Through Roman's relentless, highly publicized military campaign, every single commoner within the expanded Whent borders came to intimately know the Harrenhal Vanguard. They recognized the riders as a deeply disciplined, fiercely protective force dedicated entirely to serving the peasantry and utterly annihilating the bandit threat that had plagued the region for decades.
Simultaneously, the traveling minstrels "coincidentally" relayed Roman's heroic military exploits into neighboring territories, ensuring that every peasant from the Twins to Riverrun knew that House Whent was now ruled by a wise, invincible warrior-lord.
Sitting in her sunlit solar, Lady Shella Whent read through the massive stack of glowing intelligence reports, a deeply profound, radiant smile spreading across her weathered face.
Ever since she had bid a final, tearful farewell to the ghosts of her family in the Harrenhal crypts, Lady Shella had been entirely reborn. The frail, heavily grieving old woman had vanished, replaced by a sharp, energetic matriarch who delighted in sharing Roman's daily triumphs with Fili.
In truth, Fili already knew exactly what Roman was doing on the front lines before the reports even arrived. As the Apostle of the flock, Fili and Roman maintained instantaneous, flawless communication across the entire territory via the talking ravens.
This magical espionage network was the exact reason why Roman's Vanguard was always able to arrive unexpectedly and launch devastating, perfectly coordinated ambushes mere hours after a bandit camp was established.
"Fili," Lady Shella said warmly, accepting a cup of hot tea from the girl. "You are just like Roman. You work entirely too hard. He has been riding relentlessly for a month and will be deeply exhausted when he returns. You must ensure he rests properly."
"You can rely on me, Lady Shella!" Fili declared confidently, puffing out her chest. "I will not let you or Lord Roman down!"
As Lady Shella smiled at the girl's enthusiasm, she suddenly paused, truly looking at Fili for the first time in weeks.
To her absolute surprise, the once painfully thin, malnourished refugee had blossomed into a stunningly poised, elegant young woman with a remarkably graceful, curvaceous figure.
After several months of enjoying Harrenhal's sumptuous, highly nutritious cuisine, Fili's body had completely recovered from years of starvation, rapidly revealing her natural, captivating beauty.
With her flowing blonde hair, massive, bright blue eyes, a sweet, musical voice, and a deeply sunny, albeit slightly naive personality, Fili was a breathtaking sight.
In her youth, Lady Shella had attended dozens of grand tourneys and observed the most famous beauties of the Seven Kingdoms. Looking at Fili now, she realized there were very few highborn ladies who could naturally surpass the girl in sheer, radiant charm.
"Fili," Lady Shella asked casually. "Have you had your first moonblood yet?"
The incredibly sudden, blunt biological question startled Fili so badly she nearly dropped the silver teapot.
"My Lady?! What are you saying?!"
"I am simply asking if you have come of age," Lady Shella replied smoothly, taking a calm sip of tea. "And furthermore, what are your personal feelings toward my son, Roman?"
Fili blushed so violently that the tips of her ears turned red. She hadn't expected the usually formal Whent matriarch to corner her so aggressively.
"I... I have come of age, yes. A few moons ago. It is a small matter, it is perfectly normal that no one noticed!"
"That answers the first question. Now, what about Roman? What are your true thoughts regarding him?" Lady Shella pressed, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
"I... I... I..."
Lady Shella could read Fili's mind instantly. The girl's face was as bright red as a freshly picked apple.
"Since you are so deeply interested in the boy, why do you not simply act on it?" Lady Shella suggested warmly.
Hearing this, Fili's shoulders instantly slumped, her vibrant energy deflating into deep melancholy. "I am nothing but a common-born orphan, my Lady. Lord Roman is a high lord destined for greatness. He intends to... he must marry a great lady of a noble house to secure an alliance."
Lady Shella stood up, walked over, and gently pulled the despondent girl into a warm, maternal embrace, slowly stroking her blonde hair.
