#the ghost of harrenhal

[tonyloom]

Arya Stark of Winterfell, Daughter of the north, Queen of Winter, The night wolf, The ghost of Harrenhal, Witch queen, Bloodwitch, Wolf witch, water dancer, The She-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell.

[lupiiny]

“Speak the names, and a man will do the rest.”

[bellarkeselection]

Hey could you write for Daemon targaryen like while he's being haunted in harnehal he finds his comfort in a prisoner and falls in love with her targaryen type of love and obsession and he married her like his second wife something he listens to her obeys her admires her while he fights war for rahaenya right guess she isn't happy with their marriage but have to accept as he's crucial for her but later on when they're leading she asks him her head so they both escaped with caraxes alive to anywhere you want

His Compass of Harrenhal

Tag list - @only4thefics @superintenseart @universallyrascaldreamercookie

This request will have a couple of parts to it so enjoy and if you want to be added send that below in the comments 😊

I could hear footsteps slowly coming through the castle that I was forced to be a prisoner in. Not physically but mentally inside my mind for years and years to come. Sneaking through the hallway near the kitchen I raised my sword until I jumped around the corner feeling the cold tip of a sword against my throat. “Show yourself you ghost!”

“Not before you reveal yourself first!” I heard a deep man’s voice shifting my gaze up to meet his purple eyes that could only belong to a Targaryen.

I gulped slightly nervous that I must still be having another nightmare. “What is your name, ghost?”

“I’m no ghost, strange woman. I am Daemon Targaryen. The future king of the Seven Kingdoms. Now who the hell are you!” He growled under his breath glaring his eyes deadly in my direction.

The tip of my sword was pointed up against the fabric of his tunic shirt while he had his sword end up against my throat. Both of us never lowered our weapons while we spoke to one another. “My name is Y/n, Y/n Tully. I was wed to the late lord of this castle until I started hearing and seeing things that didn’t make sense. I’ve been attempting to escape ever since he called me a witch.”

“He’s named you a prisoner then?” Daemon raised a brow at me.

Shaking my head, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. “I’m not quite sure anymore. I haven’t been able to trust my own mind to tell me what is real and what is fake for far too many years. Why are you here, if you’re truly here.”

“Have you known any of these ghosts you see to ever have a sword pressing against your throat.” He questioned me.

I replied, beginning to lower my blade off of his chest. “I can’t say that they ever have.”

“Then we may not be alone in whatever is going on inside this dreadful castle.” He placed his sword back in his belt, walking into the kitchen and I followed him knowing it was probably a better option then going back alone to my old chamber room. I couldn’t stand the idea of being a prisoner here anymore than I already had because I feared I wouldn’t make it through another night on my own. Not without Daemon by my side.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been staring into the burning flames of one of the candles I was holding in one hand and my sword tightly clenched in the other. The rain hadn’t stopped at all during the day and I didn’t believe it was going to stop throughout the night either. Hearing footsteps coming into the chambers I scrambled to my feet I spun around aiming my blade towards the shut window until someone put their hand over my mouth causing me to go into fight or flight mode. “Get your fucking hands off of me - gah!” I screamed attempting to cut the ghost with my blade.

“Gīda ilagon. Gīda ilagon, issa klios ābrazȳrys ( Calm down. Calm down, my fish wife ).” I sucked in a breath feeling the tension in my body beginning to fade recognizing the voice that spoke in my ear.

Closing my eyes I paused lowering my sword asking him a question. “Issi ao se vala nyke call issa zaldrīzes dārys? ( Are you the man I call my dragon king? ).”

Daemon’s voice whispered in my ear, hot breath framing on the side of my neck. “Kessa, issa byka ābrazȳrys ( Yes, my little wife ).”

“Daemon!” I squealed out in such a relief flinging my arms around his neck letting my sword clank to the floor without a care in the world knowing that he wasn’t in fact another ghost attempting to haunt my mind night after night.

He wrapped his arms around my waist clinging onto me like he needed me to physically breathe. He buried his nose into my hair barely letting some tears be shed from his eyes. “Y/n.”

Unaware of how long we had been there together we had come up with our own secret code system that we made sure no one else knew except for the two of us and us alone. He was fluent in high valyrian and very few people who weren’t a part of the Targaryen family could speak it. So he would teach me every chance he could when he wasn’t trying to raise an army for his queen and former wife Rhaenyra.

“Touch me, Daemon.” I muttered under my breath barely pulling away from his embrace. Needing just a tiny bit more proof that it was truly him.

