[sub][color=orange]Elayne Rivers, the Ghost of Harrenhal[/color][/sub]
The bitter wind off the God's Eye carried the hint of a storm as it whipped about the ruins towers that Harren the Black had once speared the sky. Now they stood like melted candles. Dragon fire had melted stone, seared flesh, and burned all within. It had not even been half a century later that life had come back to those haunted halls where ghosts still walked. Ghosts did walk them, those of regret and past pains. The soft music filtered through the heavy oaken door that led into the solar of Lady Catelyn Harroway, the wife of the Lord of Harrenhal.

Her mother.

Not that she could call the woman such, Elayne had learned that quickly as a child under the woman's switch. Though she was of noble blood on both sides, a child born out of wedlock was nothing but a burden. A bastard. One of the many Rivers that dwelled in the Riverlands. Her footsteps were quiet as she carried the basket of cloth to the laundry for the maids. Rightly she should have been in the solar, at needlework or mending for her mother and sisters, but the minstrel had been doting upon her and in response, Lady Catelyn had banished her from the room.

Dressed in the cast off from Alys, Elayne had taken in the form to fit herself better, but the skirt of the gown still bared too much of her ankle to be seemly with Alys being a tad shorter than the slightly younger woman. Perhaps it was her lot in life, a tool to the Harroways. The ever-loyal, ever-scorned servant. She didn't want it. Not really, but what choice was there? There was no life for her outside of the generosity of her mother and the Harroways, so she would make the best of it. Even if the best of them had been sent away. For all his bluntness and sharp words, Elmo had been the kindness in the last two years, along with his aunt Minisa

Minisa, Elayne considered the woman. The fragile Butterwell woman had turned into a ghost herself after the birth of her son, Alton. The boy seemed to grow stronger while his mother grew weaker. Minisa had nothing but scorn from the nobility, her husband was often gone over sea and it was common knowledge among family and servants alike that he was hardly faithful to her. A few servants had dallied with the second son of Lucas. Elayne, herself, had narrowly avoided the man when he was drunk and looking for someone to join him when Minisa had been heavy with child. Her lips thinned as she recalled their last encounter.

[i]The wall at her back was cold and the thunder boomed outside, the man who cornered her in the stairway had the stink of wine on his breath and the flush of a drunk across his cheeks. His nose pressed against her neck and Elayne pushed at his chest, cringing at having to touch the man. "Ser, you are drunk." She had whispered, desperate to find some escape. This was not the first time he had cornered her drunk, but this was one of the worst. There was no Elmo to distract his uncle, nor was her mother around to scold her for his actions. Terror and fear coursed through her veins. If she was not so aware that she stood no chance. Elayne would have slapped the man.

"Not yet." His husky voice, roughened by shouts at sea, washed over her shoulder as he press an unwanted kiss there. Her skin prickled in an eerie way. "Stop it, girl." He growled as she tried to pull away, one of his large hands wrapping about her waist. "I would not ruin an investment." That was worse than his touch, and Elayne wanted to weep hearing it. "After all, there are plenty in Essos who like a beautiful maiden of Valyrian blood, no matter how diluted." The sneer in his voice was audible and the woman sighed in relief as she felt him pull back. A small respite before a hand fastened about her neck. "The Lyseni would pay well to display you in one of their Houses, perhaps even in Elyria I might find a good price? Volantis?"

"Ser," She dared not call him Damon, it would only earn her worse if he took it badly. Which, given Damon's state, he would. "Your Lord-Father="

"He wouldn't lift a finger." She was pulled to her tip-toes as she felt the man tilt her chin up, those cruel dark eyes looking amused. Like a cat playing with a terrified mouse who knew there was no escape. "For a bastard from his lawfully married wife? It would solve the problem of your embarrassment." She was shaking, it could have been cold or fear. Then she felt him release her and Elayne stumbled, falling to the stones. Damon's steps moving away as he called back over his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, dear [i]sister[/i]. I have every intent of finding you a worthy husband." It had been long seconds before she stood from the floor, feeling bruises forming on her delicate skin. It had been long hours more she had emerged again after sequestering herself in a small cubby, left from the original building for some unknown purpose that most seemed to have forgotten about, her eyes red from weeping. For Damon would be as good as his words. She would have a husband and it would be to Damon's benefit, even if he had to steal her away from a lawfully wedded Lord in Westeros.
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Drawing herself away from memory as one of the muscled laundry women pulled the basket from her hands, Elayne said nothing to the sourfaced woman. Turning instead to go about her tasks, things that could not leave her mind idle. Action would force that dreadful promise away. Yet, she still felt its shadow haunt her just as the remains of soot seared in stone, a few looking too much like human figures when the candles flickered late at night, haunted the melted castle.

The courtship she had seen had not been sheltered. Though she had been kept mostly to Harrenhal Castle, ignorant of the rest of the world, Elayne had listened to the talk. The whisperings kept the walls from crumbling in on them. She was aware of what went on, just as she was aware that the servants saw her as untouchable. The noble among them. The Harroway family saw her as a bastard. Cast out of both worlds, kept to herself. Elayne immersed herself in books when she could. Languishing away when there was only mending that a noble lady could do, yet unable to enjoy the full pleasures of a noblewoman for Lady Catelyn would not allow her to entrance, as the Lady-Mother had put it once, the local minstrels.

Plucking a basket of her own mending to do, an embroidery that Hanna wanted for a gown, the silver-haired maiden moved to settle against the narrow window that opened into her cell-like room. A bed, a small chest, and table. Her fingers flicked the needle in and out as her eyes scanned one of the books that Elmo had recommended to her. It was about herbs and their different properties, something she might find useful if she ever was in need. A stab of pain lanced through Elayne's heart as she recalled the eldest of Lord Lucas's grandsons. Though a cripple, Elmo had been sharp of mind and had taught her what he had read. Be that a smattering of languages, herbs, medicines, or poisons. It had been she who had brought Elmo the herbs he needed and helped him to brew the concentrated forms he desired. A small blessing the Maester was a tight-lipped man who seemed to have some small amount of favor towards her.

Turning the page, she settled against the tapestry at her back. Turning her mind to the task and reading at hand. It would not do to dwell. Life never went backward, the river ever ran towards the sea. Just so, what would come, would be and she could only endure it.