The new ghost didn't wait for night patrol.
It appeared in broad daylight inside the tower where Harren the Black had burned to death.
Roman went straight to Lady Shella and Old Jesse with his plan. He needed their permission.
"My lady, I'd like to set up dayti patrols as well. We'll focus on the areas where people actually live. The ruins and empty sections stay off-limits. It'll be easier to manage."
Old Jesse agreed imdiately. No one else had killed a ghost yet. Most n would probably freeze or run if they saw one.
"Of course. The servants are already too scared to wander after what happened. From now on you're going to teach us how to deal with these things, boy!"
He clapped Roman hard on the shoulder.
Lady Shella still looked worried.
"These are ghosts… maybe even Harren the Black's own spirit. You have to be careful."
"Don't worry, my lady." Old Jesse held up Roman's iron training club. "When this thing hit the wall it shattered solid stone. The boy's fine. I'm more worried about whether the rest of these lazy guards can handle a ghost at all."
Old Jesse left to give orders in the guardroom.
Roman stayed behind to watch over Lady Shella.
"My lady, we don't know what these ghosts want yet. I'll stay by your side as your personal guard."
While he checked his weapons, he warned her to watch for sudden appearances. Ghosts liked to pop up without warning.
If he hadn't already known the old stories, he might have wondered if a red priestess had sent shadow assassins.
Lady Shella watched him move with quiet purpose. For a mont she saw one of her own sons standing there.
The thought brought a sharp ache. She walked over and took his hand.
"Child… if sothing goes wrong, run. Don't throw your life away trying to be a hero."
Roman looked at her and guessed she was rembering the pain of Robert's Rebellion.
In the books, House Whent had still been strong when they hosted the great tourney—eight living mbers in the main line. By the ti the story began, only Lady Shella remained, alone in the ruined castle.
The books never said which side they backed, but Roman figured they had been loyalists.
He squeezed her rough hand gently.
"This life is yours, my lady. I'll protect you until the day you pass peacefully. I won't die before then."
He slamd his right fist against the armor over his heart. The dull thud echoed through the room.
Lady Shella's eyes shone with relief and quiet affection, but she still fussed over him for several more minutes.
In the end Roman had no choice but to let her join the patrols with the other guards. Only then did she seem to relax.
A few days later Old Jesse returned with a leather bag full of steel short spears.
Roman stared at the heavy iron shafts.
"My lord, why spears? Shouldn't I have a bow?"
Old Jesse gave him a flat look.
"Can you shoot a bow?"
Roman scratched his head, embarrassed. "I… might need so lessons, my lord."
"Never mind." Old Jesse waved it off. "Focus on keeping Lady Shella safe for now. These will do until you learn the rest."
He handed over a long-handled warhamr next. The head was the size of a goose egg.
To most n it would have been heavy. In Roman's hands it still felt light, but he didn't complain.
"Better than nothing," he thought.
They were as ready as they could be.
Now they just had to wait for the ghosts to show themselves.
——
Weeks passed with nothing.
After that first attack the ghosts stayed away. The servants slowly stopped being afraid and went back to their routines. Since nothing happened, most people lost interest in constant patrols.
Lady Shella eventually lifted the high alert. The long shifts had worn everyone out. Even the guards begged for rest.
Not everyone had Roman's stamina.
More than a month of quiet passed. Life in Harrenhal slowly returned to normal.
Roman never left Lady Shella's side.
Even without the constant tension, she still wanted him nearby.
He understood what she really needed wasn't just a guard. She needed soone to talk to—soone who felt like family.
So he spoke to her like a grandson would, and she welcod it.
The more ti they spent together, the more she grew to love him.
He did every task perfectly. He was serious on watch, ticulous in everything. He treated every person in Harrenhal with kindness—never arrogant with his betters, never condescending to those below him.
The entire castle spoke well of him. In return he gathered gossip and useful information.
"My lady, Old John the drunk got so scared of his wife beating him that he tried to hide in your chambers while you were resting. She still caught him. You could hear him screaming from every corner of the castle that day."
"The septon at the Seven's chapel has been causing trouble again. People want you to settle it."
Through Roman's eyes, Lady Shella finally felt connected to her own lands.
He was quietly building the beginnings of an information network—mostly small talk and local news for now.
Lady Shella laughed more than she had in years. The lancholy that had weighed on her for over a decade slowly lifted.
She didn't even realize how much she had co to rely on him.
The other servants respected her because of duty and rank.
Roman was different. He treated her like family.
He told jokes, shared stories, and offered calm advice when she asked.
One day she caught herself thinking of him as a son instead of a servant. The other servants noticed too.
No one complained. Old Jesse couldn't find fault with him and had started using Roman as the example for every lazy soldier.
"Look at you lot—whining after ten minutes! Look at Roman! Even when I run him into the ground he keeps asking for more training. If you keep slacking you'll be guarding the laundry maids instead of the castle!"
Everything felt peaceful.
Until the ghosts returned.
Not just one.
Several of them appeared together—different from the first. Flas burned inside the black mist.
Roman felt sothing stir deep in his blood. He recognized them instantly.
"Blackheart… Harren. You really are still here."
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