Several days later, deep within his military encampment in the Crownlands, Roman Rivers received an encrypted raven scroll from Harrenhal's central command:
A massive bandit coalition consisting of over three thousand men attempted to breach the southern border. The invasion was successfully repelled by local civilian tunnel warfare tactics. The surviving bandits were subsequently routed and forced into mass surrender following a single, devastating charge by a combined Vanguard Ironman and Light Cavalry detachment. Ultimately, the entire gang was captured. Those found guilty of murder were summarily executed, while the remainder were officially sentenced to penal labor in the ironwood logging camps.
Roman glanced over the report, fully comprehending the flawless tactical execution of his subordinates, and smiled.
"Fili," Roman called out, casually tossing the scroll onto his war table. "Draft an official letter of commendation for the local magistrates and the Vanguard commanders involved. Furthermore, I want you to compile a detailed, step-by-step tactical summary of this specific anti-bandit operation and distribute it across the entire Harrenhal territory so all our civilian militias can study and replicate these exact tunnel defense strategies."
"At once, Lord Roman!" Fili nodded efficiently.
Roman genuinely did not care about these minor, localized bandit incursions. The sheer fact that he felt absolutely confident leaving his home to lead a foreign invasion explicitly meant he had already spent years meticulously preparing Harrenhal's borders to be utterly impenetrable.
Let Tywin Lannister blindly throw his arrogant red cloaks against the subterranean meat grinders of my villages, Roman thought with a dark smirk. I am genuinely curious to see exactly what archaic, pathetic military tactics the "great" lords of Westeros will attempt next.
Having resolved the minor border skirmish, Roman immediately refocused his brilliant mind on the ongoing, massive logistical reconstruction of the Crownlands.
Following his devastating victories, House Whent's sovereign territory had violently expanded several times over. Now, Roman urgently needed to properly digest and assimilate these newly annexed lands.
Roman actively controlled the critical stretches of the Kingsroad cutting through the northern Crownlands. Not only did this allow him to entirely strangle the capital's overland trade routes, but he was actively utilizing the highway as a massive logistical spine to connect his conquered strongholds, such as Antlers and Sow's Horn.
To solidify this grip, Roman had specifically mobilized his massive civilian engineering guilds to begin constructing highly advanced infrastructure across the Crownlands. The absolute most crucial of these projects was the construction of paved, Roman-style "highways." These heavily engineered roads would allow Harrenhal's massive supply wagons to rapidly transport grain and siege equipment directly to the front lines regardless of the muddy winter weather.
Furthermore, these highways physically and economically connected Harrenhal directly with the Crownlands, massively accelerating trade logistics and exponentially improving the Vanguard's rapid-deployment mobility.
Following the absolute slaughter of the Crownlands coalition at Antlers, Roman had actively begun recruiting massive numbers of starving Crownlands refugees to physically build these roads. This brilliantly served two distinct purposes: it provided Harrenhal with an endless, cheap labor force, and it actively prevented the starving refugees from turning to banditry out of desperation, massively reducing his administrative burden.
Compared to the cruel, demanding nobles of the Crownlands, Roman was a literal godsend. He not only provided the laborers with heavily subsidized food and warm shelter, but he explicitly abolished all exorbitant wartime taxes. Hundreds of displaced peasants whose homes and families had been brutally destroyed by the coalition's frantic foraging operations actively sought refuge under the terrifying protection of the Dragon Lord.
Consequently, so many desperate refugees flooded into Roman's camps that massive, sprawling shantytowns quickly formed around his captured castles. Roman immediately organized these desperate people, utilizing his engineers to instruct them in the construction of cheap, insulated housing. Simultaneously, he utilized this massive labor force to heavily reinforce his captured castles using advanced rammed-earth techniques, rapidly expanding his isolated fortresses into massive, interconnected fortified cities.
Every single morning, Roman would wake up and immediately meticulously review the infrastructural progress reports from his various construction sites.
Until one day, a high-priority raven from Harrenhal delivered a piece of intelligence that instantly made his blood boil.
"Lord Roman!" Fili reported, her voice tight with urgency. "Harrenhal's border scouts have actively confirmed that an elite detachment of Lannister raiders has been aggressively probing the western borders. The commanding officer is reportedly impossibly large. Our intelligence strongly suspects it is Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides!"
Upon hearing this name, Roman immediately stood up, his glowing blue eyes narrowing into lethal, predatory slits. He instantly summoned Fili to outline his operational pivot.