He moved his hands up to cradle the sides of my face in his own hands , crashing his lips down onto mine in a very deep kiss leaving me breathless when he broke it. “I’m here, Y/n. Your dragon husband is right in front of you.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck I drew him in for another long kiss. He threaded one of his hands into my hair drawing out a moan from me. We remained attached to one another making our way back to the bed where I collapsed onto my back with him hovering above me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck I went to kiss him but a loud knock came from the other side of the door. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

“I’ll go tell the asshole to leave.” Daemon got up from the bed, flinging the door opened seeing the caretaker of Harrenhal. “What the hell do you want this late hour!”

The man extended his hand holding out a letter. “A letter from Dragonstone, my king.”

“Who’s it from?” I asked him sliding down off the bed walking over to him, taking it from his hands and tearing it open. I began reading it aloud since Daemon seemed to be in no mood for any company tonight except for me. “Dear Daemon, I have been wondering how the search for men for my army is going. It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard anything from you so this is me asking for an answer. I need more men to secure my throne and my birthright. Keep your word and loyalty to your queen and wife , Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“You’re first wife. She’s the one the late king Viserys named his rightful heir right?” I asked him sitting the letter down on the nearest table.

Daemon lowered his purple eyes to meet my gaze. “She’s actually my second wife. My first died on her horse, then her until the night I met you in this castle. I need to give her an army to help her take the throne back.”

“You’ll need the support of the Riverlords. House Tully controls how loyal they are. I can speak to Lord Grover for you.” I draped my arms over his neck and he put his hands on my hips bringing me closer to his body.

Daemon smiled widely down at me, kissing me deeply a second time not caring the lord was here. “Brilliant and beautiful I certainly won with you Lady Y/n Tully.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[nikinikori]

RHAEWIN with JACAERYS TARGARYEN

S01E06: "The Princess and The Queen"

S02E04: "The Red Dragon and the Gold"

[thehauntingofharrenhouse]

is this anything

[thatsgayrightsdotcom]

dont look at me like that

[bks-writing-adventures]

The Prince and Princess of Death (Aemond X Ghost! Tully! Reader)

Word Count: 6.4 K

Summary: Aemond goes to Harrenhal to learn more of the world, instead, he learns about love, death, and the odd world of ghosts.

Warnings: Mentions of death, drowning, ghosts, light mentions of suicide, blood, it's low key giving Greek Tragedy but with a happy ending!

Everyone was painfully aware that Harrenhall was haunted. The whispers in the walls, the ominous things spoken in the dark, books moved and wailing carried by the winds. But in Aemond’s mind, what could a ghost do to him? There was no physical body, no pain to be caused, perhaps some sadness in seeing corpses walk, but he was confident in his ability to navigate. He simply wished to take some books and learn some new things of the world. The world that he wished to rule one day. And his mother had convinced him that this was an honor, for him to be invited in the first place. He was fantastic in his studies, and his mother was proud of that.

He didn’t have looks that could get him anywhere, so from a young age, when his face was sewn back together, he knew he would have to compensate for it. He read and read and read every book from front to back, had his own personal copies commissioned so he could write in the margins. He learned of the plants and the fish, war strategy, histories and philosophies. Only to find out that most Lords didn’t care to discuss such things. 

It seemed most men were more interested in ladies and whores and wine. That, and the weather. The gods forsaken weather. But the moment he tried to bring up cloud formations, odd looks were shot his way. The one positive, however, was that Grover Tully had heard of his habits and sent an invite for him to come to Harrenhal for some days to study the rich history and plant diversity. There was no question about whether he would go, his grip on his reins tight as Vhagar slid across the rocky ground. The air was wet and smelled of things he could not identify, and yet, he was excited to learn, marching his way up to the castle that was once grand. 

It was still the largest, yes, but there were leaks and cracks and full chunks missing. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sleep inside, to have water trickle into your room and bats tap against your walls. But soon, he wouldn’t have to imagine, going right up to one of the holes and sliding in. It was dark, and the air felt thick and warm with light. He followed the candles, and smiled from the corridor as he saw the Lords and his daughters in the Great Hall, waiting for his arrival. “Ah, I see I used the wrong entrance,” He called out, making them jump. And to his delight, they seemed to find humor in his words. 

“Ah, Prince Aemond! I am glad you could make it,” Lord Tully was kinder than expected. His eye narrowed, and he was hunting for undertones. For violence, or perhaps, teasing. He knew the game of court, and he knew the way of tongues. And he knew that when most people spoke, they did not truly mean the words that escaped them. But this old man, he was all chuckles and drunkenness. A little tipsy as he stumbled to the dining table.

