295 AC
More than a year had passed since Roman Rivers first set foot in the cursed halls of Harrenhal.
In that relatively brief span of time, the haunted, melted ruin had undergone a drastic, miraculous transformation. Harrenhal was no longer a bleak monument to Targaryen wrath; it was a beacon of prosperity, aggressively attracting desperate smallfolk from the fractured Riverlands and beyond.
The Whent agricultural yields were completely unparalleled across the Seven Kingdoms. The highly fortified borders offered absolute physical safety, and the baseline standard of living for a Harrenhal serf far surpassed that of many minor nobles in neighboring regions.
When Roman had first arrived, he was forced to sail to King's Landing just to find willing laborers. Now, he simply sat in his newly rebuilt castle while a massive, steady stream of economic refugees enthusiastically flooded into his territory every single day.
Naturally, the surrounding Great Houses and petty lords were deeply infuriated by this. In a feudal economy, population directly equals wealth. Harrenhal's utopian society was creating a massive siphon effect, rapidly draining the surrounding territories of their vital workforce.
Aside from House Darry and House Mooton—who were currently swimming in silver due to their exclusive industrial partnership with the Whents—the other regional nobles were violently angry. Several furious minor lords from the Reach and the Westerlands had even traveled to the Iron Throne to formally demand that Harrenhal forcefully repatriate their runaway serfs.
Roman couldn't care less about their political whining. Your peasants starved, so they ran away. How exactly is that my fault?
Whenever the Crown sent an inquiry, Roman simply offered a highly sarcastic, politically bulletproof response: "If I happen to easily identify your specific smallfolk among my thousands of new laborers, I will be sure to politely ask them to return to your mud."
When a massive, region-wide exodus of the lower classes occurs, it simply means the ruling class has entirely lost its mandate to govern.
However, to proactively deter any desperate lords from attempting an armed incursion to reclaim their peasants, Roman aggressively intensified the expansion and training of the Harrenhal Vanguard.
The original Light Cavalry detachment had successfully expanded into a hardened force of seven hundred riders. The grizzled veterans of the bandit purges were currently mentoring the fresh recruits, drilling them relentlessly in advanced squad tactics and lethal skirmishing maneuvers.
Simultaneously, Roman officially established the Harrenhal Heavy Cavalry. He tentatively capped the unit at three hundred men, accurately calculating that fielding any more heavy riders would completely bankrupt his logistical supply lines and result in a massive waste of precious steel.
The Whent Heavy Cavalry was a terrifying sight. Both the massive Westerosi destriers and the towering riders were fully encased in highly advanced, interlocking steel lamellar armor. With their impenetrable visors lowered and their heavy armor gleaming in the sun, a single Whent heavy cavalryman truly looked like an unstoppable, silver-iron golem.
Furthermore, the heavy riders were equipped with a highly lethal, diverse arsenal. Steel-flanged maces and curved, armor-piercing sabers were their standard sidearms. But their true, defining weapon was the Whent Shuo—the massive, alchemically-cured heavy horse lance.
The specialized lance measured an absurd five meters in length, topped with a forty-centimeter, armor-piercing steel spike. When initiating a charge, the rider gripped the massive weapon near the center to perfectly maintain balance, thrusting at a highly specific diagonal angle upon impact. This precise martial technique prevented the flexible ash-wood shaft from shattering, while allowing the rider to violently transfer the sheer, apocalyptic kinetic force of the galloping destrier directly through the steel tip.
Because Maester Tom's alchemical, fast-curing resin drastically shortened the manufacturing cycle, the production cost of the Shuo had plummeted. Roman had successfully stockpiled hundreds of spare lances in the Whent armories, allowing the heavy cavalry to train relentlessly with live weapons without fear of destroying expensive equipment.
Previously, owning a full suite of custom heavy armor, a destrier, and a war-lance was a profound privilege restricted entirely to anointed knights and highborn lords. Now, Roman was outfitting common-born peasants with gear that impoverished petty lords could only dream of affording.
In the modern Riverlands, serving as a professional Whent soldier was viewed as an incredibly sacred honor. Thousands of commoners had violently changed their family's destiny simply by securing a coveted position in the Vanguard.
Beyond the unprecedented material wealth, Roman frequently deployed his troops to assist the peasantry with disaster relief, infrastructure construction, and localized bandit suppression. Furthermore, he mandated that his officers conduct regular literacy classes and ideological education for the enlisted men.
Because of this deeply ingrained military discipline, the Whent soldiers were universally beloved by the Riverlands populace. Their personal dignity was fiercely respected wherever they rode.
