The victory feast at Riverrun ended in a tense, awkward atmosphere. Afterward, Robb Stark approached Roman privately. The Young Wolf wanted to discuss House Whent's future plans.
"Lord Roman," Robb said bluntly, arms crossed. "You've made a massive move. My grandfather is furious about you annexing his vassals' lands, but he knows he lacks the strength to stop you. What are you planning next?"
Roman was surprised by how direct the Young Wolf was. He wasn't sure whether to praise the boy's honesty or laugh at his political naivety. One thing was certain, though: Robb was truly Eddard Stark's son.
"Lord Robb," Roman sighed, narrowing his blue eyes. "You need to understand something important. Some matters cannot be spoken so openly. That kind of bluntness can bring disaster to your house."
Robb looked puzzled, even slightly offended. Before he could reply, Roman continued.
"According to my ravens, your father had the perfect chance to seize King's Landing during the succession crisis. Instead, he chose to confront Cersei Lannister directly after Robert's death and warn her of his plans. That honesty led to his capture."
Roman paused, meeting Robb's eyes.
"If you want sensitive information, you must learn to hide your intentions, use cunning, and wait for the right moment. Like your uncle, the Blackfish."
The Young Wolf interrupted impatiently. "Lord Roman, why not just tell me your grand strategy directly? Why do we have to dance around with southern politics?"
"You…" Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated.
The Starks would probably only learn caution after suffering a serious political blow. Apart from Arya, all of Eddard's children were painfully straightforward.
"Lord Robb," Roman said coolly, "you already know my ultimate goal. There is no need to keep asking."
"Are you planning to keep pushing those centralized, meritocratic policies in your new territories?" Robb asked, frowning. "Many traditional nobles in Westeros complain bitterly about your methods."
"I have my reasons," Roman replied smoothly. "The old feudal ways will not save House Whent from the coming winter, nor will they save the smallfolk of Harrenhal."
After talking a while longer, Roman realized Robb wasn't truly fighting for his grandfather's lost lands. Lord Hoster had already accepted the loss of the territory west of the Gods Eye. Robb was simply testing whether Roman's expansion would eventually threaten the North's independence.
After all, the wildlings settling the Gift now followed Roman's orders more than Stark authority. Traditional intimidation and minor favors were no longer enough to control them without Harrenhal's support.
Roman reassured him firmly. "The North has always been ruled by its own people. I would have to be mad to march an army into the snows and make a fool of myself there."
He smiled. "Besides, I remain a close friend of Lord Eddard. Neither the Old Gods nor the New would forgive me for betraying a sworn friend."
As the hour grew late, Roman bid formal farewell to the Northern host and the Tully family, then led his Vanguard cavalry back east toward Harrenhal.
After the Dragon Lord departed, Lord Hoster and Catelyn could only sigh in exhaustion. Their only remaining hope was that they would never have to face Roman Rivers on the battlefield.
"Given the current situation," Catelyn murmured as she watched the ravens fly off, "it seems only a strong marriage alliance between Sansa and House Whent can keep the Riverlands truly safe."
Hoster coughed weakly. "My little Cat, would Sansa even agree to marry a dragon? Besides, Roman is already betrothed to Princess Myrcella Baratheon."
Catelyn smiled confidently. "Father, Sansa is eager to marry Roman. Ever since he saved her father's life, she has dreamed of becoming the Lady of Harrenhal."
She sneered. "And don't forget Queen Cersei. That woman will destroy the last chance of any reconciliation between House Whent and House Lannister. When she breaks the betrothal, we will act."
Harrenhal. The Lower City.
A heavyset young man in stained burlap clothes sat in a lively, well-lit tavern, devouring a large plate of spiced lamb chops. The exhausted refugee with messy brown hair and dark eyes had fled all the way from the Reach. He ate as though he had never tasted proper food before.
His name was Wilson. He had once worked as an abused, unpaid laborer in one of the Reach's great fruit orchards. He had run away when the local lord, bribed by Renly Baratheon's recruiters, began forcing peasants into the army.