 “Please, join us for our evening meal!” He called out, waving him over. He was hesitant for a moment, and as he walked, he could swear that he felt footsteps beside him, copying him, holding him. He tried not to look, but after a moment, he glanced over. And though he could see nothing- no, this was his brain playing tricks on him. He had read about this, the placebo effect. If he truly believed the place was haunted, he would begin to feel things, to hear things that were not there at all. Clearing his throat, he sat at the first seat available. Lord Tully had three daughters, and they looked similar to him. Slightly masculine in nature, their shoulders wide and their features strong, but there was a sweetness. 

He could believe they were triplets, if he were told. They had curls of ginger that rippled out like waves of the sea, and jewelry on their fingers, all of them matching. As he sat on the chair, they looked at him, a curl in their lips as if contemplating whether or not to speak. “Perhaps the Prince would like a different chair, this one is far more comfortable,” Lord Tully spoke, a bit of tension in his voice. Aemond could tell that he had broken an unknown rule, standing up and relocating. 

“My apologies, I was not made aware of your preference,” He spoke, his hands on the armrests. 

“We should have informed you. That chair belonged to my late daughter, (Y/N). We keep it open for her,” The thought saddened him, but he tried not to show it on his face. He tried to think of what that would be like. Despite living with his family, he felt that he was greatly distanced from them. He and Aegon did not speak often. Sometimes, Aegon would speak to him, but only to taunt and ask for coin when he ran out. He liked Helaena, and sitting with her, but she was not much of a chatterbox. Though they did share a connection, he liked to think, through the trauma they shared. He was pushed away for his looks, whereas she was pushed away for her mind. He was close with his mother and not with his father, and his uncle? Forget about it. But to see this family, leaving a chair open for their dead kin. It touched him, in a way. 

“Of course,” He nodded, looking down at the meal that he was served. Fish, buttery and flaky and smothered in bread crumbs to mask the flavor of the off season. Wine that was more bitter than what he was used to, but he drank it anyway. He knew to respect the space, and to nod as they asked him questions.

 “Do you like being a Prince?” One of the ladies asked, to which he nodded.

 “Sometimes. I am very lucky, I don’t know the feeling of an empty stomach or the pain of not having fine clothes. But the responsibilities are heavy, and the court is boring,” He smiled, trying to coax out some laughter, some approval from this group he would be spending his time with. 

“So, I hear that you read a lot. Have you ever considered writing anything of your own?” Lord Tully asked, his mouth full of potato. Aemond thought about the question for a moment, rolling it around in his head. “Perhaps one day. But I am now too young to be an expert on anything. And I am not much of a storyteller, i’m afraid. I am more fascinated with history and science,” He answered, and as his eyes wandered the table, he could swear that a figure filled the seat of the dead lady. He blinked, and as his brows scrunched together, his eye squinting, she was still there. Her gown soft and white, her eyes matching as they seemed to wander the room, her face warm from the candle light. 

“I’m sorry, do you-” He paused, staring at the table. 

“Yes. She comes and goes as she pleases,” One of the ladies spoke up, and when he looked again, she vanished. His heart thumped in ihs chest, and he squirmed in discomfort. They were so casual about it, and he held his breath in his cheeks.

 “Oh. I- I see.” He mumbled quietly. He tried to ease his mind. Surely this was just a joke they were playing, having one of their maids come and run away. He bent his head to look under the table, to see if a jester was hiding beneath it. But there was nothing, nothing but shoes and the ends of frilly skirts. 

“So, no writing for you, then?” Lord Tully asked, and he quickly shook his head. 

“What do you think happens when we die? Do you believe in the Seven?” One of the ladies asked, resting her face in her palms. They had a breathy way of speaking, as if they had just ran all around. 

“Yes, my lady. I am quite passionate in my faith. I visit the Sept quite frequently with my mother, and I have read the Seven Pointed Star more times than I can count on my fingers,” He responded pridefully. 

“Hm.” She hummed shortly. “It is all nonsense,” She hummed softly, putting her utensils down. “I am retiring for the night, good night, father!” She spoke, and like ducklings, her sisters followed, giving their father a kiss on the forehead before rushing off to their chambers. He sat in awkward silence for a moment before the Lord spoke up.

 “Do not mind them, they are young and questioning things and mourning their sister,” He said gently, pouring himself a new chalice of wine. Aemond nodded, folding his napkin over his plate, rubbing his hands together.

 “I understand. My father is not doing entirely well these days, I feel as though my mother acts as though he is already gone,” He admitted, his face flushing. He did not know why he admitted it, to a stranger, nonetheless. Lord Tully nodded, giving him an understanding smile. 

“That is how it tends to be, is it not? I mourned my (Y/N) long before she was gone,” He said quietly, and Aemond stared at him for a second, trying to pick up more clues. 

