plummeting tunnel of despair and self-pity, GG#1 (again: grouchy goblin #1) interrupted him.

"Because you have done us a boon by returning the sword to its rightful owners*…we have chosen to reward you by letting you know about the horcrux that you carry…." GG#1 started. And Harry really wasn't sure how much a reward this information was—but he suppose it was better to know the truth then the small twisted version Dumbledore had chosen to tell him before the man's untimely death. And that was another line of thinking that Harry hurriedly pushed away—his mentor's, no….the man's (as he was not sure he could call Dumbledore a mentor after finding out what the man had kept from him)death was still so fresh….and Harry was no longer sure how to feel about it.

Initially he had been devastated by his grief. Grief over losing someone he had viewed as more than a friend—a pseudo-grandfather really, but now…..well yeah, best not to think of him at all.

Harry returned his attention to the goblin in front of him who seemed as though he had more to say, "…we also have decided to let you know the results of your hereditary test, as they were somewhat unusual…"

This caught Harry's full attention. It was a well known fact that an automatic hereditary test was done a month before a wizard reached his majority—the time when family magic grew stronger and outside influences, or learned magic- was at its weakest- giving the most accurate results of what line(s) a wizard came from, and what inheritance(s) they might receive on their seventeenth birthday.

"…unusual?" Harry asked his voice full of trepidation, because knowing his luck, he was set to inherit some bizarre ability that would no doubt make his already odd (and now incredibly shortened) life even more so.

"Yes….in all honesty we have never seen anything like this before—well, at least not in sometime" GG#1 stated not looking at all happy over this fact.

Harry chose to say nothing, simply waiting in silence for the goblin to expound.

"We would have informed you earlier of the horcrux you were carrying…"—and that had been something that Harry was wondering about considering that he had returned the sword to the goblins just a month after defeating Slytherin's Basilisk with it at the end of his second year*.

Why had they waited to 'repay' his deed for so long? Why hadn't they told him all of this four years ago? While yes, he sort of understood the reason of why they were telling him at all (it was well known that Goblin's; while greedy and self-profiting, were fair…well fair in regards to their own laws). So the fact that they felt they owed him— a wizard, would have irked the proud race and they would have felt driven to return the favor… if only so they no longer felt indebted, made sense to Harry. But the length of time that had passed since he had done them the 'boon' and now was rather puzzling.

"….but we did not know" and again the Goblin looked rather put out by this fact. "When a wizard first enters their eligible years—the age that they are old enough to attend school, an over-all scan is done for a multitude of things upon entering the bank**. One such thing is the health of the wizard's soul. Given you were carrying an extra fragment of soul around, this test should have picked up on it…..however it did not"

Harry felt his sense of foreboding grow as he listened to the goblin's words, "Why?" he asked—always a sucker for punishment.

"The test did not pick up the extra fragment because you, yourself did not have a complete soul to begin with"

Harry stared at the goblin feeling yet another wave of shock….would it never end? Was his entire life a sick punch line for some sadistic god or goddess?

Seeing that Harry was not in a state in which he could respond to the goblin's reveal, the goblin did not wait for his questions but instead continued, "Because you did not have a full soul to begin with, Voldemort's soul piece was mistaken as the other half of your soul. And thus nothing unusual appeared. However, when we ran your hereditary test, the line you came from and your living relatives did not match with what they should have causing us to investigate further .Upon further investigation we discovered that your mother—or Lily Potter, actually suffered from a condition in which left her barren… unable to conceive or carry children. We found out that she—whether in cohorts with someone else or on her own, turned to magic to solve this problem"

Harry found himself growing more and more horrified by what he was hearing….half a soul? Voldemort's soul fragment? His mother was unable to have children?!

"We discovered that she used a ritual-a ritual so steeped in black magic that few have ever attempted to use it- to create a life" GG#1 continued with his story. "However, while magic can do many things, it cannot create something out of nothing….it cannot create a soul. The ritual she used instead stole a soul….a soul from another, parallel world, by ripping it away from that world and bestowing it here.

