Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising Chapter 20 20: Labor Shortage

After paying respects to both his overlords, Roman could finally focus on building his lands.

Lady Shella found him that morning to talk about the roads.

"Child, the thods and materials you're using are far too complicated. Forget the coin—we barely have the manpower left. If this continues we'll ruin the harvest."

Roman's roads weren't the cheap King's Road kind that turned to mud after every rain. He dug down to the hardpan, leveled the surface, laid large stones, then a layer of gravel. Loose topsoil went into kilns and was burned with dragonfla to kill every seed, then mixed with mineral alkali so nothing new could take root. Finally the gravel was spread, compacted with stone rollers, and finished with proper drainage and underground channels.

The technique wasn't the absolute best in Westeros, but it was easily in the top tier.

It also created two big problems: no money and no people.

Money was the easier fix. Roman simply pulled smallfolk from the lands to do the work. He promised the roads would stay free forever—except for basic maintenance—and paid them in grain. In the long sumr, on the rich soil of the Riverlands, grain was cheap. His growing reputation helped; people volunteered gladly.

The real problem was manpower.

Harrenhal controlled the lands around God's Eye, but the Riverlands had always been a battlefield, torn by both outside invaders and endless internal fighting. Every able-bodied man and woman along the main roads was already helping. Peak planting season had arrived. Roman couldn't pull them from the fields.

"We're going to have to bring in more people, my lady. I'm heading back to King's Landing."

Lady Shella frowned. "To recruit commoners?"

Roman nodded. Thousands of desperate poor camped outside the city walls in shacks because they couldn't even afford Flea Bottom. Compared to the cutthroats inside the city, these people were almost friendly. With a little screening they could find plenty of useful hands.

"Yes. We still have huge tracts of land to clear. Even a hundred thousand new settlers could live well here. Our iron production is soaring. We can grow enough food. I want to bring in several thousand families to start."

Maester Tom had already explained the numbers to her. She had no doubts about the plan—only about Roman's safety.

"Going to King's Landing is fine, child, but be careful. Don't get tangled up with the wrong people."

Roman already knew that. This trip he planned to deal only with Robert, stay outside the city gates, grab the people he needed, and leave fast. He would wait until the blacksmiths finished two hundred full sets of brigandine before he went.

Later he knocked on Maester Tom's door. "Maester, I need a favor."

"My lord, what can I do for you?"

"I want quick-drying oil and paint. I'm making a new kind of cavalry lance."

Tom blinked. "We already have plenty of lances, my lord."

"Not the brittle ones that snap on first impact. I need sothing with real flex and toughness—sothing that can take repeated shocks and keep going."

He explained the design, inspired by ancient heavy cavalry lances: a tough wooden shaft, oil-soaked, wrapped in hemp cloth, painted, and slowly dried. The process was slow and expensive.

Roman had been stuck until Blackfinger Ben suggested using white fla.

Tom listened, frowning in thought. "You need two fast-setting coatings. I can try, but I'll need your white fla."

"Of course. Whatever you need. Succeed and the reward will be worth it."

Tom nodded. The Citadel chain still eluded him—his record there was nothing special. Roman's survival and strange powers had given him a chance at real recognition. That was why he had been so excited when the boy first woke up.

Roman caught the old man blushing and raised an eyebrow. "Your face is red, Maester."

Tom coughed. "Just feeling invigorated, my lord!"

Roman burst out laughing. Tom turned even redder and got back to work.

After leaving the maester, Roman walked the new main road between Harrenhal and Harren Town. The wide avenue started right at the castle gates, which was why it had taken longer to finish than the shorter route to the town. With his guards he rode out after a sudden rain. The air was hot and thick with mist, but the road stayed dry.

The crown shape and side ditches drained every drop. Workers had mixed a special binder into the fine soil; when wetted and compacted it sealed out water. The road sat slightly higher than the fields, so only shallow puddles remained. Far better than the usual mud.

The guards grinned and pointed. "My lord, look how happy everyone is!"

Passersby stared in wonder, many openly praising the new road. When they recognized Roman they bowed respectfully. A few old n approached nervously.

"My lord… can we really use this road for free?"

"Of course. That's my promise. Tell everyone else the sa. Use it freely. Just rember—when it needs repairs you'll have to pitch in, or it'll turn back into the muddy King's Road."

He smiled and added lightly, "Unless you enjoy soaking your feet in mud. Then I can't help you."

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Roman continued his patrol while the guards watched with quiet awe. To them, their young lord looked like a blessing sent by the Seven themselves.