“And… how did your daughter die, may I ask?” The words felt unnatural, and his voice came out soft, almost warm. Lord Tully did not seem the slightest bit uncomfortable as he responded. “A drowning incident. But there was so much more than that. I remember, some weeks before her death she began to have a curiosity for the unknown. My daughter always wanted to write an epic story of the sea, and i’ve searched aimlessly for whatever she may have. A page, a sentence, but I come back empty handed. I suppose she was on one of her adventures, the late night or the early morning, we will never know. But she washed up with afternoon tea. My eldest, Mae, went to fetch her for cake and cream. When they could not find her, they went to her favorite spot It was her favorite, because it was where the small stuff would wash up. 

She couldnt be more than a few feet away from the most beautiful shell i’ve ever seen. She was facing the sky, like she was only sunbathing. But to see her, her tongue purple and her eyes open like that.. It is something that I will not live long enough to forget,” He spoke, his voice going melancholic before he suddenly pressed his palms against his table. “But enough about our suffering. How was your meal?” He asked. This family discussed death like the Lords spoke of the weather. 

“Oh! It was, very good. Is that- was that white fish?” he asked, making the Lord chuckle. 

“Cod! The finest of fish. I find it pairs best with orange wine, but alas, we have run out,” He responded. “Now, allow me to show you to the guest chambers. You are lucky, it is right near the library. Feel free to read anything you want, I only ask that you do not read and eat, and do not take the old text outside, the sun will bleach the pages,” He said, and Aemond nodded as he soaked up the information like a sponge. The chambers were.. Well, they left much to be desired. There was a nice big bed, a fire place, a table to put his things, a few bottles of water, a small couch. But the trees screamed outside, and rain drops flew in with the wind. There was an empty wardrobe, dusty from lack of care. 

“Thank you, My Lord.” he spoke, placing his things down. He preferred to travel light. A change of clothes, some night wear, a few extra eyepatches, his own quill and journal to keep track of his studies. He sighed as he changed into his soft, cotton night clothes- and as he looked in the mirror, his heartbeat quickened as a hand touched his torso. He let out a loud sound, whipping around to try and figure out what was there, his hand wrapping around the handle of his dagger. He didn’t call out into the dark, he stayed quiet as he inched toward the wardrobe, pulling the wooden doors open. Nothing. Slowly, he turned. He could feel something touching his hair, his hand moving wildly through the strands, trying to shake something out. 

He could hear a giggle, and when he turned, he could finally see something. The soft silhouette of a woman going out the door, except, of course, she did not open it- she simply went through it, giggling down the hall. He could hear the pitter patter of her feet, his mouth parted as he opened the door, rushing down the hall, trying to figure out where the creature was going. He wasn’t supposed to believe in all this, but it was right before his eye. He could reach out and touch her, if she let him. “Hello?” he called out, trying to keep his voice calm. He slowly approached a door, one that’s knob was becoming worn down from touches, from going in and out. His fingers curved so naturally around it, and he drew in a deep breath as he slowly opened it. It howled with a creak, and he winced at the noise, looking around, as though someone would call him on his trespassing. He slowly made his way inside, and he softened at the sight. It was brighter than the other rooms, the walls splashed with blue and covered in small paintings, lazy swirls and hand prints.

 He lifted his hand to the dark blue paint, biting his lip as he pressed his handprint over the one forever stained into the wall. His hand was much larger, covering up the mark with the width of his palm. His brows scrunched together, and he felt connected to it, her, whatever this entity was. Even if it was just for a moment. The giggle tickled his ears again, and he turned his head to look at the bed. A shadow rested on it, hidden by a sheer canopy, seashells stitched into the fabric. He didn’t know what compelled him to move forward, but before he knew it, he was staring down at her, and she was staring up at him. He pushed the fabric aside, sitting down on the bed. It was soft, squishy. “My Lady?” he whispered softly as the moon dragged across the blankets. The light made her show, the outline of her nose, the fuzzy halo of her hair. He was talking to the air, to the mere idea of something. But he continued. 

“Are you there?” He asked. Slowly, he could see her becoming more solid. Becoming alive as the night aged, as the stars twinkled in the sky, and when the next breeze came, he could feel her hair brushing his nose. He smiled faintly at the feeling, reaching out to touch it. It felt like spun sugar, weightless in his hands. He should be afraid. Of himself, for being insane enough to see this. To believe it.

 “Can you speak?” he asked. There was a soft hum, and it echoed off the walls, crawling into his ear and sliding across his brain.

