"Harrenhal is cursed. People throughout the Seven Kingdoms talk about the ghosts here. It has seen more owners in three hundred years than any other castle in its entire existence." The old woman's voice was soft and weak. But it was full of malice. "My family was a victim of that curse. I'm sure Harren the Roasted is laughing at us," said "the Roasted" with a smile. Mocking the man was the only pleasure she had at the time.
Jaehaerys had dismissed it as nonsense at first. One death, the shadow could have been anything from Daenerys' imagination of the shadow of a bird.
But since then, every day one more person had died than the day before. A week had passed since then. Seven days, 28 victims. Tomorrow, there will be 36 dead in total.
People were terrified, wondering who would be next. Many had begun to leave. And soon more would leave. Panic grew every day.
And Dany. The girl had stopped studying, spending her days near the dragon eggs, the stones bringing her comfort. She stayed away from anything dangerous. Every day, she begged him to leave, to ask for another castle. But according to Lady Whent, just being recognized as Lord of Harrenhal was enough to fall under the curse.
"And how am I supposed to kill a ghost?" he asked in exasperation. Of all the things that could have delayed his plans, a ghost was not something he could have imagined.
It was absurd, and... fantastic. The existence of ghosts implied that magic was a part of this world. He had thought so when he saw the wall, and now he was sure. Of course, it might have been just one or more people playing a prank. But he had seen it with his own eyes. A worker had died in such an absurd way that no one could have planned it.
"Who knows," spat the old woman. "If I knew how, do you think my family would be dead?" she coughed after shouting at him. "Boy, you should enjoy yourself while you can. Your wife is a beautiful woman. Stop thinking about ghosts and go to her. Maybe drowned between her legs, you'll find a satisfying death. I know many in the castle would wish to go that way," there was a vicious smile on her face. Her pale eyes looked at him. "Or maybe you want to run east. Run as far away as you can. In Essos, I wonder who will catch you first, Harren's ghost or Robert's hammer. But you will die, just as my good brother, my children, and my husband died in your brother's war." Her saliva dripped from her mouth uncontrollably.
"I hope you live forever, Lady Whent," he sneered. "I'm sure the memory of your family keeps you warm on cold nights." He stormed out of the room.
He felt no pity for the old woman. She knew about the curse, and she never said a word, never. She let them into the castle to die for it. She was a woman consumed by hatred and blamed the Targaryens for the death of her family. Even if only her husband died at the Trident. Her children died inside Harrenhal, from disease or accidents. Her daughter was luckier, although not by much. She married a lord and died in childbirth.
Now only she remained, for even her husband's brother, Oswell Whent, had died protecting his king.
"What do you think, Brandon, Torrhen?" They were the two men he trusted most.
"I said it was nonsense, Jae," said Brandon, who was more informal than his brother. "And I stand by that. He must be a troublemaker. Give me time, and I'll find him." Jaehaerys considered his words.
"How do you explain the luck of the woodcutter?" The poor man had died while cutting wood. The man struck the log so hard that the axe flew out of his hands. When he went to pick it up, he tripped over his feet and his left eye fell on a nail.
An accident, no doubt. Like so many others. That alone said that there was no human intervention.
"Coincidence," the man muttered, without much confidence.
"There have been many coincidences, brother," Torrhen spoke. "I don't believe in ghosts or curses... but even I can't deny that what's happening at Harrenhal doesn't make sense. And I can't find any other explanation for it," his voice was heavy. As if what he was saying bothered him.
"I see," said the prince. He wasn't crazy after all. "I'm going to the Isle of Faces."
"Prince."
"Jaehaerys," both brothers said in unison. Neither of them wanted the man to go to the island. No one ever returned from there.
"I'm not asking for advice," he said, determined. "The island is calling me. I don't know if it's because of the curse, but I have to go." It wasn't very reasonable if you asked him.
Ever since he arrived at Harrenhal, his eyes had been drawn to the island. It was always shrouded in mist, but he could feel the magic there. He ignored that feeling and continued trying to develop his land. There was something on the island that he needed. To break the curse, to discover his past. Perhaps even to awaken the dragons. He needed to move. His people were dying with each passing day. His wife was becoming increasingly paranoid. It wasn't a pleasure, it was a necessity. There were so many answers there, he knew it, he could feel it in his bones.
"Perhaps it is Harren the Black who is pointing you to the island," said Brandon.
"Didn't you say it was nonsense?" asked the prince. "You must not tell Daenerys. If I die on the island, make sure you protect her, escort her away from Harrenhal, hopefully the curse won't affect her."
"We'll go with you to—"
"No, I'm going alone," his voice left no room for negotiation.
The two men gritted their teeth. But they nodded.
The prince prepared for his journey; he didn't have much to take with him. He only needed a raft on which to carry his weapon and food for a week. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake and that he wouldn't die on the island.
He wrote one letter to Ros, to Daenerys, and to... Sansa. The latter had been an important part of his life, and he had a place in his heart for her.
He rode with the twins to the shore of the lake. Qyburn said goodbye to him.
The man seemed more intrigued than concerned about the curse. He had even begun to study the behavior of the dead before the accidents occurred.
Jaehaerys felt his eagle land on his shoulder a second before flying away. It had been a long time since he had been so close to her. She had no name, but she had followed him from the north.
He cared for her when she was weak and small. And she had repaid him with loyalty. She understood him in a way no man ever had.
At the edge of the lake was a wooden raft. With two oars at the sides, he could get someone to take him there, even at the risk of their lives. Suddenly, he felt the air tense behind him. He moved just in time to avoid a blow to the back of his neck.
His arm struck Brandon in the stomach, knocking him off his horse.
"I thought you'd know better," he said to the two men accompanying him. One had a cloth sack and the other a rope. "Even attacking me from behind, you couldn't defeat me."
"We wanted to try," said Brandon, worried. The man fell to his feet. "We could have taken you to Essos. They say there's a courtesan in Braavos who will squeeze your balls like lemons. It's your loss." Ah, if Daenerys would hear him now. All the seriousness he had tried to convey would crumble like a leaf in autumn.
"We await your return, my prince. The princess will ask for you. What should I tell her?" said Torrhen, calmer and more serene than his brother.
"Tell her I'm trying to secure our lineage," said Jaehaerys, dismounting from Black Sapphire and walking toward the raft. "Tell her that the little time I spent with her was as real as the ghost of Harren," he said with a touch of black humor.
Brandon laughed out loud, while Torrhen allowed himself a small laugh, which was a rare expression for him.
"Go now, or I'll tell her," Brandon barked, touching his belly where he had been hit.
—--
Jaehaerys got on the raft and sailed around the island. Soon, he was just a white blur.
"If he doesn't come back, I'm keeping his horse. You can have the black steel staff," Brandon said. He climbed back onto his horse and, leading his prince's black horse, rode back to the castle.
"I'll stay here for a while. Take care of the princess, Brandon," Torrhen watched his brother ride away.
He let the air escape from his lungs as he dismounted and sat on the ground. He let his horse graze. The red colt was like Jaehaerys.
He could go away, but he always came back.
He would wait patiently.