"Fili, I am returning to the Harrenhal border immediately," Roman commanded smoothly, securing his heavy armor. "If that rabid dog Clegane has truly dared to step foot near my home, I am going to put him down permanently. I am leaving the logistical administration of the Crownlands entirely in your hands until I return."
The blonde girl looked up at Roman's terrifyingly excited, bloodthirsty expression. It took her a brief moment to properly recall exactly who the Mountain was, but when she remembered his brutal reputation, her eyes widened.
Seeing her lord's absolute, unyielding determination, Fili nodded firmly. "Do not worry about the logistics, Lord Roman. I will perfectly manage the construction and administrative duties here. Please, be incredibly careful on your hunt."
Fili stepped forward, carefully adjusting the heavy leather straps of Roman's armor and smoothing the collar of his tunic. Once everything was perfectly in place, she tentatively stood on her tiptoes and gently, affectionately kissed his cheek.
Roman's fierce expression melted into a warm smile. He reached out and lightly tapped the girl's forehead. After issuing his final, strict tactical directives to the Vanguard commanders, Roman violently unfurled his massive, dark blue dragon wings. With a deafening, kinetic roar, he launched himself high into the sky, tearing through the clouds and heading straight west toward Harrenhal.
Through years of relentless, exhausting aerial practice, Roman had intimately learned how to aggressively manipulate his magical wings to rapidly accelerate his flight and drastically reduce wind resistance. He was now significantly faster than the absolute fastest raven in Westeros. Even while actively conserving his stamina, it took him barely a single hour to cross the continent and return to the airspace above Harrenhal.
The bustling citizens of Harrenhal heard a deafening, thunderous roar echoing through the sky, followed by a blinding, comet-like streak of crackling white plasma that left a pale, glowing vapor trail violently cutting across the heavens.
Knowing Roman's dramatic habits intimately, Lady Shella Whent had already been waiting patiently in Harrenhal's massive central courtyard for quite some time.
Roman landed with a heavy, concussive thud, his wings violently snapping shut behind him. "My lady, I have returned."
"My sweet boy," Lady Shella smiled warmly, though her eyes were filled with maternal concern. "You have been fighting so relentlessly lately! I have meticulously read all your astonishing military reports from the eastern front, and you are performing an absolutely brilliant job! But you must actively prioritize your health! Do not become arrogant simply because you possess a terrifying physical advantage, and absolutely do not take unnecessary, suicidal risks..."
Lady Shella had not seen Roman in several weeks, and she immediately launched into a lengthy, highly affectionate tirade of maternal nagging. Roman simply smiled and patiently appeased the old woman, waiting for her to finish before seeking out Harrenhal's seasoned castellan, Elder Jessy, to request the specific military intelligence.
As the supreme Vanguard commander actively left behind to secure the home front, Elder Jessy was completely in charge of Harrenhal's overall defensive strategy. He easily handed Roman the highly detailed tracking data and the projected movement patterns of the Lannister raiding party.
After meticulously confirming the tactical coordinates, Roman thanked Elder Jessy and immediately launched himself back into the sky, coordinating via Apostle raven with his localized Vanguard patrols to execute a highly specialized, brutal search-and-destroy sweep.
Meanwhile, in the dense, muddy forests of the western Riverlands, Gregor Clegane was trapped in a state of absolute, raging humiliation.
The Mountain That Rides had recently led his elite detachment of heavily armored Lannister raiders across the Harrenhal border, fully intending to violently rape and pillage the Whent peasantry.
However, his brutal ambitions had been violently, continuously thwarted. Either his massive raiding party was spotted miles in advance by Harrenhal's Apostle ravens, leading them to aggressively charge into entirely empty, heavily stripped ghost towns, or they were violently ambushed and ruthlessly driven out by the enraged peasants utilizing terrifying, highly lethal tunnel warfare.
Roman's subterranean traps were exponentially more lethal against the heavily armored Lannister veterans. Any arrogant red cloak who foolishly dared to pursue the peasants down into the pitch-black tunnels was instantly doomed. The moment they triggered a spiked pitfall trap or a flash-fire ambush, the sheer weight of their plate armor prevented them from escaping, ensuring they died screaming in the dark.
Because Gregor was impossibly massive, he physically could not fit into the narrow, claustrophobic tunnel entrances. He was forced to remain furiously above ground, where he was repeatedly subjected to terrifying, highly coordinated ambushes by hidden militia snipers who would violently hurl specialized ceramic jars of volatile Pale Flame oil at his massive warhorse.
