Most of the people camped outside King's Landing were either fleeing crushing taxes or chasing the dream of a better life in the capital. Clearly the city wasn't as welcoming as they hoped—otherwise Roman wouldn't have found so many skilled workers so quickly.
Martin had claid King's Landing held around five hundred thousand souls. Roman disagreed. The true number was much higher. The long sumr had prevented the usual winter die-offs, and the city was bursting at the seams.
In just one week Roman recruited more than six thousand quality laborers—healthy farrs, townsfolk, and craftsn. None of them were the dregs of Flea Bottom. Even these decent people couldn't find work, which told him everything about how overcrowded the city had beco.
Six thousand was the current limit of what Harrenhal's new administration could handle. The rural officials were still learning their jobs; any more arrivals and they would collapse.
Robert and Jon Arryn had tried to dump beggars on him as well. Roman refused. He wasn't running a charity. Still, he promised that any new goods Harrenhal produced would be sent straight to the Red Keep first.
One afternoon by the Blackwater, Roman was on his usual patrol, practicing his white-fla sight between tasks. Through the glowing vision he watched the life sparks of the people around him.
The recruits he had chosen all burned strong and steady. Roman smiled at the sight.
Then a sudden blaze of light stabbed at his eyes.
He blinked and shut off the sight. What he saw with normal vision was just as startling.
A girl, maybe sixteen, stood arguing with his guards. She was thin but clearly healthy, with soft golden hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled with life.
She spotted Roman the mont he approached. Her eyes lit up even brighter. Before the guards could stop her she darted forward, leaned in, and sniffed him like a curious puppy.
Roman waved his n back. He wanted to see what this strange child was doing.
"Sniff… yes! You're Lord Roman!"
Roman couldn't help laughing at her dog-like behavior. "That's . What's the urgent matter you keep shouting about?"
The girl's face turned serious. She smoothed her wrinkled linen dress, folded her hands over her stomach, and bowed deeply.
"Master."
Roman nearly choked. "What? No! I am not your master. Stop saying that—you'll get killed!"
Slavery was a hanging offense in Westeros. Jorah Mormont had been exiled for it. Roman had no intention of earning that reputation.
"Who are you? What do you want from ?"
The girl looked up with wide, earnest eyes. "I was guided in a dream. It said the Roman of Harrenhal is my master and that I must find you. The dreams also showed where to find food along the way."
"Now that I've found you, please take with you. I'm small, but I'm very capable!"
The tension broke. The guards relaxed—thank the gods their lord wasn't so slaver. The onlookers muttered in disappointnt that the gossip had fizzled.
"Another crazy girl," soone grumbled. "These stories are getting old."
Roman kept his face neutral, but inside he was already amused. He decided to test her.
"If the dream told you about , did it also tell you what kind of man I am? Aren't you afraid I might do sothing terrible?"
Fili's blue eyes never wavered. "No. I can feel it. You have a comforting presence. I'm safe with you."
Roman looked at her earnest, slightly foolish face and almost laughed again.
"Fine. You can co with us. But stop trusting every dream you have. You're not a Targaryen."
Fili's entire body lit up with joy. She jumped straight up—three full ters into the air—before landing lightly on her toes.
Roman and his elite guards stared in shock.
This girl is definitely not normal.
He opened his white-fla sight again. Her life spark blazed huge and brilliant, far brighter than anyone else nearby. No wonder she could carry the heavy bundles Roman now noticed stacked behind her—far more weight than a girl her size should manage.
He sent Ser Barristan off with thanks, then ordered the fleet to cast off for God's Eye.
"Finally," he muttered. "Nothing good ever happens near the Iron Throne."
The journey back was smooth. When the new settlers first saw Harrenhal they looked nervous. The castle's curse was still famous, even if fewer people believed it these days.
Roman didn't mind. Thanks to Martin's world, most smallfolk in Westeros cared more about their next al than gods or curses. The Targaryens had crushed the Faith Militant long ago; religion had never recovered its old power.
He briefly thought of Cersei's future stupidity with the Faith and shook his head. One idiot with power is all it takes.
When they reached the castle, everyone got their first real look at the new Harrenhal. The white-fla cleansing had turned the ancient black stone a clean, milky white. Ruins had been cleared or rebuilt. The place no longer felt like a haunted tomb—it looked like a city where people could actually live.
After a quick eting with Lady Shella and Old Jesse, Roman made the decision: two thousand settlers would stay inside Harrenhal itself. The remaining four thousand would take tools and head outside to clear new farmland.
There was still plenty of undeveloped land around God's Eye. Even another hundred thousand people could be absorbed without strain.
He gathered the settlers and laid out the rules clearly. All newly cleared land belonged to House Whent. No private buying or selling. Each family would receive plots based on their size, farming ability, and food needs. Old lands kept the four-in-ten tax, but all other fees and taxes were cut to one-fifth of what they had been. New lands would be taxed only on actual yield, with subsidies if a family struggled.
The smallfolk erupted in cheers. "Long live House Whent! The Seven bless Lord Roman!"
Fili stood beside Roman on a high tower, watching the joyful crowd below. She could feel the wave of hope and gratitude rising from them like warm sunlight. She glanced at Roman's profile, clenched her small fists, and whispered to herself with fierce excitent.
"Lord Roman really is exactly as the rumors say! The dream didn't lie to ."
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