It was a fine day, but every servant in Harrenhal moved like they were walking on eggshells.
Because Lady Shella Whent had brought ho a monster.
In one of the castle's private rooms, the maester stood helpless beside the bed.
"My lady, we are fortunate to have a lord as rciful as you, but you shouldn't have brought back a man who is surely dying. What this poor soul needs is peace."
The maester had a point. The man on the bed was little more than ruined flesh.
His body was covered in bruises and deep gashes. A gaping wound in his chest was so large you could see his organs inside. His arms and legs bent at impossible angles, like he'd been thrown from a cliff.
If it weren't for the stubborn heart still beating in front of the maester, he would have sworn the man was already a corpse.
And then there was the long black tail growing from the base of his spine.
That thick, scaled appendage, as wide as a forearm, had scared the hell out of everyone in Harrenhal.
When the servants saw Lady Shella carry in that broken body, they all agreed it was the gods' punishnt made flesh—the living embodint of Harrenhal's curse.
"Please, heal this child," Lady Shella said, ignoring the whispers.
"My lady, I must remind you—the servants are terrified. For the sake of the lands' stability, you should get rid of him quickly."
Lady Shella shook her head and kept arguing with the maester.
But Roman had already woken up.
His mind was still replaying the mont the truck slamd into him.
The unfamiliar ceiling above him was cold, gray, and filthy. That was Roman's first thought. Before he could think further, searing pain and a raging thirst took over.
He tried to speak but couldn't. Only a weak "heh… heh…" escaped his throat.
In that mont, his vision cleared. He saw an old man in black-and-white robes and a finely dressed old woman.
Where am I? Who are they?
Lady Shella and the maester heard him stir. They turned and t Roman's desperate eyes.
"By the Seven!" the maester gasped. "He's still conscious!"
The maester's eyes went wide at the sight of Roman's exposed heart, like he'd seen a ghost. But Lady Shella moved fast.
"Maester, stop staring. Save the boy!"
The maester snapped into action. He called for servants and began treating Roman.
He'd never seen wounds like this, not even in the Citadel. All he could do was pack the injuries with blood-stopping herbs and wrap everything tight in bandages.
"That's all I can do, my boy. From here, only the Seven can decide if you live or die."
The maester prayed as he fed the mummified Roman so herbal porridge.
Roman was discovering the hard way that his isekai trip had co with injuries. He was exhausted and in agony. Before he could take in his surroundings, he slipped back into sleep.
In his dreams, he saw himself—not the body he'd had before the crash, but a European-looking man.
Six-foot-one, with black hair and pale blue eyes. His face was sharply handso, like it had been carved from stone.
But the most striking features were the dragon horns, tail, and wings. They blended perfectly with his powerful fra.
Roman stared at his transford body in shock. He wanted a closer look, but then he saw the Night King.
And the Night King saw him.
!!!
Roman jolted awake, heart pounding, skin burning hot while his hands and feet felt like ice.
Was that the Night King? Am I really in the world of Ice and Fire?
He knew that face too well. If this was truly Westeros…
A wave of disbelief hit him. "I must be losing it. There's no way…"
Reality slapped him hard the next second.
"My lady, the boy has recovered remarkably well. By the Seven! No one should survive wounds like that. The Citadel will have to add a new record!"
Lady Shella Whent and the maester pushed open the door and found Roman sitting up in bed.
"Blessed be the Seven, child. You're awake. How do you feel?" Lady Shella asked gently.
"I think I'm all right. May I ask who you are?"
Roman's voice was hoarse. The maester stepped forward at once.
"This is Lady Shella Whent, the Lady of Harrenhal. You are in Harrenhal now."
The words hit Roman like a hamr. He looked around the decaying room with its ancient furnishings, and his stomach dropped.
I'm really in the world of Ice and Fire? And in Harrenhal, the cursed place?
He chatted with Lady Shella for a while, thanked her, and learned how he'd arrived.
She'd been riding out to escape the oppressive air of Harrenhal when she ca across a massive explosion. In the middle of pale flas and thunder, she'd found Roman lying in the crater. Seeing he was still breathing, she'd brought him back out of pity.
"Thank you, my lady. Once I'm back on my feet, I'll repay you sohow."
Roman answered quickly. In the original story, Lady Shella hadn't gotten much attention—just a friend of the Night's Watch who lost her family and died alone after giving up Harrenhal.
She seed kind. Otherwise, she would have left him for dead.
"No need to rush, child. It's enough that you survived. We'll speak of the rest later."
At her urging, Roman lay back down.
Later, while talking with the maester, he learned more.
It was 294 AC—only four years until the War of the Five Kings.
And he was in Harrenhal, the cursed castle. Ever since the Blackhearted Harren, every house that held it had t a bloody end.
Even Littlefinger, after being granted the place, had refused to live there and fled to the Eyrie instead.
"This is bad. I'd rather be in the North."
But Roman had no plans to leave.
For one thing, Lady Shella was his savior. He couldn't let her suffer the tragic fate from the books—exiled after losing Harrenhal. Since he was here, he had to do sothing. At the very least, soften the tragedies.
For another, there were too many questions about his own body.
It was healing at an impossible rate. Even the horrific wounds weren't slowing him down.
During his sleep over the past weeks, strange things kept happening.
He watched his body change. First the dragon tail grew in. Then horns pushed out from his forehead. Finally, wings unfolded from his back and black scales spread across his skin.
Every ti the transformation finished, he found himself fighting enemies as a full dragon—humans, beasts, dragons, the Night King…
There were even burning figures bearing the sigil of House Hollard.
Most faces were strangers, but every ti he killed one, he felt his body grow stronger.
A month later, Roman could finally get out of bed. He checked himself over imdiately.
Sure enough, a black-scaled dragon tail was right there. Luckily, no one thought it was actually a dragon's tail.
Dragons had been gone from Westeros for over a hundred and fifty years. People figured Harrenhal's curse had simply given Roman this tail.
He was already lucky Lady Shella had taken him in. Now he had to figure out how to break Harrenhal's dood fate.
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