Unfortunately, it is very complicated and dangerous magic, and as it often does when it comes to this kind of thing; something went wrong. Instead of successfully removing the whole soul of a child and bringing it here, it removed only half of the soul. You are essentially one half of a whole—we believe you are the benevolent side of the soul, while your other half—the malevolent side, was left behind in your original world" the goblin finished staring intensely at Harry.

Harry's mind churned with the information given….So, he was so much of a freak and oddity that he did not even have an entire soul? His mother—a woman known to be kind, gentle and light, had been so desperate to have a child of her own, that she had resorted to the blackest of magics to steal a child from another world and bring it here? That she had screwed up and only brought half of the soul here? The benevolent half?—and what did that even mean….the good half? Harry to a shaky breath and tried to order what he now knew.

1.He was only half of a whole soul

2.He was not from this world—that he was never meant to be here. His very presence had disrupted the natural flow of magic; something that all magic users knew was bad. Very bad—often resulting in chaos which would follow the disturbance wherever he/or she went.—His horrible-mixed-with-great luck was starting to make more and more sense. He was a anomaly in the very makings of nature.

3.He was also Voldemort's horcrux

4.He had to die by Voldemort's hand to rid this world of the psychopath.

Yeah, all in all, none of this information was making him feel any better. So he decided to concentrate on the only perceivable good thing he could find.

"The benevolent half, isn't that a good thing?" he asked; because surely that had to be a good thing? To have only the good side of the soul in him….right?

"No" the goblin replied dashing the only small ray of hope Harry had, to pieces, "Everything exists as opposites. Balances….to only have one side of your soul, unbalances it. The only reason you have not basically imploded, is most likely because Voldemort's shard is so black that it acts as a counter to your own pure half. While this has stopped your magic from destroying you or your mind from crumbling, your own half is still much more powerful than the horcrux you carry….resulting in a personality that is driven to sacrifice itself for what it sees as the right thing. I would garner a guess that you have always placed others ahead of your own well being—no matter the wrong they have committed you…. that you throw yourself into situations without thinking through the risks involved….that essentially you have little to no self preservation"

Ok….so maybe GG#1 did have a point…..still was that such a bad thing? Well, whatever….it wasn't like it really mattered in the end, considering he basically had a death sentence hanging over his head anyway. It wouldn't really matter one way or another if he only had half a soul when he died. Or did it?

"So….what does this mean?" and seeing the goblin's unimpressed look Harry hurried to explain, "I mean if…no, when I die, will whatever is supposed to happen still happen….what with half a soul?"

And yes, he was aware how little sense his question made but the goblin seemed to understand what Harry was trying to ask given his answer.

"Well, Mr. Potter…..this is where having half a soul turns out to be a good thing, given the circumstances. Dying with a whole soul—as most people do, would likely result in whatever happens to most people when they die. However, dying with half a soul should….in theory, allow that half of a soul to return to its other half thus returning you to your original world" GG#1 stated leaning back in his chair.

It was the first time that Harry began to feel a smidgen of anything besides doom in this meeting, "in theory?...what will happen when both halves connect? Will I remember any of this? Will I be the same person?" there were so many questions Harry wanted answered, but he sensed the goblin's patience starting to wane so he would take what he could get.

"Yes….in theory. As this is a rather rare occurrence, we cannot be sure: but it is likely. As for the joining of your soul halves….again in theory, the more dominant—larger half of the soul, should be the one that retains its sense of self. So if your benevolent half—you—were the more dominant- larger half in the original whole soul, then you should retain your memories: though it is likely that you will get some memories, if not all the memories from your other half as well. And if you were not the more dominant…..well…..then it will cease to matter either way as you will not have a conscience to realize it"

Harry let himself slump back in his chair feeling entirely overwhelmed….but he suppose that the goblin did have a point. Either way he had to die—for he could not let Voldemort continue to live just because he wanted to, and at least this way he had a chance of….well, it sounded like a chance at a new beginning; a new life.

It was really the only thing that he could ask for. Though he desperately hoped that what the goblin said was true, that he would get another chance. To actually return to his original world (and that was a nice thought, he would get to be someone other than Harry Potter- the boy who lived,…he would get to be who he was supposed to be in the beginning). Though he had to admit he also hoped that he…or the half of soul that was him, was the dominant one….but in the end it didn't matter. It wasn't like he had a ton of other options at this point.