"Trust me, sweet child. Be brave, and simply be yourself around him," Lady Shella whispered. "You do not understand the cold, miserable reality of aristocratic marriages. They are completely devoid of love. They are purely transactional trades of military power."
Lady Shella pulled back, looking into Fili's wide eyes. "But looking at Roman's terrifying, unstoppable momentum, it will not be long before he completely shatters the political landscape of Westeros. Furthermore, Maester Tom has officially confirmed that Roman essentially possesses the physical body of a true dragon."
A humanoid dragon possessing terrifying intelligence and profound kindness, perfectly paired with a supernaturally gifted Apostle.
Lady Shella was absolutely confident that with just the two of them, Harrenhal was already entirely invincible. They did not need a political marriage to survive.
"The rest of the Great Houses?" Lady Shella scoffed dismissively. "They can rot in their own petty squabbles. If Roman wants you, he shall have you."
After repeatedly confirming that the Whent matriarch was completely serious and supportive, Fili finally stopped crying. A massive, radiant smile broke across her face as she regained her sunny composure.
Watching Fili happily bounce across the room to spread honey on a plate of fresh biscuits, Lady Shella couldn't help but sigh softly, looking out the window.
Oh, Walter... she thought, thinking of her late husband. Would you say the proud, eccentric tradition of House Whent has finally been secured?
A gentle autumn breeze blew through the open window, drawing her gaze back to the sprawling reality of Harrenhal.
The towering, purified white brick walls. The massive, cleared ruins. The bustling, modernized towns, and the vibrant, violently fertile agricultural empire stretching to the horizon.
Ha! Lady Shella chuckled to herself. Regardless of whether our bloodline continues, at least that damned Targaryen curse has finally been crushed beneath Roman's heel!
A month later, the severe banditry within the heavily fortified Whent borders had been entirely eliminated.
The most notorious bandit kings had all been personally decapitated by Roman during his aggressive cavalry sweeps. The remaining accomplices who surrendered had been stripped of their weapons and sentenced to brutal, lifelong hard labor deep within the Harrenhal coal mines.
Harrenhal had never known such profound, absolute peace. The local populace lived in total contentment. They had overflowing granaries, warm clothing, and Whent businesses were booming as the newly established middle class grew wealthier by the day.
However, while Harrenhal was rapidly transforming into a thriving utopia, the other noble houses of the Riverlands were plunging into absolute, chaotic despair.
Because Roman possessed lightning-fast macadam highways and an elite cavalry Vanguard, any bandit who dared cross into Whent territory was instantly slaughtered.
But the rest of the Riverlands severely lacked Roman's infrastructure. Adhering to the simple criminal logic that silver was silver regardless of whose lands they stole it from, the massive horde of bandits originally attracted by the Harrenhal harvest violently pivoted and rushed into the vulnerable, under-defended territories of the neighboring lords.
If we cannot survive against the Whent Demon, we will simply rob the Brackens and Mootons!
As a result, the rest of the Riverlands—especially the petty lords bordering the Gods Eye—suffered catastrophically, as thousands of displaced bandits swarmed across their borders like a plague of locusts.
But this geopolitical crisis had absolutely nothing to do with Roman. He had flawlessly completed his objective of securing his own borders, and he was finally returning home to rest.
A month of relentless, high-speed combat had deeply exhausted the Whent soldiers and their mounts. While Roman's draconic stamina allowed him to push forward indefinitely, ordinary men simply could not.
When the three hundred cavalrymen finally dragged their weary bodies through the massive main gates of Harrenhal, Lady Shella stood proudly at the front of a massive, cheering crowd to greet them.
Although the soldiers were too physically exhausted to even speak, they sat tall in their saddles, puffing their chests out like legendary heroes returning from a mythical crusade. Their warhorses, however, were highly irritated by the noise and constantly stamped their hooves in protest.
Roman quickly ordered the men to dismount and take their mounts to the heated stables for a long, heavily deserved rest.
Lady Shella stepped forward and warmly grabbed Roman's gauntleted hand.
