Brynden studied the young man before him and felt a sharp jolt of wrongness.
Roman stood six-foot-one, broad and powerful in heavy brigandine that gave him an almost crushing presence. Yet his eyes were clear as spring water, innocent as a child just stepping into the world. They flicked constantly between Lady Shella and the Tully lords.
Is this really the sa Roman who chard Robert and is rebuilding Harrenhal?
Both Brynden and Hoster turned the question over in their minds.
Lady Shella spoke at the perfect mont. "My lords, we had to report to King Robert first and failed to inform you imdiately. Please forgive us. I've brought a small gift—grain and fresh vegetables. I hope you'll accept it."
The servants had already reported the wagons. Hoster almost laughed. Was this all Harrenhal could offer now? Still, a lord had to keep up appearances.
"Thank you for the thought. Now, my lady, perhaps you'll tell us who this heir of yours really is."
"He's a distant cousin of House Whent. Among the remaining male lines, he stands first in succession."
"Yet I've heard you found him wandering outside the castle. Did you give King Robert the sa story?"
Hoster tapped the arm of his chair in a steady rhythm, his tone unreadable.
"My lord, you know Harrenhal has always struggled with the succession. I had no choice but to act quickly to protect the boy."
Lady Shella lifted her head, her expression perfectly respectful.
"No matter which branch he cos from, he is a Whent. House Whent will always be loyal to you."
Her strategy was simple: offer no real explanation and swear loyalty instead.
Hoster and Brynden both knew she was hiding sothing, but they couldn't press her. The Tullys had never been popular in the Riverlands. Most vassals barely tolerated them. An old woman who had lowered herself this far? They couldn't afford to bully her without giving the other lords an excuse to rebel. And guest right still held—no one had dared violate it yet.
Lady Shella rambled on, painting Roman as a hidden Whent cousin forced to stay in the shadows for his own safety. Roman answered every question exactly as they had rehearsed.
"What did you do before all this, boy?"
"I worked as a servant or laborer in the nearby towns, earning my bread."
"Do you know who you really are?"
"No, my lord. I only do what Lady Shella tells ."
"Did you give the king the sa answer?"
"Lady Shella explained what His Grace likes. I followed her instructions."
No matter how Hoster probed, Roman's reply never changed. Everything—befriending Robert, rebuilding Harrenhal—had been done under Lady Shella's direct orders. She herself played the tired old woman perfectly: I'm too old for this, my lord. Do as you wish.
The entire eting felt like Hoster swinging at cotton. He knew the old woman and the boy were lying through their teeth, yet he couldn't call them on it. One wrong move against Roman and every discontented lord in the Riverlands would have the perfect excuse to rise up.
When he could squeeze nothing more out of them, Hoster finally ordered a feast. It was simple Riverlands fare—fresh fish, white bread, vegetables, and venison—but the food eased the tension.
Edmure and Roman both breathed easier. Edmure hated these stiff audiences. Now he could finally relax.
He studied Roman's youthful face and struck up a conversation. "Lord Roman, I hear you've been rebuilding Harrenhal and the villages around it."
"It's true, Lord Edmure. Your information is excellent."
Roman gave a small bow. "Lady Shella saw no use in leaving the ruins standing. Better to give the land to the smallfolk. When they prosper, they work harder and pay more in taxes and labor."
Edmure's interest sparked. He launched into his own plans for the lands around Riverrun. Roman listened with genuine enthusiasm. Edmure was a kind lord—the sort who would open his gates to refugees during war and surrender a castle rather than let it burn. In a land full of cruel n, that was rare. Roman decided he wanted this man as a friend.
Throughout the feast Roman talked easily with Edmure while Brynden watched in silence. The Blackfish had a sharp eye for people, yet he found no cracks in Roman's performance. The young lord seed exactly what he claid: a sheltered noble finally seeing the wider world—eager, curious, and quick to trust.
In the end Brynden gave up and decided to keep watching from a distance.
Before they left, Lady Shella sought out Hoster one last ti.
"My lord, in a few weeks we'll be sending supplies to the Night's Watch. Would you like us to carry a letter to Lady Catelyn?"
The ntion of his favorite daughter softened Hoster's face.
"That would be most welco."
Ravens were fast, but a trusted ssenger from House Whent was far safer.
When the formalities ended, Roman half-knelt before Hoster and swore fealty. House Whent owed double loyalty—one to the Iron Throne, the other to their direct overlords, House Tully.
Before they rode out, Roman promised Edmure another eting at Harrenhal and pressed a small steel naplate into his hand. The tal had been forged in white fla and still carried a faint glow.
"Lord Edmure, take this as a token. When Harrenhal has new specialties, I'll send so your way."
"Excellent! Next ti we et we'll drink properly. This feast was far too ta!"
House Whent rode ho lightly loaded. Edmure stood on the battlents watching them go. Hoster and Brynden appeared quietly at his side.
"Learn anything useful from that Roman?" Hoster asked suddenly.
Edmure jumped, then recovered. "He mostly talked about his work in the Riverlands and his plans for the future. We also discussed food and hunting."
Brynden and his brother shared a look. The Whents had beco very good at lying.
"Brother, should I look into—"
"No need. You're heading to serve Jon Arryn soon. Leave this to . Lady Shella has shown her loyalty and we have no proof of any sche. We'll watch and wait."
"We'll stay in touch."
Brynden glanced at his brother in surprise. Hoster had never cared much about staying connected before. This ti Brynden didn't argue. He simply nodded.
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