Roman had always known Cersei was stupid and vicious, but he never expected her to sink this low.
"Ser Roman, we've co on the Queen's orders to escort you to the Red Keep."
Dozens of Gold Cloaks stood in front of him, faces hard. Roman felt a headache coming on.
He had already cleared everything with Robert before leaving Harrenhal. The king was happy to let him clear out the desperate poor camped outside the city walls. Roman needed workers; Robert needed fewer mouths to feed.
He had barely stepped off the boat from the Blackwater when Cersei's n appeared.
"What does the Queen want with ?" Roman asked, keeping his voice even.
"We don't know, ser. She only told us to bring you."
Roman understood imdiately. Cersei's throwing another tantrum over Jai. I only knocked him out for a few seconds. He wasn't even hurt. Is she really this petty?
He rembered the story about her childhood friend—the girl who had joked about marrying Jai one day and ended up dead because of it. Cersei never let go of a grudge.
"My apologies, but I have urgent business. Please tell the Queen I'll visit the Red Keep soon to apologize in person."
Roman sounded sincere, but the Gold Cloaks were used to pushing people around. They stepped forward aggressively.
"That's not your choice."
Before they could move, Roman gave a subtle signal. His Harrenhal guards exploded into action, surrounding the City Watch in seconds.
These were Old Jesse's elite personal guard—hand-picked, drilled for months, every man built like an ox and wearing full infantry brigandine. The silver-gray plates were thick and uniform, even the eye slits protected. They looked like a line of silver towers.
They ford tight battle squares: shields and short spears in front, long spears behind, crossbown ready on the flanks.
Bullying peasants was one thing. Facing trained professionals was sothing else entirely.
The Gold Cloaks were suddenly drenched in sweat, but they still refused to back down. They glared at Roman with defiant expressions that said You wouldn't dare.
Roman sighed inwardly. Cersei is both stupid and cruel, yet she always finds loyal idiots. Does she have so hidden talent for this? Or does she just fuck them all?
He reached for his massive warhamr—the head alone the size of a man's skull—and spun it effortlessly with one hand, carving graceful arcs through the air.
That finally broke them. Fear replaced arrogance. One wrong move and they knew they'd be paste.
They were about to retreat when a powerful voice bood from behind them.
"What in the seven hells is going on here?"
Roman looked up to see Ser Barristan Selmy marching toward them with another squad of Gold Cloaks. The old knight looked sharper than he had a few months ago—hair cropped short, beard gone, face weathered but hard as iron.
Roman ordered his n to stand down and quickly explained what had happened.
Barristan's eyes narrowed. "You tried to arrest a lord without the King's command? Does the City Watch serve the Iron Throne or House Lannister?"
The Gold Cloaks wilted under the legendary knight's glare. They muttered apologies and slunk away to face whatever punishnt awaited them.
Only then did the Harrenhal n relax. Roman wasn't afraid of a fight—they would have won easily—but the aftermath would have been endless trouble.
He planted his warhamr in the dirt and bowed to Barristan. "Thank you for the help, Ser Barristan. What brings you out here?"
"His Grace sent to help you move the commoners. I didn't expect this ss. That's on ."
"Don't bla yourself. There are always n who don't follow orders."
Barristan knew exactly who Roman ant. He had no love for Robert or the Lannisters. Robert still lived because of their old friendship and the fact that Barristan had once been spared. The old knight honored his vows. But the Lannisters? Tywin's betrayal, Cersei's stupidity, Jai's kingslaying and broken oath—none of them were worth a damn in his eyes.
Roman took advantage of the mont. "Since you're here, would you do the honor of a spar?"
Barristan tried to refuse but eventually gave in. "Light contact only, my lord."
Roman grinned and nodded. This ti both n wore full armor and used real weapons.
At the signal they began.
Roman didn't charge like he had against Jai. He kept his distance, careful not to hurt the older man and wary of any tricks. Barristan was no fool—he imdiately backed away, refusing to trade power blows. He knew he couldn't match Roman's raw strength, so he used footwork to stay mobile and force Roman to overextend.
But Roman was no longer the raw recruit from months ago. He swung the massive hamr with control, never leaving an opening. For long minutes they circled and probed—Roman's warhamr moving with surprising grace, Barristan's sword and shield working in perfect harmony.
Every soldier watching, Harrenhal and Gold Cloak alike, stood frozen. Seeing two true masters fight was worth the entire journey.
Finally Roman deliberately left a high opening. Barristan took the bait, dropping low behind his shield and lunging forward.
The mont the old knight committed, Roman stopped his swing and slamd his armored shoulder into him with brutal force. Barristan flew more than a yard through the air, weapons clattering to the ground.
He had lost.
"Ser!"
Roman didn't celebrate. He rushed forward and helped Barristan to his feet.
"I'm fine, my lord. Your skill has improved again. Westeros may soon have another true champion."
"We can talk about the future later. Let check you for injuries."
"I told you, I'm fine!"
---
Later, in the Red Keep throne room, Robert sat with a dark expression, listening to the report.
Ever since Roman had shad him into training again, the king still drank, but rarely to excess. His energy and focus had improved dramatically.
"So that woman sent the Gold Cloaks after Roman just to get back at Jai?"
"Yes, Your Grace. The Queen had Lord Janos gather a squad and march straight to Lord Roman's camp. Ser Barristan arrived in ti to stop it from turning ugly."
Even sober, Robert's temper flared.
"Did her brother lose his pretty face or his balls? Does she have any idea what kind of trouble this causes?"
"Lord Roman chose not to pursue the matter, Your Grace."
"That's not the point," Jon Arryn cut in sharply. "This proves the City Watch can be bought. With enough coin, anyone can turn them into private muscle."
Robert stared at the Iron Throne and thought of Lyanna Stark. The mory hit him like a knife.
If only it had been her… but no. It had to be a fucking lion.
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