 “You are warm,” Her voice felt like a song, and he felt heat rising into his cheeks. He had read fables. Every culture seemed to have a different interpretation of the sleeping ladies. Women who killed themselves, who were silenced in their lifetimes, returning to whisper to lost souls and sleeping sailors. The Tully had drowned, and yet, as he looked at her now- she seemed enchanted. Like a mermaid hundreds of feet in the waves, hair flowing around, her skin tinted blue with the ocean. And yet her face remained full, and her skin glowed. She was not frightening at all. And slowly, she leaned closer.

 “I am warm?” He repeated back to her, reaching out his hand. He wanted to touch her, to feel how cold her skin must be. To wonder if she really was as her sisters said, still swimming in the sea. 

“Yes. Like fire.” She whispered back, and when their skin touched, he felt a sting rush up his arm. Like a million needles penetrating his skin. He grunted, yanking his hand back, staring at it with a bewildered expression. Maybe ghosts could hurt. “It is alright,” She whispered, reaching out again. Her hands moved unnaturally, as if they were flowing around like the tentacles of a jellyfish. “Please don’t hide from me,” Her voice was melting him like butter, and much to his displeasure, he gave in. He let her run her cold hands along his nose, over the base of his brows. “You are so beautiful. So alive.” She studied him like she had never seen a human being before, smiling as she touched his hair.

 “I would hope so,” He said hesitantly, getting a bit closer. “Are you the drowned lady?” He asked, brows raised.

 “Is that what they call me now?” She asked. He smiled, she was teasing him. He could see dimples in her cheeks, a slight tilt in his head. His mind wandered as he looked at her. She still came to her room, she still haunted this house. 

“Why are you here?” He asked.

 “This is my room,” She responded matter-of-factly. He smiled at her, licking his lips as his eyes continued to wander. There were shells everywhere, articles of clothing, her wardrobe still parted. It was painted with light blue and pink, and her socks were still on the floor with the muddy imprints of sand and toes. Her family probably hadn’t touched anything since she died. Including jars of water that were beginning to mold. 

“I know that, but.. Here, in this realm. You aren’t in the Heavens or the Hells,” He said softly. She hummed, slowly getting up. Her dress danced in unnatural ways, the fabric flapping and floating all around her, glowing dots across her back in the shape of a fish.

 “There are the Heavens, the Hells, and Harrenhal.” She responds, reaching out her hand to touch her wardrobe, being sure to stay in the light of the moon. Her hand reached out, and she knocked her knuckles against the wood. The sound echoed, and she smiled softly. “I stay here for my sisters. But I can go anywhere in the world,” She spoke fondly, as if death were a vacation. 

“Is this what happens? To everyone who dies here?” he asked. He hadn’t seen any other ghosts, at least, as far as he was aware. She didn’t respond to his question, only continuing to wander in her own little world. 

“You are the boy who reads.” She says, her big eyes looking at him. It was a bit hard to tell where she was focusing, as she no longer had irises. She just looked.. Vacant, in a way. The sight made shivers run up his spine. 

“I am, I read a lot. Does that interest you?” He asked. Never in his life did he think that he would be flirting with a ghost. She rolled her eyes, he could tell in the twitch of her eyelashes. 

“But you do not write,” She spoke. Ah, she had been listening in. Only then, at the dinner table, he hadn’t realized just how real she was.

 “I don’t- well, not publicly, anyways. But I enjoy journaling,” He couldn’t believe that he was saying all of this out loud.

 “When I was alive, I always wanted to write the best of stories. I had so much to say,” She says softly, and he can see her roaming the room to the bookshelves, caressing all the spines. Her words hit his heart, and he slowly rises to join her. “Death is very lonely. Most of my friends have left to the other side, but there is still business for me, here. It is a shame I cannot talk to my sisters,” She says gently, slowly picking up a book. It seems to fight her touch as she pulls the brittle pages open.

 “But I am talking to you right now, My Lady. How is it that I can hear you and they cannot?” He asked, to which she shrugged.

 “Quite the curious thing, isn’t it? If only there were a handbook for the dead. I fear that everything I do is a wildcard. I never know what will come of it. It is only in this room that my touch can travel into the real world,” She said, and as though to prove it, she reached out and pinched his cheek. He thought her touch would be cold and haunting. But it felt warm, and it reached into his heart, squeezing it tight. He had to fight the urge to lean into her. 

“So what happens now?” He asked. He could not tell where this was going, or why he was here in the first place.

 “I suppose I can only beg you to keep me company. What have I missed in the world?” She asked, and they spent hours staring at the ceiling as he told her of war overseas, of family drama, of insecurities that he kept well hidden. 

“LIfe is too short to be insecure, My Prince,” She responded, to which he scoffed. He almost answered with something petty, but he quickly stopped himself. It was hard to remember that she wasn’t truly here, especially when she felt so real. So real that everyone else seemed fake. It was a shame, he could see himself falling in love with her. He had no desire to marry in Riverrun, and in his luck, he had fallen for the one woman he literally could not have. Not in any way. 