When he finally managed to arrive at a feeling of acceptance another thought struck him, "er….if I am from another world….you said living relatives?" again with the disjointed question.

GG#1 smiled a rather pointed and creepy looking smile, "Indeed Mr. Potter, it would seem that you were originally part of the soul that was meant to be Henry Emrys**"

Harry found himself gaping at the goblin, "Emrys?" he asked his voice full of disbelief.

"Yes Mr. Potter, it would seem you were meant to be Merlin Emrys younger half- brother"

(End Flashback)

Shaking his head to center himself back in the here and now—wherever here and now actually was—Harry drew his gaze to the three doors in front of him (which without any logical explanation had mysteriously appeared while he was traipsing through his memories).

Memories—funny things they were. It felt like it had been much longer than a year since he had sat in front of the goblin and decided his fate. Well, he liked to say he decided it, as it sounded so much better then 'being forced to accept his fate.'

Either way….over the course of that day, the goblin had further floored him with information on Voldemort's other horcruxes (and what kind of nutcase rips his soul apart into more than two pieces?! Voldmort apparently!) and Harry had arrived at the decision that had led him here….standing in front of three mysterious and unknown doors.

Knowing that he had to give his friends the best chance he could in destroying Voldemort, he had stuck with what he assumed was Dumbledore's original plan for him. He had taken Ron and Hermione, and they had gone on the run. Well….gone on the run, and hunted horcruxes. All in all it could have been worse.

While yes, they were often cold, wet, hungry and at odds…they had still been together (other than that brief period of time when Ron had decided to truly be a prat and ditch them)and regardless of the negatives….they had done what needed to be done. And outside a small hitch in Harry's plan—he hadn't had time to kill Nagini before his own death; hence telling Neville to do it—things had gone rather smoothly.

It no longer mattered…it was over and done with; Harry Potter was officially dead….and if the goblin's were correct (and he really hoped that they were) one of these doors would take him to his world. And hopefully when all was said and done, he would still essentially be himself. The only difference being, that he would have a new chance at life, a life that he would actually be able to live, not just survive in. Yeah, here's to hoping for the best case scenario….because Harry's life had been rife full of those….rigggght….

He redirected his thoughts to studying of the doors….he had a feeling that whatever happened would depend on the door he chose. He could only pray that he picked the right one.

The first of the doors was rather creepy in all truth…well, as creepy as a door could be that is. It was far too tall and narrow and consisted of entirely smooth black stone. Harry could swear he saw mist swirling around at the bottom of it….yeah, he'd have to be an idiot to pick that door.

The center door was rather average looking, though with a rounded top rather than the normal square that most doors were made into. It consisted of a light weight looking wood and had a slightly more ornate handle—one of those that allowed the user to curl their hands through the center (aka: not a knob but an actual handle). All in all, there was nothing remarkable about this door, so Harry turned his attention to the last of the doors.

This door was about as different from the first door as one could get. It was a shining, almost blinding, opaque glass-like material, with intricate carvings that somehow made you want to touch them to be sure that they were actually solid and not some ethereal projection. This door had no handle what-so-ever and Harry knew just by looking at it, that you were meant to simply push it open—much like the spinning doors Harry had seen when he was forced to go with his Aunt to the big department store downtown when he was a child. Oddly enough the door made him want to enter it….like he simply needed to or he would die (ironic he knew).

When he finally managed to tear his gaze away from the shining door, he knew which one he had to choose. If anything, his previous life of danger and hardship had taught him that nothing is ever as it seemed. He knew better than anyone not to go for the obvious 'pick me-I'm good' door. So, before the yearning in his gut could convince him otherwise, Harry resolutely turned back to the middle door and pushed it open.

Immediately he was aware that everything was spinning and whirring at an impossibly fast speed around him, but before he could process this he was crippled by what felt like an immense wall of pain.