"My child, you have become an absolute legend in the Riverlands," she beamed. "Every tavern from here to Riverrun knows that Roman Rivers single-handedly butchered the bandit hordes surrounding the Gods Eye."
She lowered her voice, her eyes glinting with political cunning. "However, our noble neighbors are not so fortunate. They are currently drowning in the bandit crisis you pushed onto their lands. I received a raven this morning; House Mooton of Maidenpool has been robbed absolutely blind."
Her implication was crystal clear, and Roman's tactical mind instantly grasped the opportunity.
"You are suggesting I use their desperation as leverage? I march the Vanguard into their lands to 'save' them, and in exchange, I forcefully rope them into my economic coalition?"
Lady Shella nodded approvingly. "Precisely. But let us discuss the specific trade terms later. Maester Tom has been frantically searching for you since dawn."
When Roman finally retired to his private chambers to strip off his heavy armor, Fili, who had been waiting quietly by the hearth, suddenly rushed forward and buried her face directly into his chest plate.
"Lord Roman! You are finally back!"
"Fili, you know I communicated with you through the ravens every single night," Roman laughed, gently prying her off the dirty steel. "It is not as if I vanished from the face of the earth."
Fili pouted playfully, puffing her cheeks. Roman affectionately ruffled her blonde hair before changing into a fresh tunic and heading down to Maester Tom's laboratory.
The moment Roman entered the cluttered room, Maester Tom excitedly rushed forward and slammed three items down onto the wooden table.
A smooth, grey brick. A sealed clay bottle filled with a thick resin. And a perfectly transparent, solid glass orb.
Maester Tom didn't speak a single word. He simply stood there, an impossibly wide, manic grin stretching across his wrinkled face as he looked proudly at the ceiling.
Roman's heart instantly began hammering against his ribs as he stared at the holy trinity of industrialization.
"Is this... true Portland cement? Pure glass? And..."
"The flash-curing alchemical resin, my lord!" Tom finished, practically vibrating with excitement. He reached under the table and pulled out a massive, terrifyingly thick wooden spear shaft.
"I followed your exact specifications! The heavy ash pole was deeply soaked in oil, tightly wrapped in strong linen, heavily coated in the resin, and flash-cured using the residual heat of the blast furnace! I have successfully forged the unbreakable heavy cavalry Shuo you requested!"
"Maester Tom, you are an absolute genius!" Roman praised, picking up the heavy lance and testing its incredible balance and terrifying flexibility.
Tom bowed deeply, completely failing to hide his immense pride. He undeniably deserved the praise; both he and Roman fully understood the world-shattering implications of these three inventions.
The "cement"—which was actually a highly refined, waterproof mortar—had been a grueling alchemical project Tom had synthesized using local Westerosi limestone and clay. Thanks to the apocalyptic heat of the Whent blast furnaces and the automated crushing power of the new river-turbines, mass production was incredibly easy.
The cement was already being heavily utilized to build cheap, indestructible civilian housing, and the Harrenhal smallfolk were reaping the benefits.
The pristine glass was equally miraculous. And the fast-curing resin meant Roman could finally mass-produce his unbreakable heavy cavalry lances, completely bypassing the months-long drying process and drastically reducing the cost of equipping a true heavy cavalry charge.
"My lord, the glass-making process is flawless," Tom noted, his smile faltering slightly. "But we severely lack the necessary baseline raw materials. We cannot produce it on a massive commercial scale yet."
Roman nodded. He knew exactly what the bottleneck was: a severe lack of sodium carbonate (soda ash), which, in a pre-industrial setting, could only be obtained in massive quantities by burning highly specific types of coastal seaweed or mining rare natural trona deposits.
"Do not worry about the raw materials, Maester Tom," Roman smiled, a deeply calculating, predatory look flashing in his blue eyes.
"Have you forgotten? House Mooton of Maidenpool sits directly on the coast. And they are currently deeply desperate for military salvation."
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