Since Roman built the hospital, the smallfolk of Harrenhal and the Riverlands had been showing up whenever they could.
The mont people realized the dicines were cheap enough for even old farrs to buy without thinking twice, the place's reputation exploded. Folks from everywhere started calling them "Roman Hospitals."
Other lords handed out charity now and then, but nothing like this—big, steady, long-term investnt in the common people. Not since the days of the Good King had anyone seen anything close.
Roman lounged back in a leather chair, head resting on Fili's lap while he popped grapes into his mouth and studied a river map. Fili worked carefully on his dragon horns, polishing them with a soft cloth.
The horns had grown thicker and taller over the past weeks, curving upward. One wrong bump and they could crack. They'd grow back, sure, but Fili still preferred to keep them in good shape.
"Lord Roman, are you planning to dig new canals?"
Roman had been staring at the maps for days. Fili was getting curious too.
"Yeah. The lands are full of rivers, but so areas still don't have proper irrigation. Farrs are carrying water by hand. Dry season's coming fast. I want to check every spot and get new channels dug before it hits."
Fili's eyes lit up at the thought of more pastries and fresh bread. "Does that an we'll grow even more grain? More food?"
Roman reached up and flicked her nose with a grin. "Of course. Won't be long now."
Between the new irrigation, iron tools, better farming thods, and steady fertilizer, the latest wheat harvest had hit five hundred pounds per acre. Roman still couldn't quite believe it. Westeros really was sothing else when you gave it half a chance.
All the steady investnt had pulled in thousands of desperate smallfolk. Abandoned fields were being planted again. New farmland was opening up fast. Even so freeholders from the Reach had slipped across the border, bringing fresh farming tricks with them.
Roman was still daydreaming about the future when a raven landed on the table.
"Roman! The hospital in town is packed full. They need you to sort it out!" The bird hopped straight over to Fili and started pecking at the birdseed she kept for it.
"Packed? Is there a plague? That doesn't make sense."
Roman and Fili shared a worried glance.
"Sothing's wrong."
They rushed to the stables, grabbed a squad of light cavalry, and rode across the river to Harren Town.
The place had changed completely. Strong walls now ringed the town. The population had topped ten thousand. Inside were proper streets, workshops, markets, and a big new hospital.
The mont they stepped through the hospital doors, Roman saw the waiting area cramd with people—and none of them looked local.
"Dornish? What the hell are they doing here?"
A bad feeling twisted in his gut.
The maesters confird it. These people had co from all over Westeros because they'd heard Harrenhal offered quality care at prices even smallfolk could afford.
Roman's face darkened. So I break my back building this from scratch and nobody shows up, but now that it's working they all want a slice?
"Fili, send word to every official in the lands. Start a full census right now. Register every local family and issue badges. I'm not handing out Harrenhal's resources to outsiders for free."
Fili nodded and whistled for more ravens. Thank the gods Roman had spent the last year planting reliable people in every village. They actually got things done.
Locals with badges got the subsidized care. Outsiders? Full price, no exceptions.
Roman still underestimated how badly people wanted decent dicine. Even at full price, Harrenhal's herb gardens made everything cheaper than back ho.
He let it slide. As long as they followed the rules and didn't cause trouble, he wouldn't turn them away.
From then on, Harrenhal's hospitals beca the go-to place for smallfolk across Westeros. People traveled for treatnt or just to stock up on dicine for family and friends. The flood of visitors even boosted Crab Bay and the eastern Riverlands. The Claw Peninsula felt the benefits too.
Nobles started showing up as well—not because they needed the dicine, but because visiting the rising star of the Riverlands made for excellent dinner-table stories. They bought glass and porcelain at bargain prices and marveled at how much cleaner and better-run everything was than King's Landing.
The maesters reorganized patient flow. They sorted cases by type so the right healers handled the right problems. Minor complaints got steered to the smaller clinics so the big hospital could focus on serious cases.
No plague had broken out, and the population wasn't endless. After the new system settled in, the crisis passed.
Roman stayed busy for weeks. Lords from every corner kept arriving, and Lady Shella insisted on dragging him along to greet them all. Roman could barely rember half their nas on a good day. Now he was drowning in faces.
Still, the visits ant fat orders and plenty of gold dragons changing hands.
So lords brought daughters along, hoping for a match. The dragon horns usually scared them off before any serious talk started. Roman didn't mind. A little na recognition was enough for future business.
Then one afternoon a sleek, well-fed raven landed at Lady Shella's chambers with a sealed letter.
Roman was summoned imdiately.
"Child," Lady Shella said, holding up the parchnt, "Garlan Tyrell of Highgarden is coming to visit Harrenhal. Formally."
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