“I suppose you’re right. But at least I do not intend to go swimming in the deep sea for shells,” He teased, holding his breath as he hoped for a laugh. Maybe joking about her death was in poor taste, but to his relief, she smiled. 

“No, but you do frequently find yourself in the skies on the back of a scaly beast,” She said in return. He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached to play with her hair.

 “Vhagar is no beast, she is a companion,” He responded, sighing as his touch reached to her nose and cheeks. 

“I still cannot believe that I died in the sea,” She mumbles softly. “How fragile life is. But at the end of the day, we are just a bag of skin and bones. You drop it from high enough, and it will burst,” She mumbled, to which he nodded. He hesitated before he spoke next, licking his lips. 

“I wish that we could have met when you were alive,” He mumbled softly. She gently shook her head, reaching to play with his eyepatch.

 “We wouldn’t have liked eachother then. Death has made me wiser. I fear I would have only annoyed you when I was alive,” She responded, and he nodded quietly. 

“I will probably think the same one day. When I am old and withered.” He responded, and she slowly sat up.

 “Yes, I am sure you will regret this Grim Reaper attire you storm around in,” She commented, making him scoff. 

“Many people enjoy my clothing, actually,” He teased, and she shook her head. 

“It still will not be your proudest moment… but you do look rather handsome,” She spoke, making blood burn in his cheeks. He hadn’t been called handsome, not by a lady of the court, or of course, a ghost. Only his mother when he dressed up for his nameday, or the whores who kept him company and showered him with compliments so long as he showered them with payment. He looked at her quietly, feeling his face going soft. This was so humiliating, and the only thing that would hear of it would be the parchment of his journal and the ink in his quill. “Were you this beautiful when you were alive?” He asked quietly. He was utterly captivated by her, and his brows furrowed as he watched her slowly fade with the sun rise. Like a vampire disappearing into the shadows.

 “I am uncertain. I don’t know what I look like anymore, the mirrors do not cater to souls,” She spoke, looking over at the wall. There was a round, silver backed mirror covered in seashells and little twirls of gold and twine, and inside it, he could only see his own face staring back at them.

 “Are you disappearing?” He asked quietly, reaching to touch her hand, his fingers falling right into the blankets. She smiled at him, and he could see the walls through her face.

 “Why, are you going to miss me?” She asked, brows raised as she backed into the slimming shadows. He wanted to say no, to roll his eye at the idea. But he knew he could be vulnerable with her. He found comfort in her condition, knowing that she could not go talking to people about them, about him, and the way that he was getting so gentle for her. 

“Of course, my Lady,” he responded. 

“Very good. Now, you need to get back to your rooms before my father finds you in here,” She says, moving through the wall. He wanted to respond, but as he stared at the small, bright spot in the wall, it slowly faded like a flame without air. And now his lady was gone. With a sigh, he quietly made his way back to the guest chambers, laying on his back. He hardly got any sleep before the birds were chirping, and he blinked away any sleepiness that remained. He had slept a total of two hours, but he had never felt so, well, awake. (Y/N) he woken something up inside of him, making him smile, making his heart tremor. 

He changed quickly into his day clothes before making his way down to the dining hall, walking slow in the hallways in hopes of catching her whispers. The sounds of her footsteps, a glimpse of her in the shadows. And when there was nothing, he tried to hide his disappointment. “Ah, My Prince, I see that you are awake. Feel free to help yourself to fish and toast,” Lord Tully spoke, and he bit his tongue. These people really did enjoy having fish for every meal, but he could hardly blame them. The water was where most of their wealth and resources came from, down to the clay they used to sculpt their goods. His eye wandered around the table, looking at all the faces of (Y/N)’s sisters. He could see the small resemblances.

 The slightly wild brows, the light glow of their skin. “I thought you may like to go with my daughter, Elaena, into the wetlands today. There are many exquisite creatures there, be sure to bring your books and bottles,” He nodded in response to the invitation, getting a little awkward at the idea of spending a whole day with a lady. He ate his breakfast slowly, his gaze darting to the vacant seat that haunted the table. Nothing. Not even her shadow. He sighed into his cup, stacking his plates when he finished. He took his leather bag on his shoulder, following Lady Elaena outside. 

“You met my sister last night,” She spoke matter-of-factly. He was immediately on edge, looking down at her. She was rather short, especially for a lady in the Riverlands. Her eyes were dark, and she seemed a little out of it, as if she was constantly in her own world. 

“I did. I met all of you,” He responded. He didn’t know why he felt so protective over his talks with (Y/N). They felt especially intimate. 

