During this growing season Roman poured every ounce of energy into production. He left the bandit problem in the Riverlands to Old Jesse.
"My lord, the outlaws have been getting bolder. A lot of them heard about our big harvest and ca sniffing around for easy pickings."
Old Jesse gave the report as they rode together.
Harrenhal's sudden rise had drawn more than just desperate smallfolk. Bandits from across the Riverlands were testing their luck too.
They didn't get far. Every village now had its own militia, and the new strongholds were built to withstand anything short of proper siege equipnt. The fresh road network let news and troops move fast.
Small bands got crushed by the militia. Larger groups that tried to hit a stronghold found Harrenhal's cavalry on them before they could even set up camp.
"Passive defense won't cut it, Jesse. If we want the bandit problem gone for good, we need to go on the offensive."
"I'm going to use this chance to sweep the entire territory clean. Better to deal with them now while we're still building."
Old Jesse agreed without hesitation. Together they headed to the stables to inspect the warhorses.
Harrenhal's stables were massive—big enough for a thousand mounts, just like the old stories claid. Roman had thought the tales exaggerated. He was wrong. The main warhorse stable alone could hold that many, with separate buildings for plow horses and pack animals.
Right now they only had a little over three hundred usable warhorses. Still one of the strongest private forces in the Riverlands, but nowhere near what Roman wanted.
He clicked his tongue. "Three hundred it is. We'll turn them into light cavalry and grind every last bandit into the dirt."
Old Jesse nodded and had the three hundred riders assembled within the hour.
They wore the new light brigandine, curved swords at their hips, short horse-bows in hand. Every man looked hard and fit. Old Jesse's training showed in the crisp formations and the way they mounted and wheeled as one.
The soldiers glanced at Roman with flushed faces. Riding out beside the man who had flattened Jai Lannister in front of the whole court was an honor they never expected. They were nervous and proud all at once, waiting for his word like coiled springs.
Roman rode down the line, satisfied.
"Tell , soldiers—why did you join the army?"
The blunt question caught them off guard. Most had joined for steady food or coin for their families, but none wanted to admit it out loud.
Roman didn't wait for excuses. "I already know. You ca for a full belly and a little silver. So I won't waste ti with pretty speeches. Jesse, read the new standing-army rules."
Old Jesse bowed, pulled out a large parchnt, and read in a clear voice.
The list covered daily training standards, military obligations, pay scales, tax reductions, injury and retirent benefits—everything a professional soldier could want.
Harrenhal had always been too poor to support many landed knights. In the old feudal system that was a weakness. To Roman it was an opening. No middle layer of vassals to get in his way. He could reach straight down to the n who actually fought.
When Old Jesse finished, the three hundred riders stood frozen, staring like they'd been hit with a warhamr. They couldn't believe the terms.
They had started as farrs and laborers who happened to be strong enough to keep. Now Roman was offering them a future most lords never gave their own sons.
In their eyes he had beco sothing more than a lord.
"Long live Lord Roman!"
"Long live House Whent!"
The roar shook the air and echoed all the way to the five towers. Servants inside the castle thought the world was ending.
Roman let them shout, then raised a hand for silence. His face turned serious.
"Do you want to stay in this army?"
"YES!"
"Good. Then listen carefully to how this army will fight."
He let the words settle. "I'm giving you these wages and benefits because I want real loyalty—not just to , but to every person who lives on these lands. You eat because they grow the food. You wear armor because they pay taxes. Never forget where you ca from. Anyone who harms the smallfolk answers to military law."
He laid out the rules one by one: no looting, pay for what you take, protect the weak, help when people are in trouble. Harsh standards for Westeros, but he didn't bend an inch.
"I've said my piece. If anyone wants to leave, walk away now. I won't punish you. But if you stay and break these rules, you already know what happens."
No one moved. The only sound was three hundred fists pounding against armored chests in perfect rhythm.
"Excellent." Roman swung into the saddle. "Then mount up. We're going hunting."
A column of light cavalry thundered out of Harrenhal and down the new main road.
Roman and Old Jesse led. The rest followed in tight formation. On the smooth, drained highway they covered ground fast. In half a day they reached the hardest-hit village.
After quick questions Roman pinpointed the bandits' hideout—a sheltered hollow on the edge of his lands, screened by low hills and brush.
He didn't need scouts. His white-fla sight showed him every man.
The outlaws were lounging, bragging about their next raid, when the ground began to shake.
Soone scread "Cavalry!" just as Roman's riders crested the slope and poured down like an avalanche.
The first charge shattered their nerve. Bandits scattered in every direction, no formation, no plan.
Light cavalry lived for the chase. Within minutes the last of them were run down and cut apart.
Roman ordered the bodies collected and burned, then kept the patrol moving. Village after village they cleared the roads and helped with whatever work needed doing—digging ditches, repairing wells, laying bricks.
The soldiers followed every order without complaint. They took nothing, paid for every al, and lent their strength wherever it was needed.
The smallfolk noticed. In every settlent the sa grateful words followed them.
"Seven bless you, my lord! We can eat at three tis a week now!"
"Thanks to you I saved enough working at Harrenhal to build a real brick house!"
"First ti I ever saw soldiers sleep under my roof and leave coin behind. You're the Smith himself walking among us!"
The three hundred n felt sothing shift inside them. For the first ti in their lives soldiers were being thanked instead of feared.
Roman paid bards to spread the stories of their bravery, but when they tried to weave his na into the songs he stopped them cold.
"This is their story. Let them have it."
He watched the riders laugh and clap each other on the back as they rode ho, faces streaked with dust and pride. These n would never be the sa. They had tasted real respect, steady pay, and a cause bigger than themselves.
With full granaries behind them and three hundred loyal, disciplined swords at his back, Roman finally felt the ground under his feet turn solid.
The Riverlands had no idea what was coming.
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