Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising Chapter 3 3: The Ghost

"Old Jesse, how's that boy Roman coming along?"

One afternoon Lady Shella found the old master-at-arms. The two of them stood on the high platform watching Roman train below.

He was sparring with four soldiers, all of them ard with real iron weapons. Old Jesse believed battlefields didn't hand out fair one-on-one fights. If Roman wanted to survive, he had to learn how to handle being outnumbered.

But to Lady Shella it looked less like training and more like a beating.

"Old Jesse, from where I'm standing it seems Roman is the one doing all the hitting. Is sothing wrong here?"

She had seen enough group lees at tourneys to know real skill when she saw it.

Roman was clearly not normal.

Old Jesse had switched Roman's wooden club for a solid iron one after the boy kept sending soldiers flying. He figured the extra weight would force Roman to control his strength.

Instead it made him even more dangerous.

The iron club, swung with Roman's full power, could shatter stone. Even when he tried to hold back, one solid hit still left ugly bruises.

Old Jesse had gone from dismissive to quietly impressed.

"My lady, the lad is diligent and serious about his training. In a few weeks he'll be ready for night patrols. I recomnd we give him a proper weapon."

Lady Shella watched Roman's broad back and nodded, a soft smile touching her lips.

After that, Roman began walking the night watch in Harrenhal.

"Damn… is this place serious? How the hell am I supposed to cover all this ground?"

He hadn't thought much of it at first. One lap around Harrenhal couldn't be that bad.

Then he actually started patrolling and understood why Harrenhal was called the greatest fortress in Westeros.

Five massive towers stabbed into the night sky. Even the abandoned sections were still enormous. So halls could have held a thousand n.

Everywhere he looked, lted stone bricks from Aegon the Conqueror's dragonfire lay in twisted heaps, casting long, eerie shadows.

Because he was the new guy, the veteran guards stuck him with the most remote patrol route.

Roman didn't mind. It gave him the perfect excuse to explore the ruins.

"At least my eyes work better than most. Even in pitch dark I can see clear as day."

The more he walked, the more Harrenhal awed him. He was starting to wonder if Harren the Black had used magic when he built the place. Nothing else explained architecture this far beyond normal limits.

Between the wonder and the questions, Roman kept careful notes.

The habit beca routine. Sotis he even slipped into the ruins during daylight.

The servants thought he was just bored. They didn't know what he was really looking for.

At night a black shadow often wandered the halls. Even with Roman's sharp vision he could never quite make out its face.

Every ti he tried to get closer, the shadow slipped away.

Tonight he planned to change that.

He finished his usual patrol, then found a dark corner and waited.

Harrenhal was one giant ruin—plenty of hiding spots. The ancient stones were so vast that even the insects stayed silent. After a while the quiet started to press on the nerves.

Most guards would have finished their rounds and gone straight to bed. No one in their right mind lingered in these haunted corridors.

Roman wasn't most guards.

Finally, after a long wait, the shadow appeared.

Like ink spreading through water, a dense black shape rose from the stone floor and slowly pulled itself together.

Roman stayed hidden, watching.

The shadow shifted and twisted until it ford the rough outline of a man.

Roman's mind flashed back to the old stories about Harrenhal's curse.

Is this one of the people Harren the Black burned alive when Aegon took the castle?

The shadow didn't notice him. It started walking.

Roman followed at a distance, keeping to the darkest corners.

Left turn, right turn. They moved deeper into the servant quarters.

Roman's stomach tightened. The old rumors were starting to feel a lot more real.

People had always whispered that Harren the Black and his n hadn't all died that day—that so still haunted the castle as vengeful ghosts.

A sleepy servant stumbled out of his room and walked straight into the shadow.

The man's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to shout.

The shadow lunged.

Roman was already sprinting, but he was too far. The servant was about to die.

He made a split-second choice.

"Duck!"

Roman twisted his wrist, gripped the iron club, and hurled it with everything he had.

The heavy iron rod flew like a spear, trailing a faint pressure wave that snuffed out nearby torches.

The servant saw the flas dying in front of him and thought another ghost had co. He dropped to the floor, arms over his head.

The shadow never had ti to turn. The iron club slamd into its back and drove it straight into the stone wall with a thunderous crash that echoed through the entire tower.

Lady Shella and half the castle woke up in alarm.

Roman helped the shaken servant to his feet, told him to report everything to Lady Shella, then turned to examine the pinned shadow.

Strangely, even though it looked like smoke and darkness, the iron club had actually stuck it to the wall.

Up close, Roman could make out a blurry face.

That's the sa face from my dreams.

He recognized it instantly. In the visions this thing had always been one of the first enemies he killed.

The shadow tried to scream, but no sound ca out. It reached for Roman's face with clawed fingers.

Roman didn't hesitate. He drove his fist straight into that twisted face.

"You attack people and still think you get to act tough?"

What happened next caught him completely off guard.

The shadow let out a piercing, wordless wail. Its inky body began to dissolve from the point of impact.

The black mist didn't drift away.

It flowed straight into Roman.

"Wait—what the—?"

Before he could react, a flood of mories slamd into his mind.

He saw Harrenhal's foundations being laid. Weirwood trees hacked down, red sap pouring like blood. Quarry slaves worked to death. Children bled out while they scread…

The rush of images nearly dropped him to his knees. He grabbed the wall for support.

Behind him, Lady Shella's horrified voice rang out.

"By the Seven! What is that?!"