“Yes. Even my dead one. What did you speak of?” She asked, crouching down as their feet began to sink into the marsh. Her fingernails were stained brown and green from clay and plants. She was far from what the courts would consider feminine, and yet, she had something special about her. Maybe it was because she looked so much like (Y/N), but he felt a smile spreading on his face as he watched her. 

“How do you know of our talk?” he asked quietly. Maybe (Y/N) could actually speak to her sisters, maybe she was playing with him, trying to make him feel like some sort of chosen one.

 “I like to go to her room, when I cannot feel her anymore. She leaves notes sometimes. When I opened her diary, there was something new inside. Talk of a pretty Prince that made her dead heart sing.” She responded, grabbing his hand to make him hold a container for her. She was looking through all types of rocks, hitting some against others to make them crack in two. It was clear that she shared her sisters’ love for the wild. He blushed as she spoke, and he took a deep breath as he tried to collect his thoughts. 

“It is funny, that if I had come only some moons ago, I could speak to her in the flesh,” He said, a bit of sadness covering his face. What a life they could lie together. Spending every day like this, bent at the river, looking at the sea, collecting things and wondering what they could be. They could have even gotten married. He tried not to let his mind go so far. He was just romanticizing her, he hardly knew the girl, the ghost, and yet, she already had him. Had him in her little dead palms. 

“Perhaps. But you couldn’t have prevented her death, none of us could. I am not meant to speak of it, but everyone knows that she loved the arts. Even the ones that she was meant to stay away from. She gave her life for her discoveries, it is only a shame that none of us will ever see them. I wonder how many secrets died with her in the sea,” She mumbled solemnly. Arts that she was not meant to explore, that could only mean one thing. 

“She studied the dark magicks?” He asked, brows raised. He would say that she did not seem like the type, but between the shell-covered mirrors and her soft gaze, he could not deny that there was something magical about her. 

“I do not think that is the word for it. I do not believe any magick is dark. It is only the intensions that matter. She wished to change the world, and she did. She changed all of us the moment that last breath escaped her lungs. There is a hole that must be filled, we just do not know what to do with it. Her soul remains in our home and we have no way of freeing her. It is not a good feeling,” She mumbled softly, reaching into the water and pulling out a small fish, studying its shining scales. “I do not think she was just hunting for any seashell. It was a spell of sorts. She had to perform a ritual beneath the moon, where she had to trade something sacred of hers for a prize of her desires. I do not think she knew that she would be trading her life,” She spoke gently, standing back up. “This is an aclin pod. It creates a complex poison that can boil the skin, when it penetrates the surface. But you can eat it safely, isn’t that odd?” She asked, her eyes bright and curious as if she had not just revealed the darkest of secrets. 

“What was the prize?” He asked quietly. She simply looked at him, let out a soft hum, continuing to walk. “Elaena, what was the prize?” He asked, following behind her as they went through the forest. 

“I do not know. I do not think she knows, either. Maybe the whole thing was a great big trick,” She mumbled, and after that, the Tully did not speak again. The story swam in circles around his mind until dinner, until he was poking at a pile of potatoes, ready to get up and rush to (Y/N)’s room, to talk to her again. When the plates were finally cleared, he made the statement that he was so tired from a long day of research, saying a gentle good night as he quickly made his way up the stairs, and finally, as he was surrounded my the dark corridors, he could hear her giggles.

 “Did you miss me, my little Prince?” Her voice whispered, and he could feel the vibrations against his ears. He smiled, quickly opening the door to her room. He was worried that maybe it wouldn’t be there at all, covered in cob webs and missing all the charms. But to his relief, she was there, kneeling on the bed as she smiled up at him. “Well, did you?” She asked, brows raised. He sighed, finally kneeling in front of the bed so they could be at eye-level. 

“What do you think?” He asked softly, reaching his hands to touch the fabric that rested on her skin. It felt like nothing, like the feeling of seafoam’s caress on a sticky summer day. He played with the light blue material, wondering if there was anything underneath it.

 “I do not want to think, I want to know,” She teased, and he licked his lips. 

“Of course I missed you, My Princess,” He responded. He didn’t know what was coming over him, a mix of desire. Desire to hold her, to touch her, to cling to her, to bond with her. Just to be with her entirely. 

“I am no Princess,” She responded softly, reaching to touch his hands. It felt so good to feel their skin together, to feel her, so alive in his hands. 