As Wilson drew closer to Harrenhal's borders, strange whispers had filled his mind, urging him to seek out Roman Rivers and serve the Dragon of Harrenhal. But he had stubbornly ignored the voices. All he wanted right now was to sit and eat hot meat.
He was pleasantly shocked to discover how cheap food was in Harrenhal's lower towns. Even an ordinary peasant family could afford fresh meat three times a week. With the small savings he had smuggled from the Reach, Wilson could order roasted meat with every meal.
"Abundant food, real peace, strong and healthy commoners," Wilson muttered between bites. "No wonder Lord Roman can fight a war on two fronts without collapsing."
He spent his first days happily exploring the lower city. He enjoyed a spiced meal at a local restaurant, soaked in a subsidized hot bath at the public bathhouse, and rented a clean, affordable room at an inn.
Lying on the soft, well-insulated bed, Wilson breathed in the fresh air. "Even with tens of thousands of refugees, Harrenhal is so clean. In places like Oldtown, every street outside the nobles' mansions stinks of sewage."
His observations convinced him to stay. Harrenhal felt like a true paradise for ordinary people like him.
There were no harsh poll taxes or corrupt guards extorting travelers. Light, centralized taxation allowed wealth to circulate among the common folk and drew merchants from across the continent. With help from talented people recruited from the slums, Roman had built specialized production lines suited to the local area. A hardworking peasant couple could easily support a family of four.
Public healthcare, education, and apprenticeship programs gave every child real opportunities. A common-born child who worked hard could become a respected skilled worker — something reserved for guild elites elsewhere, but common here.
Wilson eventually found a good-paying job at one of the large medicinal herb gardens.
But before he could enjoy his new life for long, a polite Vanguard representative arrived and invited him to the inner keep for a private meeting with Roman Rivers.
Wilson entered the impressive inner walls of Harrenhal with deep nervousness. After passing through guarded courtyards and grand palaces, he finally stood before the Dragon Lord.
Roman was reviewing logistical reports in his study when Fili, who was quietly serving tea, looked sharply at Wilson as he entered.
"I heard from the agricultural overseers that a remarkably talented individual has joined the main herb garden," Roman said warmly, closing his ledger. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"
Within Roman's magical vision, Wilson's life spark burned with intense, chaotic magical energy — just as bright as Fili's had been when they first met. Reports from the garden foremen also confirmed that every medicinal herb in Wilson's section grew at an unnatural speed.
Roman suspected Wilson's gift involved plant manipulation and had called him in for evaluation.
Wilson, who had never met such a famous figure before, stammered out his name and a brief account of his life.
After listening patiently, Roman got straight to the point. "Wilson, I've heard you can magically accelerate plant growth. Is that true?"
"M-my lord," Wilson stuttered, sweating. "It is true. Plants around me always grow faster than normal. Once, when I stayed too long in an orchard in the Reach, the weeds grew out of control. The other workers nicknamed me 'Wildgrass' because of it."
Roman nodded, a broad smile spreading across his face. He stepped forward and patted the nervous young man heavily on the shoulder.
"I want to offer you a prestigious, well-paying position at the Agricultural Research Institute in the new Harrenhal College," Roman said. "What do you think?"
Wilson's jaw dropped in disbelief.
He never quite understood how he had been admitted into Harrenhal's elite college and suddenly found himself working alongside scholars who seemed as learned as Citadel maesters.
The institute's main focus was advanced crop cross-breeding. Roman's modern botanical knowledge provided strong theoretical guidance, but traditional breeding was a slow process that required waiting for full crop cycles.
Wilson changed everything. The researchers were stunned to discover that experimental crops planted near him grew at an astonishing rate. What once took months now happened in a fraction of the time. This allowed them to test far more breeding combinations in the same period, dramatically accelerating their work.
The way the scholars now looked at Wilson was like starving men staring at a pile of gold.
Roman listened to the researchers' excited daily reports with growing joy. Overwhelmed, he lifted a shrieking Fili high above his head and declared loudly:
"Fili! From this moment on, the millions of people in our territory will never have to starve again!"
Now Get The FULL AVAILABLE NOVEL at Once!
Get 50% OFF for limited time only.
@patreon.com/Authorizz/shop