Consequently, the absolute loyalty of the Whent Vanguard was unshakeable. Many local farming families who had been generously allocated Whent land actively forced their strongest sons to enlist, explicitly warning them: "If you ever dare desert Lord Roman and shame this family, we will personally break your legs when you return!"
With the military firmly established, the borders secured, and the granaries overflowing, Roman could finally turn his attention toward the frozen North with absolute peace of mind.
Recently, Lady Shella had begun heavily urging Roman to initiate the diplomatic mission.
"My child, the last time House Whent sent proper relief to the Night's Watch was over a year ago. Winter is inevitable. If we do not actively bolster the Wall's defenses now, House Stark simply will not be able to shoulder the logistical burden alone!"
Roman entirely agreed with her strategic assessment. First, he genuinely needed to personally inspect the structural integrity of the Wall and deliver the massive shipment of Whent steel and grain to the Night's Watch. They were the absolute final line of defense against the apocalyptic threat of the White Walkers, and Roman refused to let them starve.
Second, Roman urgently needed to establish a powerful, personal alliance with House Stark. Eddard Stark's famous honor and the North's geopolitical stability as the continent's anchor would be absolutely crucial when the War of the Five Kings inevitably erupted.
"On your journey to the Wall, you must stop and formally visit Winterfell," Lady Shella instructed, adjusting his cloak. "House Whent has not paid our respects to the Starks in far too long. As the undisputed heir of Harrenhal, it is vital that you sit down and converse directly with the Warden of the North."
Roman nodded firmly, then turned to his grizzled commander. "Master Jessy, I am officially leaving the Whent Vanguard under your command. The physical defense of Harrenhal and all localized counter-espionage operations rest entirely in your hands."
Master Jessy grinned, tapping the hilt of his saber. "Do not worry about the home front, my lord! I have been sniffing out spies for decades. The local populace is so fanatically loyal to you right now that if a foreign spy so much as sneezes in Harrentown, the peasants will drag him to me in chains!"
"Do not underestimate our enemies, Master Jessy," Roman warned, clapping the veteran firmly on the shoulder. "It is not just Varys and his little birds we must worry about. Littlefinger and the Lannisters have their own deeply entrenched networks. Remain vigilant!"
Having delegated his absolute authority, Roman formally departed for the North.
Thanks to Harrenhal's massive financial investment in Maidenpool, Roman's heavy supply train bypassed the muddy Kingsroad entirely, traveling smoothly down the macadam highway directly into the bustling coastal port.
Lord William Mooton, having received advance notice via raven, was already waiting nervously on the sprawling docks.
"May the Seven bless your journey, Lord Roman!" William bowed deeply, practically sweating with obsequious enthusiasm. "You look as incredibly formidable as ever!"
Roman, entirely uninterested in the cowardly lord's empty flattery, quickly cut to the logistics. "Lord Mooton, are the deep-water cogs fully loaded?"
"Absolutely! Absolutely, my lord!" William stammered eagerly, pointing to the massive fleet anchored in the Bay of Crabs. "House Mooton completely refurbished our existing merchant galleys, and we even purchased several massive, deep-water carracks from the Free Cities specifically for this Whent expedition! These massive ships will safely transport you and your heavy cargo all the way to White Harbor without issue. We are simply awaiting your command!"
Seeing that Roman had no intention of lingering for a feast, William frantically ordered the dockworkers to finalize the boarding process.
House Whent's industrial monopoly had violently propelled Maidenpool to unprecedented heights of wealth. Harrenhal's pure glass, bone china, and master-crafted steel tools fetched astronomical prices across the Narrow Sea. House Mooton simply had to safely maintain the port and collect the shipping tariffs to rake in unimaginable fortunes effortlessly.
Because of Roman's paved highways and the massive expansion of the harbor, Maidenpool had actually begun to economically overshadow the legendary port of Gulltown in the Vale.
Lord William Mooton possessed absolutely zero martial ambition; he was deeply, profoundly content with this luxurious, perfectly safe existence, and he was now entirely subservient to Roman's absolute authority.
With the massive shipment of steel, grain, and Whent armor safely secured in the holds, Roman's heavily armed fleet set sail for the North. The massive Whent galleys, sailing in a flawless, disciplined line, stretched across the azure water like a silver ribbon, attracting the awed gazes of passing merchant vessels.
The autumn weather was remarkably cooperative. The Whent fleet encountered almost no severe storms or violent swells as they sailed out of the Bay of Crabs and navigated the treacherous waters of the Bite.
When Roman finally arrived at the freezing, massive port city of White Harbor, Lord Wyman Manderly and his entire family were already waiting on the docks to formally receive him.