Pain like he had never experienced before—so raw and jagged he was convinced that his very being was being dissected by razors and lit on fire. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe; he could do nothing. And just as he was sure that he would cease to exist—because existing like this was far, far too much….

Everything went blissfully black.

-oo-

Harry expected to wake up looking at the bleached white ceiling of Hogwart's infirmary, body aching with pain….or at the very least; a pounding headache. It was sort of par for course for him after one of his 'plans'. Plans which generally followed a loose guideline of:

a) Receive terrible, horrifying news or find out someone he cared about was dying or close to

b) Try to sneak off to save them himself

c) Get caught trying to sneak off by Ron and/or Hermione

d) Come up with dodgy plan whilst ignoring Hermione's protests that they should 'find an adult or come up with a decent plan' and riling Ron up to go along with Harry's plan

d) Ignore plan altogether

e) Somehow wind up facing impending danger alone (because Ron and Hermione are either i) gravelly injured and/or unconscious ii) stuck behind some obstacle way back where Harry insisted he leave them and forge on ahead on his own

f) Face impending danger alone, without proper weapon or knowledge, and almost die

g) Wind up injured and almost dead but defeat villain or escape in the nick of time.

h) Repeat the following year

Of course there were always a few different variables thrown in amongst the standard steps; sometimes certain steps were rearranged, skipped or added to…but in general, it was pretty accurate….like say 99% of the time. Which was why, when Harry awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the sun just rising and illuminating the lingering morning mist in a way that could only be called stunning, free of pain; he was confused.

Pinching himself harshly on the arm, followed by cursing himself for pinching himself harshly on the arm and rubbing the now sore reddened area moodily, Harry arrived at the conclusion that no, he was not still asleep or dreaming. Good to know.

The past—well, however long it had taken for the final battle, his sacrificial death, and his time in the white in-between to play out, came rushing back to him as he carefully sat up from where it appeared he had been sleeping on the ground beside a long extinguished fire.

Sadly, sleeping on the ground wasn't exactly unusual for Harry—especially after Hermione had lost her nifty little pouch two weeks before the battle. Safe to say he had learned a whole new appreciation for his bushy haired friend's initiative to have packed said pouch (and therefore tent and bed rolls) in the first place. Those two weeks had not been what Harry would call fun.

Closing his eyes briefly and forcing himself to take in a slow, deep breath, Harry allowed himself a moment to sort through everything. First off, he knew that he still remembered everything about his life as Harry Potter and his time in the old world…. Therefore if the goblin's theories were indeed correct, it would appear that his side of the soul was in fact the dominant one—well that was a relief. Pausing a moment to take stalk of himself, he realized that perhaps the goblins had guessed more spot on then he would have thought possible.

For he knew that even with his memories of his former life intact, that he was no longer Harry Potter….or at least he was not entirely Harry Potter anymore. No, he felt….well, different. Like something had changed—not a huge change mind you, but it was definitely there; a subtle shift in how he saw himself and the world around him. Even how he viewed many of his past decisions and choices—like he couldn't quite believe just how willing he had been to throw himself head long into danger…time and time again.

And how, despite how he had been brought up, (aka: basically having an abusive childhood) he had still been so easy to give others his trust….that definitely didn't seem right. So no, he could not say that he was exactly the same person who had gone to the clearing to face Voldemort, but then again he really couldn't say that he was hugely different either.

There was more there as well….it was like there was something just out of view that he could sense but not quite see, flittering along the edges of his mind and memories. He could only assume it was his other half's life and memories….they were there but out of focus. As if he would be able to access them if only he stopped and concentrated long and hard enough. He shook his head slightly as if to dislodge an annoying bug, giving it up for lost when it failed to do anything.

Harry sighed—no, Henry now he guessed….that might take a little getting used to. Ah well, if he screwed up and responded to the former rather than the latter he could always pass it off as a nickname…he assumed people did that in this time and place….

And where exactly was this time and place? He was positive that wherever he was, that it was definitely not England anymore….well, at least not the England that he was familiar with. While true, it was a little hard to verify, given that he appeared to be in the middle of a densely treed forest; there was something in the air that seemed to make him realize this instinctively. Even the flora and fauna seemed slightly different from what he would have found in the forbidden forest or any of the other forests he, Hermione and Ron had spent time in over the last several months.