“You are to me, my beautiful Princess of death,” He spoke, reaching to touch her chin, to pull her closer. She was a siren, pulling away at all the barriers between them, enchanting him, intoxicating him. Maybe that was the truth. Maybe that’s what she was now, a drowned maiden turned goddess. And he wanted to be her God. “Your sister told me the most fascinating story about you, about magick and a ritual. Is it true?” He asked softly. He was so close that his eyelashes brushed her skin, and if she had a heartbeat, he’d be able to feel it against his skin. She nodded softly, leaning forward until she could feel his breath on her face. It felt so warm. She had missed this.

 “Of course it is,” She responded. He nodded slowly, not backing away from her. In fact, he leaned closer, kissing her cheek, just to see if he could. He was pleasantly surprised to find his skin brushing against hers, to feel the heat of her cheeks. 

“And what was this great prize that you traded your life for?” He asked quietly. She didn’t say anything, leaning toward him again, aiming to kiss his mouth. The thought excited him, but he leaned away. “No, no… give me the answer first,” He spoke, holding her face. He liked the way her skin moved under his thumbs, how he could squish her cheeks like dough.

 “Love.” She responded, making his head tilt. He thought she would want great powers, or status, or to transform into a mermaid or something. But love? He wasn’t sure he saw that coming. And someone so lovely and sweet as her, so beautiful, to have to perform magick for love? It confused him greatly, but he slowly nodded.

 “And did death give you this love…?” He asked, slowly sewing the pieces together like a quilt in his mind. She smiled at him, pulling him closer until their lips could meet in a brief, small kiss. He felt his whole body burn under her, and he closed his eye, licking his lips for all the remnants of her touch.

 “I like to think so,” She mumbled into his mouth, and soon, they were kissing again and again, slipping beneath the untouched blankets of the bed, sending a cloud of dust into the air that made them both laugh. 

“I didn’t think i’d ever fall for a dead girl,” He spoke. It sounded so insane, but then again, it was probably not the oddest thing to happen to him.

 “I did not think i’d ever find my prize,” She responded, her hand landing just over his heart, feeling the foreign thump in her hand. “Aemond,” She said quietly, making his head pick up from the crook of her neck.

 “Will you join me in death?” She asked. He paused, lifting himself up as their eyes met.

 “I-” He paused, trying to figure out what it was that she was asking of him. Was she to wait the years until his body was frail and decaying? Or was she asking for something else? The answers came silently when her hand brushed over his dagger. He gazed down at her, and slowly, he complied with her request.

When the sun rose and the Second Son was stained red on the bed, it did not take a genius to know what happened. He had gone peacefully, with a smile still settled in his porcelain face like a little doll. (Y/N)’s room was tainted with death, and the scent lingered in the air even when the blankets were gone. Elaena stared as they took his body into a carriage, and she smiled to herself as soon as she could. In death, her sweet sister finally got their prize. And for decades to come, with every new guest in Harrenhal, they could hear two laughs bouncing off the dark walls, soft moans singing from the Lady’s old chambers, and every now and then, ink would paint the pages of her aged journal.

‘Let us all find love in the next life,

Sincerely,

The Prince and Princess of Death.’

Thank You to everyone who reads! This was a little different from what I usually write, but I hope its a good different!

-BK ♡

[dragon-la]

Daemon walking through Harrenhal while everyone else is fighting a civil war:

[argelladurrandaun]

Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal.

X

she thought, I am a direwolf, and the ghost in Harrenhal. She put her broomstick back in its hiding place and followed him from the godswood.

Arya being the ghost in Harrenhal is a very underrated Arya/Lyanna parallel. As lyanna is also a remembered "ghost in Harrenhal".

[mossytrashcan]

this is the first time I’ve ever fully rawdogged a piece (drawing luke from memory) so we’ll see how it works out lol

[fromtheseventhhell]

When Jon comes back to life and gains a "ghost" moniker to match with Arya, so we get the "Ghost of Harrenhal" leading in Harrenhal and the "Ghost of the North" leading in the North

[tonyloom]

The Leech Lord and a little mouse  🧛🏻‍♀️ 🐭

[laurellerual]

Sometimes I open Arya's tag and I allegedly want to gouge my eyes out.

[sierrabravoecho]

I’m looking for recommendations for ASOIAF re-read podcasts if anyone has any?? I’ve been listening to The Ghosts of Harrenhal but would love to hear if there are other good ones out there. Preferably comedic, serialised and based on book canon not show canon 🙏🏽

[daenerystemper]

yea i've read the books but have YOU SHDJFHSDJFHSDJHFK

[death-of-cats]

Jaime V ASOS

Alayne I AFFC

it's so interesting that Roose Bolton, a character seemingly out of a dark fairy tale himself, is dismissive of Harren's curse, while it's the relentlessly practical Littlefinger who gives the idea credence. You best start believing in ghost stories Miss Stark, you're in one.