"Lord Roman!" Wyman boomed, his massive voice echoing across the freezing docks. "On behalf of the entire North, I thank you for your incredibly generous support of the Wall!"
Wyman Manderly was a deeply kind, fiercely loyal, and incredibly intelligent lord, but he was also famously, canonically obese—so massive that he was known behind his back as "Lord Lamprey" or "the fat man who cannot sit a horse."
Historically, House Manderly had been a massively powerful, wealthy noble family situated in the Reach. However, their influence grew so terrifyingly great that they were brutally suppressed and exiled by House Gardener centuries ago. They fled north, where House Stark honorably took them in and granted them the legendary Wolf's Den, which was why the Manderlys remained fanatically, fiercely loyal to the Starks of Winterfell above all others.
Roman smiled warmly, stepping off the gangplank to shake Wyman's hand, intending to offer the massive lord a traditional, respectful embrace.
But Wyman was simply too impossibly wide; Roman literally could not get his muscular arms all the way around the man's massive girth.
Realizing Roman's polite struggle, Wyman burst into a booming, jovial belly-laugh that shook his entire frame.
"Ha! Look at me!" Wyman wheezed happily, patting his massive stomach. "I have simply eaten far too many lamprey pies lately, my lord! Please, do not look down on this gluttonous old walrus!"
"I would never dream of it, Lord Wyman," Roman laughed genuinely. "Especially since I desperately require your shallow-water barges to navigate the White Knife up to Winterfell!"
Wyman's two adult sons, Wylis and Wendel, were nearly as massively obese as their father. Having learned his lesson, Roman simply offered them highly respectful handshakes.
Following the formal greetings, Roman gestured to his guards. The massive Whent soldiers carefully carried several heavy, velvet-lined oak chests down the gangplank.
Roman unlatched the first chest, revealing a complete, staggering set of Harrenhal's modern bone china. The exquisite, impossibly smooth tableware was painted with breathtaking, highly detailed blue-glaze artwork.
He opened the second chest, revealing a massive, pristine porcelain centerpiece jar. The warm, milky-white ceramic was beautifully adorned with meticulously crafted, sweeping ocean-wave patterns, and at its center, the proud Merman sigil of House Manderly was flawlessly painted in vibrant teal.
Finally, Roman reached into a smaller box and presented two perfectly square, silver-plated, pure glass mirrors to Wyman's two young granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla.
The entire Manderly family was absolutely stunned into absolute silence. As the wealthiest house in the North, they could easily purchase imported Myr glass and silver for astronomical prices. But this impossibly beautiful, translucent "porcelain" was entirely unique to Harrenhal. The fact that Roman had custom-forged a priceless masterpiece specifically bearing the Manderly sigil was an incredibly profound, deeply respectful gesture of diplomatic goodwill.
The two little girls squealed in delight, excitedly holding the flawless glass mirrors up to their faces, while Wyman's massive sons practically drooled as they gently stroked the perfectly smooth glaze of the porcelain jar.
"I deeply hope my unauthorized depiction of your noble coat of arms on the Whent porcelain has not caused any political offense, my lord," Roman said, offering a polite, aristocratic bow.
"Offense?! By the Old Gods and the New, absolutely not!" Wyman gasped, his eyes wide with genuine awe. "Lord Roman, you have honored my house with a staggeringly generous gift! You must come up to the New Castle for a feast! I have casks of the finest Arbor Gold waiting in my cellars!"
Roman smiled but gently raised a hand to decline. "You honor me, Lord Wyman, but Lord Stark is expecting me, and the brave men of the Night's Watch have been slowly starving for months. I cannot delay this vital shipment a moment longer."
Roman placed a hand over his heart. "However, on my return journey, I swear I will bring a massive shipment of Whent steel directly to White Harbor, and we shall drink that Arbor Gold together."
When Wyman heard that Roman was fiercely prioritizing the survival of the Night's Watch over luxurious feasting, his respect for the young Whent lord skyrocketed. He instantly commanded his dockmasters to mobilize a massive fleet of shallow-water river barges to safely transport Roman's heavy cargo directly up the White Knife toward Winterfell.
"Lord Wyman," Roman said gently, pausing before he boarded the river barge. "Please, take better care of your health. You seem quite short of breath just standing on the docks. I expect you to be hale and healthy when I return; you cannot be bedridden for our feast."
"Ha! Do not worry about me, lad!" Wyman roared with laughter, waving his massive, ringed hand from the docks as the Whent barge slowly pushed off into the current.
"The deep waters of White Harbor will always support the White Flame!"
Now Get The FULL NOVEL at Once!
Get 20% OFF for limited time only.
@patreon.com/Authorizz/shop