At Lady Shella's cry, Roman turned to look at the wall.
Only the iron club remained, buried deep in the stone. The shadow was gone, but thick black mist still hung in the air—especially heavy around Roman himself.
The guards and Old Jesse had their swords out in an instant, staring at him like he was the enemy.
They had rushed in expecting an attack. Instead they found Roman standing in the middle of the mist. Their first thought was that he'd been possessed.
The servant Roman had saved stepped forward quickly.
"It wasn't him! That shadow tried to kill . Roman saved my life!"
Roman was still reeling from the flood of mories. He couldn't find the words.
The servant saw the doubt on everyone's faces and raised his hand to the sky.
"I swear by the Seven—if I'm lying, let them strike down with the worst curse they have!"
It was a vicious oath. Lady Shella didn't hesitate.
"What are you all standing around for? Get Roman to the maester. Everything else can wait."
Old Jesse and the guards hauled Roman away while Lady Shella kept the servant behind.
"You're certain you saw it right?"
She had lived alone too long. Most nights she talked to her dead family in the crypts. Catelyn Stark had once called her "the old woman who speaks with ghosts."
Part of her almost hoped the ghosts were real.
"Absolutely, my lady. I watched that shadow co straight at . If Roman hadn't stopped it, I'd be with the Stranger right now."
Lady Shella felt a sharp twist of worry for Roman… and a dangerous spark of hope.
If the dead could return, then maybe Walter and the others…
"My lady?" the servant asked, uneasy at the distant look in her eyes.
Lady Shella just waved him off. She finished giving orders for the rest of the night watch, then returned to her chambers alone.
The entire castle was awake after that. People took turns standing guard, terrified another ghost would co for them.
Only the one Roman had destroyed appeared that night.
Maester Tom examined Roman thoroughly and found nothing wrong. The black mist still clung to him, though. With no answers, the maester went to speak with Lady Shella.
In her dimly lit room, only the area near her chair was lit by a single weak candle.
Lady Shella's tired face was lit with rare excitent. Even exhaustion couldn't keep her from waiting for the maester.
"Maester Tom, how is the boy?"
Tom shook his head. "I can't find anything wrong, but that black mist keeps following him. The ghosts might be real after all."
His expression was grim. If the old stories about Harrenhal were true, they were living among vengeful spirits.
Lady Shella's eyes lit up.
"If the ghosts are real, then perhaps I can speak with my family through them."
"I strongly advise against it," Maester Tom said sharply.
"My lady, ghosts and magic are tied together. You rember what happened to House Lothston!"
The na hit her like cold water. The excitent faded from her face.
Daenaera Lothston—the infamous madwoman who had bathed in blood, feasted on human flesh, and practiced dark sorcery. If not for her madness, Harrenhal might never have passed to House Whent.
Maester Tom suggested they contact the Citadel and request more maesters—ones who actually believed in magic. They would be very interested in Roman's case.
Lady Shella's hope died quietly. She chatted a little longer, then sent the maester away.
Roman hadn't had an easy night either.
The ghost he absorbed had belonged to a captain who served under Harren the Black and helped build Harrenhal.
In his dreams Roman saw the entire bloody construction.
Slaves. Children. Weirwood trees. All of it sacrificed alongside stone and mortar to raise the castle—and to lay the curse that still clung to it.
When he dread of Balerion's dragonfire washing over the walls, he woke with a start.
Sunlight was already streaming through the window.
He changed out of his sweat-soaked clothes and went to find Lady Shella.
Every servant he passed treated him with new respect. A man who could kill a ghost wasn't ordinary. They were equal parts afraid and grateful.
When he reached her chambers, she was already waiting.
"How do you feel, child?"
"I'm fine, thanks to you."
Lady Shella nodded, then asked the question that mattered most.
"Have you noticed anything else strange since last night?"
Roman needed her help. He told her everything—the mories, the blood sacrifices, the weirwoods, the children.
She listened in long silence.
When she finally spoke, her eyes held a quiet hunger.
"Maester Tom told the ghosts are real. You're the first person in recorded history to destroy one. I want you to keep the night watch for from now on. Will you do it?"
Roman t her gaze and knew there was only one answer.
He had already decided to protect her anyway. She was the last rightful Lady of Harrenhal and had no heirs. If sothing happened to her, everything would change.
"Of course, my lady. I'll guard you with everything I have."
He felt a flicker of guilt. His first thought had been about keeping the castle, not the old woman herself. The sha stung.
But Lady Shella had her own reasons.
She wanted Roman to help her reach her dead family.
Ever since the war that put Robert on the throne, she had lived in loneliness. She would give anything to see them again—even as ghosts.
Both of them began searching the ruins with their own private hopes.
Maester Tom had no such luck. The Citadel's more skeptical maesters laughed at him.
"Tom, I know you hate this posting, but a maester serves his lord. Stop chasing fairy tales. If you're going to make up stories, at least pick sothing believable. Ghosts? Are you trying to scare children?"
Tom was furious. He went straight to Roman and asked if he wanted to go to the Citadel and cause trouble.
Roman wasn't interested.
Because he had just spotted a far more powerful ghost.
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