The new ghost had not been discovered during a night patrol. Roman had spotted this entity in broad daylight, drifting near the ruined base of the Tower of Ghosts.
This was the very same tower where Harren the Black and his sons had been roasted alive by dragonfire.
Roman immediately sought out Lady Shella Whent and Old Jessy, needing their authorization to adjust the castle's defenses.
"My Lady, I would like to arrange for active patrols during the day as well, focusing entirely on the inhabited courtyards and gathering areas. Please order all staff to avoid the deep ruins and deserted towers entirely. It will make securing the perimeter much easier."
Old Jessy readily agreed with the plan. Only Roman had ever successfully destroyed one of these phantoms; a regular guardsman would likely freeze in terror if they encountered one. It was best to leave the ghost-hunting to the boy.
"Agreed. Ever since the servants learned the ghosts were real, they've been too terrified to wander off anyway, let alone sneak into the ruins. But you had better teach my men how to actually fight these things, lad!"
Old Jessy clapped Roman hard on the shoulder, but Lady Shella remained deeply anxious.
"These are cursed spirits, Roman. The one you saw near the tower might even be the vengeful ghost of Harren the Black himself. You must be careful!"
"Do not worry, My Lady," Old Jessy said, holding up Roman's bent training rod. "The boy drove this solid iron bar deep into the masonry with a single throw. Roman can handle himself. I am more worried about whether my idle guardsmen will piss their breeches if they see a shadow move."
With a gruff chuckle, Old Jessy headed down to the barracks to assign the new patrol routes.
Roman remained behind in the solar to guard Lady Shella.
"My Lady, we do not know what these spirits are plotting, so I will serve as your personal bodyguard until the threat is dealt with."
As Roman inspected his weapons, he gently reminded Lady Shella to stay alert for sudden drops in temperature or unnatural shadows, as the spirits tended to materialize without warning.
If Roman hadn't already absorbed the memories of Harrenhal's construction, he might have suspected these entities were shadow assassins sent by the Red Priestess, Melisandre. But he knew for a fact these were ancient, lingering souls.
Watching the young man meticulously prepare his gear to defend her, Lady Shella's heart softened.
For a fleeting, bittersweet moment, she looked at the tall, broad-shouldered boy and saw the ghosts of her own deceased sons.
A profound wave of sorrow and maternal instinct washed over her. She slowly walked to Roman's side and gently took his calloused hand.
"Child, if the danger becomes too great, you must run. Do not stubbornly throw your life away trying to be a hero!"
Roman looked down into Lady Shella's tear-filled eyes, guessing the old woman was reliving the devastating losses of Robert's Rebellion.
In the original lore, the Whents had been a massive, thriving family. When Lord Walter Whent hosted the Great Tourney at Harrenhal, there were at least eight prominent members of the main branch present.
But by the time the main story began, Lady Shella was the last living Whent, ruling over a decaying ruin entirely alone.
Though the books never explicitly detailed House Whent's full military involvement in the Rebellion, their close ties to the Kingsguard strongly suggested they had bled for the Targaryen loyalists.
Seeing the genuine, terrified concern in the old woman's gaze, Roman firmly grasped her weathered hand in return.
"My life was given back to me by your mercy, My Lady. I swear I will protect you until you pass peacefully of old age. I will not allow myself to die a single day before that!"
To emphasize his vow, Roman brought his right fist up and slammed it hard over his heart. The dull, heavy thud echoed through the quiet solar.
A deep sense of relief and profound emotion flashed in Lady Shella's eyes, though she still nervously nagged him to be careful.
To ease her crippling anxiety, Roman eventually agreed to take a small contingent of guards with him whenever he was forced to step away from her side.
Later that afternoon, Old Jessy returned carrying a heavy leather bundle. When he dropped it on the table, it fell open to reveal a set of solid steel throwing spears.
Looking at the heavy metal javelins, which were vastly different from traditional wooden spears, Roman frowned in confusion. "Sir, why are you giving me throwing spears? Shouldn't a castle guard be armed with a bow and arrows?"
Old Jessy rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Do you even know how to loose an arrow, boy?"
Roman instantly realized the flaw in his logic and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ah. I suppose I will need you to teach me the proper form first."
