Ever since he'd talked Robert into training again, Roman had stayed in the yard with him every day.
The king had cut back on his drinking—impossible to make him quit, but at least he wasn't passing out drunk anymore.
At the sa ti Roman quietly ordered the Harrenhal soldiers to map every secret passage they could find in King's Landing. Even a few scraps of information were worth the risk.
He treated everyone in the Red Keep with respect, from high lords down to the lowest servants. That simple decency had changed the small council's opinion of him fast.
Jon Arryn, Varys, and Littlefinger now watched him closely. Roman's habit of speaking plainly to honest n and playing the ga with schers made both Varys and Littlefinger uneasy. They couldn't dig up a single useful secret about him, and that empty file felt like a nightmare.
Jon Arryn's fingers drumd the table in a steady, angry rhythm.
"That boy Roman… he's dangerous. We don't know what he wants. If he's anything like Walter Whent was, we're in trouble."
Varys spread his soft hands. "My lord, one Roman cannot bring down the realm. The Mad King is gone. What real threat does House Whent pose?"
The eunuch looked perfectly calm, but Jon Arryn wasn't fooled.
On the other side of the yard, Robert and Roman had just finished another wrestling match. The king sat panting, gulping the water Roman handed him.
"Bah! This stuff has no taste!"
"It's water, Your Grace."
"I know that, you little shit! Still, you're strong enough to push back. Not bad. But wrestling isn't just about muscle—you're still not as good as there."
Robert was in a rare good mood. For the first ti in years he had a real sparring partner who could keep up and wasn't afraid to talk back.
"You're just like Ned Stark," the king said with a grin. "Straight talk, no fear. Most n won't even look in the eye anymore."
A servant ca running, whispered urgently in Robert's ear, and the king exploded.
"Jai! Jai! She's making a fuss over her precious brother again? He got punched once and his face is fine! Gods, the woman's hysterical!"
Robert waved the servant away and sighed at Roman.
"My good mood's ruined. I was hoping we'd have more ti together before you left. Now the whole day's sour."
Roman knew exactly who was behind the complaint. Cersei never let anyone touch Jai or her children without consequences.
Ti to go, he thought.
He told Robert he needed to return to Harrenhal and report, but promised a grand feast once everything was settled. The king grumbled but let him leave.
Blackwater docks.
The visit to King's Landing was over. The ships were loaded with goods from across the realm—fine Arbor wine, jewels and spices from across the Narrow Sea, and more than a hundred blacksmiths recruited from the city.
"Ser Jesse, I asked you to find blacksmiths, but where in the hell did you get this many?"
Old Jesse sighed at Roman's sheltered question.
"My lord, you saw the slums. In that shit-hole even honest smiths suffer. Plenty were happy to leave."
Roman looked over the big, muscle-bound n and decided not to argue.
"Sha we couldn't find Big Bull. Could've used another strong pair of hands."
The fleet cast off. The mont they left the harbor Roman breathed in the clean scent of river water and smiled.
"Finally. No more King's Landing stench. Ser Jesse, a word."
He pulled the old knight aside.
"On the way back I need you to keep a close eye on those blacksmiths. I saw Varys and Littlefinger trying to plant spies while we were at the Red Keep. Screen every one of them carefully."
Old Jesse's face darkened. "Those two bastards. Don't worry, my lord. I'll have the sharpest lads in the company handle it."
Roman nodded. He trusted professionals to handle professional problems.
When they reached Harrenhal, Lady Shella was laughing with the servants in the great hall. The mont she saw Roman she sent everyone away so they could speak alone.
She took his hands and looked him over with worried eyes.
"Child, you've lost weight!"
"My lady, it's only been a few days. You're imagining things. The taxes have been delivered straight to King Robert, though I'm not sure bypassing the Tullys was wise."
Lady Shella sighed. "Those weren't just taxes. They were protection money. The Tullys still get their share, but Harrenhal is barely breaking even these days."
Roman had seen the ledgers. The castle was running out of money fast. Too few skilled people, endless repairs, and the constant shadow of the curse.
He pulled out the thick stack of papers he'd prepared.
"My lady, this is my plan for Harrenhal's future. Agriculture, trade, new infrastructure, bringing in more people, strengthening the guard—everything. Tell what you think."
Lady Shella wasn't a ruler by nature, but the plan was written so clearly even she could follow every line. When she finished she looked at him with quiet pride.
"Do it. All of it. I'll stand behind you."
She rubbed the back of his hand gently.
"In the crypts I already decided Harrenhal would be yours, even before Walter spoke. You're kind, clever, and you actually care. This castle is full of old people and servants now. That's all I ask—treat them well."
Roman felt sothing tight in his chest. He didn't know if her trust was completely pure, but after everything she'd done for him, he was willing to believe.
"I understand, my lady. Just wait and see the results."
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