Ultimately, having lost dozens of men to invisible peasant farmers without inflicting a single casualty, the legendary Mountain was forced to frantically flee in absolute, humiliating panic back into the dense forests of the Riverlands to actively hide from the terrifying Harrenhal Vanguard patrols.
The entire Lannister raiding party was currently trapped in a state of absolute, paralyzing tension and sheer terror. Not only were they painfully aware that the heavily armored Harrenhal Vanguard was rapidly closing the net around them, but the Mountain was actively violently taking his humiliating military frustrations out on his own men.
Several seasoned Lannister veterans had already been brutally, inexplicably beaten to death by Clegane's massive, armored fists over trivial, imagined slights.
"Why exactly is another man missing?!" Gregor roared, his massive, terrifying voice echoing through the damp forest. "What in the seven hells is wrong with you useless cowards?! Can you not even keep track of your own bloody sentries?!"
That specific morning, the Mountain had flown into an apocalyptic rage because several of his terrified men had actively chosen to desert into the woods during the night rather than face Roman's Vanguard. Gregor had immediately issued a violently psychotic ultimatum to his surviving squad leaders: if they did not actively hunt down and retrieve the deserters by nightfall, he would brutally execute every single one of them.
Listening to the Mountain's completely unreasonable, psychotic tantrums, the terrified Lannister soldiers absolutely dared not utter a single sound, merely nodding their heads frantically like a flock of terrified chicks.
"I am giving you exactly two days!" Gregor bellowed, spit flying from his lips. "If you do not drag those cowardly deserters back to this camp, I will personally hack off your arms, roast them over the fire, and forcefully shove them down your wretched throats!"
Suddenly, a terrifying, unnatural whistling sound echoed violently from the sky directly above them.
The exhausted Lannister soldiers looked up in absolute, paralyzing confusion, wondering what demonic terror was about to strike them.
Without a single second of warning, a blinding, apocalyptic pillar of crackling white plasma violently crashed down from the heavens. The superheated Pale Flame instantly engulfed the resting Lannister soldiers, violently incinerating them in seconds. Miraculously, however, the pinpoint orbital strike intentionally missed Gregor Clegane by mere inches.
Immediately following the devastating magical blast, the deafening sound of heavy, armored hoofbeats completely surrounded the clearing. Dozens of heavily armored Harrenhal Ironmen seamlessly materialized from the tree line, rapidly forming an impenetrable circle of steel lances and tower shields. They quickly and methodically slaughtered the few surviving Lannister scouts attempting to crawl away from the flames.
But the terrifying Vanguard cavalry neither attacked nor spoke to the Mountain. They simply maintained a perfectly silent, lethal perimeter, waiting for their lord.
A massive, roaring sphere of liquid Pale Flame violently slammed into the center of the clearing. The sheer thermal shockwave instantly dried up the muddy ground, violently turning the surrounding ferns and damp fallen leaves into swirling, blackened ash.
Roman Rivers casually stepped out of the blinding inferno, waving his hand to completely extinguish the magical fire.
The exact moment Gregor Clegane laid eyes on Roman's horned silhouette, his mind instantly flashed back to the profound, public humiliation he had suffered at Roman's hands during the Hand's Tourney. His sheer, psychopathic rage violently overrode his survival instincts. Completely ignoring the terrifying reality that he was entirely surrounded by heavy cavalry and facing a literal magic-user, Gregor drew his massive, two-handed greatsword with a furious, animalistic roar and aggressively charged at Roman.
Roman did not utter a single word. He calmly drew his massive steel warhammer, shifting into a relaxed, flawless combat stance.
As the Mountain swung his massive greatsword in a series of brutal, highly predictable arcs, Roman effortlessly swayed and ducked, entirely dodging the devastating attacks with terrifying, supernatural grace.
Finding his opening, Roman violently seized the absolute initiative. With a single, blindingly fast swing of his hammer, he catastrophically shattered the Mountain's heavy oak shield into splinters. Before Gregor could even react, Roman delivered a second, devastating backhand swing that violently struck the flat of Gregor's greatsword, shattering the massive blade and completely knocking it out of the giant's hands.
Roman absolutely refused to play tedious, dramatic cat-and-mouse games with this vile, irredeemable scum.
Roman violently swung his warhammer low, delivering a devastating, kinetic blow directly to Gregor's right kneecap. The terrifying draconic force instantly shattered the thick steel poleyn and completely pulverized the Mountain's knee joint into useless, bloody junk.
The sudden, excruciating agony caused the Mountain to unleash a deafening, horrific scream. Before he could even fall, Roman fluidly reversed his grip and swung the hammer into Gregor's left kneecap, catastrophically shattering it as well.
