"Why didn't you dodge?"
Ser Barristan was still breathing hard, staring at Roman's calm face in disbelief.
Roman had every chance to twist away from that final strike. Instead he'd chosen to trade technique with the old knight, giving up the easy win his raw power could have delivered.
"I ca here to learn," Roman said simply. "Bullying soone with strength alone won't make better."
Barristan let out a short, incredulous laugh. "In a real fight you win by not losing. You just proved that."
Roman didn't argue. He simply stepped forward and steadied the older man with a hand under his arm. The tremor running through Barristan's muscles made Roman wonder if he'd pushed the legend too far.
A burst of applause broke the mont.
Everyone turned to see King Robert, face flushed—whether from wine or excitent, no one could tell.
"Well done! Well done! First ti I've seen anyone push Barristan this hard. House Whent's got itself a real warrior!"
"My lord."
"Your Grace."
Robert clapped Barristan on the shoulder, then took the warhamr from Roman's hands.
"This little toy's beneath you. I'll have a proper one forged—big enough to match that arm of yours. Call it thanks to Lady Shella for sending her taxes on ti."
A smooth, mocking voice cut through the praise.
"Your Grace, your promises are more expensive than Casterly Rock gold. Is it wise to hand out gifts so freely?"
The crowd parted. A tall, golden-haired man stepped forward, blue eyes sparkling with arrogant amusent.
"Lord Roman, Ser Barristan is past his pri. A victory over him proves nothing. Why not test yourself against instead?"
"If you win, I'll pay for that hamr myself. How does that sound?"
Jai Lannister smiled like a man who already knew the answer.
Roman's brow furrowed. He'd expected the Kingslayer to be cocky, but this was outright insulting. One sentence had managed to slight both Barristan and the king.
He glanced at Robert. The king's jaw tightened, but when Roman stayed calm, Robert exhaled and gave a short nod.
"Better live up to that mouth of yours, Lannister."
Roman t Jai's eyes.
"Teach , then."
The Harrenhal soldiers exchanged knowing looks. When their lord spoke that quiet and short, it ant he was done playing.
Whatever ga Jai thought he was playing, Roman intended to teach him respect.
They took their positions. At Robert's shout the match began.
Roman didn't waste a second. He exploded forward in a blur of black armor and steel, moving faster than anyone expected.
Barristan's eyes widened. "He still has that much left in him?"
Roman didn't swing at Jai directly. He flashed past the Kingsguard, using his own montum to bring the hamr around in a vicious arc. The heavy head whistled through the air like a cavalry charge.
Jai's eyes went wide. He barely got his sword up in ti.
CLANG!
The impact lifted Jai off his feet and sent him stumbling backward, arms numb.
Roman didn't let up. He planted his boot, spun, and charged again—this ti even harder. Hidden beneath the black cloak, his dragon tail flicked out just enough to keep his balance perfect.
Jai was still reeling when Roman reached him. One clean, controlled punch snapped the Kingsguard's head back and dropped him like a sack of grain.
Silence.
Jai lay flat on the dirt, out cold.
Robert broke the stunned quiet with a roar of laughter and thunderous applause.
"Ha! That's how you do it! Knocked the smug bastard flat in one go. You're every bit as good as I was at your age. Co on—drinks for everyone who wants them!"
He grabbed Roman by the arm and started dragging him toward the Red Keep. The Harrenhal n stayed behind under Old Jesse's watchful eye. This was politics, not a party for soldiers.
Robert was barely sober. Another round of wine would be a disaster. Roman tried to steer him gently.
"Your Grace, you need rest. More wine and your body won't thank you."
The fat king stopped dead, eyes narrowing.
"Oh? The new Whent pup thinks he can tell his king what to do?"
"No." Roman shook his head, calm as ever. "Your Grace, how long has it been since you swung a warhamr?"
Robert froze. The last ti he'd lifted a real weapon had been the Greyjoy rebellion. Everything after that had been feasts, wine, and slowly expanding waistlines.
He didn't answer. His face flushed darker.
"What choice do I have? No wars left. No real battles. Should I just sit on that pile of lted swords all day?"
Roman smiled, but his eyes stayed sad.
"You're like the warhamr from the Trident, Your Grace—ant to ride across fields and battle lines. Now it hangs on the wall, soaked in wine and rusting. I'm only mourning what the Iron Throne has done to a true warrior."
He looked at his own hamr, then back at the king.
"I'm not mocking you. I'm grieving. I'd give anything to see the man who killed Rhaegar at the Ruby Ford one more ti."
The words hit ho. Robert's mind flashed back to that day—armor shining, warhamr rising, Rhaegar falling. He'd been unstoppable.
Now look at him.
He scratched his head, torn between pride and the three things he loved most: fighting, drinking, and fucking. Finally he glared at Roman.
"You little shit. You sound just like that old man. Fine. What are you offering to make up for stealing my wine?"
Roman drove the hamrhead into the dirt with a heavy thud and held out his open hand.
"When you reclaim the man you used to be, I'll give you a tourney worthy of legends. And as long as you act like a king, I will serve you with everything I have."
Robert stared, then burst out laughing.
"Ha! A vassal swearing loyalty with conditions? Even if your head wore the Tully fish I'd still be your king!"
Roman's grin turned sharp.
"The crown doesn't make you king, Your Grace. n do. So tell —has the warrior of the Trident lost his nerve?"
Fire lit in Robert's eyes.
"Fine, you cocky bastard. We'll see. I'll make you eat those words."
Roman bowed low, still smiling. Robert clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger most n, and together they walked back toward the Red Keep, laughing like old friends.
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