Harrenhall had many ghosts, and you were one of them.

When Aemond, the One-Eyed Prince, stormed Harrenhall to reclaim it from the Blacks, you'd been in the dining hall. Your brothers were slain along with the few guards the occupied the castle. Simon Strong, your father, was also cut down by Aemond's sword, Blackfyre.

And now what was left for you? The Greens now had Harrenhall and despite his back wound Aemond had made himself at home. He made you his personal nursemaid to ensure his bandages were changed and the stab to the back was healing. You brought his meals, mended his clothes, and took on the terrifying task of tending to Vhagar outside.

You wandered through the halls with tears dried on your face like one of the spirits rumored to haunt the castle walls. Sometimes Aemond would wipe your eyes when you knelt before him. Other times he mocked you severely. Like most things with the Targaryen, it depended on his mood.

He must have been in an excellent mood today, because he made you stay by the fireplace with him long after the sun had set.

"I want you to read to me," Aemond said coldly, not looking away from the flames.

"Can you not read it yourself, My Prince?"

Aemond turned to you now, his eyepatch discarded for the evening. You'd never seen underneath it before, and the sight made your breath hitch. A scar ran over his cheek and the empty socket was filled by a smooth sapphire.

"I want you to do it," he said.