"Forget the bow for now," Old Jessy interrupted. "Let us prioritize her ladyship's immediate safety. You can practice archery later. These javelins will suit your monstrous strength just fine."
Old Jessy then reached into the bundle and tossed Roman a long-handled warhammer. The solid steel head was the size of a large goose egg.
For an ordinary guardsman, the heavy hammer would be an exhausting weapon to swing. For Roman's draconic muscles, it felt dangerously light. However, he didn't want to complain and seem ungrateful.
It will shatter a ghost just fine, Roman thought to himself. Now all we have to do is wait for the bastards to show themselves.
Several tense weeks passed, yet the ruins remained entirely quiet. The ghosts did not show themselves to the residents of Harrenhal again.
The initial terror among the servants gradually faded into sheer apathy. They had far too much physical labor to do during the day; if the ghosts weren't actively trying to murder them, they simply lacked the energy to care.
After careful consideration, Lady Shella decided to lift the state of high alert. The relentless, double-shift patrols had left the castle guards thoroughly exhausted, and the men were begging for proper rest.
After all, not everyone possessed Roman's unnatural, endless stamina.
Harrenhal enjoyed over a month of total peace, and daily life slowly returned to its normal, dreary rhythm.
However, Roman remained a constant presence by Lady Shella's side.
Though the immediate threat had seemingly vanished, Lady Shella found she genuinely enjoyed having the boy around.
While Roman was technically just an attendant, he intuitively understood that what the grieving widow truly needed was familial connection.
Therefore, he consciously began interacting with her not as a subservient staff member, but as a respectful junior speaking to an elder relative. Lady Shella eagerly welcomed the shift in tone.
As the weeks turned into months, Lady Shella grew incredibly fond of Roman.
He was diligent, meticulously thorough in his duties, and always treated the castle staff with a firm but kind hand. He was never servile to his superiors, nor arrogant to his inferiors.
This balanced demeanor earned Roman the unanimous respect of Harrenhal's staff, which in turn made him a magnet for castle gossip.
"My Lady, you will find this amusing," Roman said one afternoon. "Old John the drunkard was terrified his wife would beat him after his latest tavern binge, so he tried to hide near your solar to seek your protection. Unfortunately, you were resting, and his wife caught him in the corridor. They say his wails of mercy could be heard from the top of the Widow's Tower."
"Also, the local septon has been heavily overcharging the smallfolk for blessings. The servants are hoping you might step in and administer some justice."
Through Roman's casual storytelling, Lady Shella found herself proactively engaging with the daily affairs of her territory for the first time in years.
Without even realizing it, Roman was building a rudimentary intelligence network. Though it currently only gathered local gossip and trivial disputes, it kept him perfectly informed of the castle's mood.
Lady Shella frequently found herself laughing at Roman's dry humor. She didn't even realize that the suffocating depression she had carried for over a decade was finally beginning to dissipate.
She had become entirely dependent on the boy's presence.
The rest of the servants respected her, but it was a cold respect born of duty and social hierarchy.
Roman treated her like family. He told jokes, shared stories from his patrols, and offered surprisingly calm, mature insights on castle management.
Eventually, Lady Shella realized she viewed Roman purely as an adopted son rather than an attendant. It was a fact the rest of the castle staff had long since accepted.
Even the gruff Old Jessy couldn't find a single flaw in the boy's character. The veteran now regularly used Roman to shame the newer recruits.
"You lot of weeping babes!" Old Jessy would bellow in the yard. "You are crying after a single hour of drills! Look at Roman! He takes every insult I throw at him and begs for extra practice! Are you trying to shirk your duties so badly that I have to ask the laundry maids to man the walls?"
Life in the cursed ruins had actually become quite pleasant.
But the peaceful days were destined to end.
The ghosts finally returned.
And this time, the entity Roman had crushed was not alone. Several towering spirits materialized in the ruins, their forms wreathed in flickering, unnatural black flames.
Instead of fear, Roman felt his draconic blood surge with violent excitement. He instantly recognized the terrifying silhouettes from his nightly dreamscapes.
"Harren the Black..." Roman whispered, gripping his warhammer. "You finally showed up."