Another fairly solid factor pointing to this was what he appeared to be wearing: he could safely say that muggle or wizard, he would never have seen in this type of dress back in his former life. In fact it rather resembled the costumes that the characters in some of Dudley's video games wore.

And no, he was not referring to the one where they carried around machine guns and blasted apart anything and everything—he was thinking more along the lines of the game where they carried bows and arrows and shot anything and everything. Stupid games—mind you that sort of fit, given who his cousin was…not like Dudders was going to be spending his time solving algebraic equations or anything.

He shifted, slightly surprised to find that the clothing was rather comfortable—not something he would have generally thought about leather breaches and corset looking shirts. And okay—he was rubbish with knowing the names of the stuff he was actually wearing, but if he had to describe it he would say he looked rather like what he pictured Robin Hood would wear. Hood, leather and even the bloody bow and arrow….mind you, he appeared to be carrying several large and small knifes as well…and was that dried blood on one of the knives!?

Harry stared down at the crusted looking substance, his mouth gaping for several long seconds before he decided that the blood had to be rabbit….or at worse a deer's or something….yeah…we'll go with that….

Not a moment after he had convinced himself of this fact he was assaulted with a sequence of thoughts and memories.

Dark room, flickering torches, two unmoving bodies lying at his feet. A large knife—no, his large knife in his hand, blood dripping down it. A man wearing a heavy looking crown standing before him, pale and gaunt—the look of old grief shadowing his eyes.

O-….what was his name….it started with an O….Olin, no…Orvelle….not right….Odin. That's what it was, King Odin. Hiring an assassin-no, hiring him, to kill his son's murderer. To kill a prince.

Prince Arthur of Camelot. Revenge….Odin was dying and didn't have much longer, but wanted to avenge his dead son….

A heavy sack of gold being pocketed. Him leaving…riding for most of the night…stopping to make camp…

Stopping to make camp here. Harry snapped back to the present staring around him in horror. When the goblins told him that the other half of his soul was living in the world he had been stolen from—living his own life, Harry had known what he might find might not be pretty. He was fairly certain that his other half would not be a bunny herder or hug giver—given the fact that it was the malevolent half of his soul. But he hadn't expected this….no, not this.

He hadn't thought he would become this sort of man….a killer for hire; an assassin of all things. He felt a shudder crawl of his spine before he forced another deep breath into his lungs and pushed the horror away. No…he was not going to fall apart over this like some little girl who found out her crush thought she had germs.

The fact that his other half—well, part of him now he suppose, was someone little better than Voldemort (perhaps worse? At least snake face had been killing for a cause…it appeared that he—no, Myror, as he refused to believe that he and the former assassin were one and the same—killed for something as senseless as wealth) did not matter now. It was Harry that was in charge now…and it was safe to say that Myror had officially retired. He felt something akin to a prickle of unease tickle at the back of his neck, but once again forced it away.

He could perhaps even understand why Myror had become what he had…for while a lot of the man's memories were still hidden from Harry, he recalled what the goblins had said about the soul becoming unstable with only half of it present. Really, if Harry himself hadn't had Voldemort's horcrux in him, his own actions and decisions might have led him down a similar (well, not similar, as his soul half was the opposite of Myror's but you get his drift) path. In a twist of irony he almost had to thank Voldemort for trying to kill him as an infant and accidently making him a horcrux—apparently housing the insane man's soul was the only thing that had kept him sane. Fate worked in such mysterious ways.

Ok….so he knew he wasn't—couldn't continue on in this life as Myror, he definitely did not have the desire much less fortitude to live as an assassin. Thankfully he was pretty sure that as a very skilled assassin (which the snippets of memory that he did recall, told him Myror had been) Myror's—no, his face, was not well known. That was good.

The less people who knew of his former identity the better….and while yes, King Odin had seen his face and was still alive, the king was very ill and likely did not have much longer in this world; when he passed he would take Myror's identity with him. Harry felt a stab of shame for thinking such thoughts but it was easy enough to push it away-yes, he definitely was not the same old Harry he used to be. But perhaps that could be a good thing?