The massive, heavily armored mountain of flesh violently crashed into the dirt with a deafening roar. As Gregor Clegane was forcefully brought to his knees, the surrounding Harrenhal soldiers erupted into wild, triumphant cheers.
Roman casually rested his warhammer over his shoulder and utilized a steel-tipped halberd he snatched from a nearby soldier to violently knock the Mountain's heavy greathelm off his head.
Gregor's massive, fleshy face had completely lost all its color. He was trembling violently, his eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated agony and absolute terror.
"Gregor Clegane," Roman's voice was a cold, terrifying rumble that echoed through the silent forest. "I am officially placing you on trial. I am going to meticulously recount every single one of the horrific, unforgivable sins you have committed throughout your miserable life. Do you have absolutely anything to say in your defense?"
The Mountain spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto Roman's boots and let out a wet, psychotic laugh. "You filthy, stinking lizard! I should have violently raped that arrogant Whent bitch and your little blonde whore years ago..."
CRACK!
Completely uninterested in listening to the dying monster's vile, psychotic threats, Roman casually swung his warhammer, violently smashing it directly into the center of Gregor's heavy breastplate.
The catastrophic impact threw the massive giant onto his back.
"Hahaha!" A Harrenhal Vanguard captain laughed mockingly from the perimeter. "This absolute, brainless scumbag hasn't even realized that Lord Roman is deliberately holding back simply to torture him!"
While the Mountain lay gasping in the dirt, his dented breastplate heavily restricting his breathing, his psychotic mind was frantically attempting to formulate a desperate, suicidal ambush. But Roman casually stepped forward and delivered two precise, devastating hammer blows directly to Gregor's elbow joints, catastrophically shattering them and entirely crippling the monster's massive arms.
Roman stood directly over the broken, gasping Mountain and began loudly, methodically recounting Clegane's endless list of horrific crimes: brutal murder, sadistic arson, countless rapes, the slaughter of unarmed infants, and the pillaging of innocent Riverlands villages.
"With the Old Gods and the New as my absolute witnesses," Roman declared coldly. "I officially sentence you to death."
Roman raised his massive, crackling warhammer and brought it down in a slow, brutal, rhythmic series of strikes. With every single devastating blow, he loudly shouted the name of a specific innocent person or a specific Riverlands village that Gregor had violently ravaged.
For the first few agonizing strikes to his armored abdomen, the Mountain possessed enough sheer, stubborn vitality to keep his mouth shut. But within seconds, the catastrophic internal kinetic shockwaves caused him to begin violently vomiting dark, arterial blood.
Roman slowly, methodically moved his heavy hammer strikes upward from the abdomen toward the chest. Under the immense, draconic force of the repeated blows, Gregor's heavily forged steel plate armor gradually deformed, violently embedding itself deep into his own flesh.
The sheer, relentless kinetic trauma slowly, systematically pulverized the Mountain's internal organs into a horrific, bloody pulp. Initially, Gregor was merely spitting blood. But as the brutal execution continued, thick, grotesque chunks of his ruptured organs began forcefully spraying from his mouth with every agonizing breath.
As his internal organs were systematically, completely liquefied by the shockwaves, the horrific substance pouring from the Mountain's mouth devolved into a gruesome, frothing mixture of dark blood and minced flesh.
The surrounding Harrenhal Vanguard soldiers shouted with sheer, absolute bloodthirsty excitement.
"Haha! Flawless strike, Lord Roman! Slaughter that rabid beast!"
"Lord Roman! Please do not swing too hard! Let the bastard live just a few minutes longer! I want him to actively watch his own liquefied organs spill out of his mouth!"
Roman finally ceased his rhythmic strikes after delivering well over a hundred devastating blows. He stopped not because he was physically fatigued, but simply because the Mountain's massive torso had been so utterly, completely pulverized that there was absolutely nothing left holding his body together below his neck.
The horrific, bloody crater in the dirt was a sickening, unrecognizable mixture of shattered steel, pulverized bone fragments, and completely liquefied viscera. The soil beneath Gregor Clegane had turned a deep, glistening black.
Roman reached down into the horrific, bloody mud. He grabbed the Mountain by his thick, greasy hair and violently yanked his perfectly intact, severed head from the pulverized remains of his torso, holding it high in the air to display it to the cheering Vanguard.
Amidst the deafening, triumphant roars of his soldiers, Roman secured the bloody trophy and proudly led his cavalry back toward Harrenhal.
Next, he was going to utilize the Mountain's severed head to completely and utterly infuriate Tywin Lannister.
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