Today was the day they lit the blast furnace.
Roman had invited Lady Shella and Maester Tom to watch the first pour. Lady Shella didn't understand ironworking, but even she could tell the towering furnace was sothing special. Maester Tom had already started scribbling notes at lightning speed.
He peppered Roman with questions while writing.
"My lord, if this works as you say, one furnace could match the yearly output of entire mining districts owned by the old iron lords!"
"Seven hells, where do these ideas even co from? Did the Crone kiss your forehead at birth?"
"Maester, don't exaggerate. Let's see how much iron actually cos out first."
Tom wasn't exaggerating. After years of serving Harrenhal he knew real progress when he saw it. The heat coming off the white fla told him everything he needed to know.
"Pity this has to stay secret," he muttered. "These records alone could have earned a place in the Citadel's archives."
He looked at Roman with open admiration. When the Citadel first posted him to Harrenhal, Tom had felt nothing but despair. Now he believed the gods had sent him the one man who could finally break the castle's curse.
House Whent would be the first family to escape it.
While the three of them talked, the first batch of molten iron was ready.
The foreman shouted. Workers opened the tap hole.
A bright orange river of liquid tal poured out—smoother and hotter than anything made in a crucible. Slag flowed from a higher opening. A thin layer of white fla danced across the iron's surface until it reached the molds and finally died.
They had built a simple shelter around the tap to protect the iron from wind, but even that flimsy structure turned into an oven. Roman and Tom quickly sent Lady Shella away before the heat beca dangerous.
The workers were drenched in sweat, yet every face wore a grin.
"Seven save us! Look at that iron flowing like a stream! Lord Roman's the Smith reborn!"
Later records would show the furnace produced roughly six tons of pig iron in a single pour. When the number was announced, everyone stood speechless until Roman promised bonuses and the celebration began.
With iron, everything else beca possible.
Roman imdiately started re-equipping the Harrenhal guard and mass-producing tools and farming implents. At the sa ti he turned his attention to the one problem that had haunted the castle for centuries.
The ruins.
After Aegon the Conqueror burned Harrenhal, the wreckage had been left to rot. Every house that followed lacked the money or the will to clear it. Harren the Black had once ruled both the Iron Islands and the Riverlands; he'd had the power to fill the entire castle with stone and blood.
Now House Whent controlled only the lands around God's Eye. The population was tiny, and the curse still clung to every broken tower.
Roman wasn't afraid of curses.
He lit his white fla and led soldiers and workers into the ruins.
The place was overgrown with weeds and moss, crawling with snakes, rats, and insects. Bats wheeled overhead in the gloom.
Roman closed his eyes and let the fla spread.
Through the fire he felt the old hatred—Weirwood trees cut down for support beams, children's blood mixed into the mortar. The sa rage that had once belonged to Harren the Black.
This ti he was ready.
He burned it all away, steady and thodical. The resentnt dissolved just like Harren had.
When Roman opened his eyes again, the ruins had turned snow-white. Every weed, every insect, every trace of the old curse was gone.
Under his direction the workers began carefully dismantling the best stone blocks. Roman already had plans for every single one.
The lands around God's Eye were cut by dozens of small rivers and streams—too many to appear on most maps. Feudal lords had never been able to build proper infrastructure across them. That was why the Twins remained the only major bridge in the entire Riverlands.
Roman didn't need another Twins. He wanted sothing simpler and faster.
Small stone bridges between villages and towns—wide enough for carts, travelers, and soldiers.
"Careful with those blocks," he called. "They're going into bridge foundations. Don't crack them."
Maester Tom watched the n hauling the massive stones and frowned.
"My lord, isn't it wasteful to use all this stone just for roads and bridges?"
Roman smiled. "Maester, what good are these blocks doing us sitting here?"
"Well… none, at the mont."
"And if I use them to build bridges, will that speed up trade and tax collection?"
"…Yes."
"Then there's your answer. Better to invest them in the lands than let them gather dust."
Stone by stone, the ruins disappeared.
So blocks repaired gaps in the castle walls. Others beca piers for new bridges. The people of Harrenhal, including Lady Shella herself, watched with approval. The old ruins had been terrifying even with Roman protecting them. At night the place still felt haunted.
Now, after the white fla had touched them, the stones glowed a soft milky white and carried a faint, pleasant scent.
The smaller bricks went straight into new housing. Roman knew he would soon be bringing more people to Harrenhal; he wanted hos ready.
Sewers, clean-water channels, and proper stone roads were already being laid.
Blackheart Harren's five great towers—built with forty years of blood and terror—were being dismantled piece by piece by one young man.
And the blood tax Harren had taken from the Riverlands was finally being returned to the people who had paid it.
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