So…what should he do now?

He knew he wanted to track down his half-brother Merlin…the sooner the better. Harry had always wanted a family (and no he did not count the Dursleys) and this was his chance. Not only was Merlin related to him, but if the same facts about Merlin from his old world were even semi-true in this one, his brother was known as a wise, kind magician; someone who might teach and guide Harry in both magic and family.

And oh….how Harry wanted that, more than anything. He wondered briefly how old Merlin would be….what the age difference between them was. It appeared that he was very close to the age he had been in his old world—he would garner a guess of sixteen or seventeen at most,^ though it was a little hard to tell. In all the stories Harry had heard about Merlin Emrys, the wizard had been referred to as an aged and wise warlock, but Harry supposed Merlin had to have been young at some point. He sort of hoped they were close in years—but he would be happy with anything really.

The problem was he had no idea where Merlin might be in this world….or even if that was the name that he was currently going by. That could present a problem.

Hmmm….well, perhaps that quest was best set on the back burner-so to speak-for the moment. His other option was to continue on Myror's original path and head towards Camelot. He was not, of course going to go and assassinate the prince but at least it was a name and place. Plus if King Odin was so close to death's embrace that he had hired one of this land's best assassins, it was likely that he had hired others—maybe it was the old Harry in him, but he felt somewhat responsible for Prince Arthur now. Not to mention he sort of wanted to find out why Prince Arthur had killed King Odin's son in the first place…he wondered if it was warranted or not. After all if it wasn't he could kind of understand King Odin's desire to extract revenge before he died.

And no, don't ask him….he didn't say that either of his feelings made any sense (considering they were rather opposite—he suppose his two soul halves might not have completely merged just yet). But he somehow felt the urge to go to Camelot and at least watch out for the Prince, or at the very least, see that he was alive long enough to get answers.

Plus from what he gathered from Myror's memories, Camelot was a large, vast kingdom—a Mecca of sorts. It was his best bet for possibly finding some information on where he could at least begin his search for his brother.

Decision made, Harry couldn't help but feel his spirits lift as he finished packing up the rest of his belongings and setting off in the direction that he instinctively knew Camelot lay in.

Yes….this was a fresh chance: a chance for him to be who he wanted, to make something of himself that was not built on the expectations and manipulations of others.

It was time to discover just what sort of man Henry (Harry) Emrys would turn out to be. And frankly, he could not wait.

*Notes*

Chapter title: From the Nursery Rhyme Eeny, meeny, miney, moe

There is some argument that the original of this child's rhyme is actually rather offensive—suggesting that the word 'tiger' has replaced derogatory slander from the original. A law suit against an airline was brought for using just the first sentence of this nursery rhyme—although the woman who sued the airline later lost. Note: I chose this rhyme for the title, not for its racist origins but in reference to the children's game. A metaphor for Harry making his choice that took him out of one life and into the next.

*In my story Harry defeated the Basilisk as in canon but because he pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the sorting hat he became the 'owner' of said sword. In my mind, Harry being Harry—would have given the sword back to the goblin's as they were the original owners and he would have likely believed he had little use for the ancient object. Thus resulting in the goblin's 'owing' him.

**I picture it as some sort of ward that scans the child at the door. In this story the witch/wizard is only told about the scan results if they come back abnormal—via Minstery decree…..or rather my decree as all knowing author ;)

***I have only watched the first season of Merlin (and two or three episodes of the second) so I am not actually sure if Emrys is Merlin's last name or not. In this story it is serving as such. Also it should be noted that I am herby ignoring canon Merlin's paternity and making his father be who I want him to be…and there's nothing you can do about it…nananana boo boo…okay, moving on.

^ I know in the cannon episode that this story begins in Myror, the assassin is much older than sixteen or seventeen but I am taking liberties and making Harry the same age in this world as he was in the last ;) Also he still looks like Harry potter not Myror! (well Harry minus glasses because I have no idea what they used for eye wear in the middle ages so I have decided that when Harry crossed over his eyes fixed themselves—ta da! It's magic! )