The tale of Jaime Lannister being knocked unconscious by a wooden staff quickly became the favorite topic of conversation among the smallfolk and guards of Winterfell. Unsurprisingly, most of the Northern veterans were not shocked by the outcome.
After that humiliating day, Jaime gave Roman an icy, venomous shoulder. The absolute degradation of being knocked unconscious twice by the same man was too much for the golden knight's pride. However, Jaime was not the kind of shameless fool who would loudly boast after suffering a crushing, public defeat.
The other nobles commented that the Kingslayer seemed to have become significantly more composed and reserved after the spar. Roman, however, knew the truth. Jaime was simply restraining his explosive temper to secure a future duel to the death. The man would never truly reflect on his own arrogance until someone physically crippled him.
Roman did not care about the Kingslayer's bruised ego. He was far more concerned with actively monitoring Bran Stark's daily movements, utilizing Fili's expansive raven network to keep a constant eye on the adventurous boy.
Thanks to Cersei's constant, overbearing interference with Myrcella's schedule, Fili finally found a quiet moment to be alone with Roman. The blonde girl lay comfortably in Roman's lap, quietly inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of steel and ozone clinging to his doublet.
Roman gently traced the line of Fili's jaw. "I promised I would not abandon you. You do not need to worry so much."
Fili simply smiled and shook her head. "I know, Lord Roman. But as your political duties expand, the time we have to spend alone together will only decrease. I just want to cherish these rare opportunities."
Roman sighed softly. Fili's bittersweet optimism made him feel a pang of guilt, but he quickly rallied his resolve.
"It is not as if Westerosi history is entirely devoid of precedent. Several legendary Targaryen kings married multiple wives to secure their bloodlines. I can simply follow their ancient example in the future!"
Upon hearing his bold declaration, Fili's smile blossomed radiantly. But the very next second, her expression vanished, replaced by a mask of sheer, cold panic.
"Fili? What is it?"
"Lord Roman! I see Lord Bran climbing the First Keep!" Fili gasped, her blue eyes flashing with magical resonance. "There are several masked men scaling the stonework right behind him!"
They are here!
Roman knew the boy was destined to face mortal danger, but he was genuinely shocked to discover a team of professional assassins had been deployed to silence him.
Did Cersei hire them? Or did Jaime arrange this? Roman wondered as he immediately bolted toward the door, his heavy boots pounding against the stone floor.
"Fili, stay close to me and do not let your guard down! We are going to the First Keep!"
High above the courtyard, little Bran Stark was completely oblivious to his impending doom. He was simply overjoyed that his father and the king had ridden out for a massive hunting party, giving him the perfect opportunity to scale the ancient towers without supervision.
Bran was an exceptionally skilled climber. In a matter of minutes, he had successfully navigated the treacherous gargoyles to reach the very top of the ruined tower.
From this breathtaking vantage point, he could overlook the vast, sprawling expanse of the wolfswood. It gave the young boy a thrilling sense of being on top of the entire world.
Bran stood on the stone ledge, happily enjoying the cool northern breeze. The wind whipped his auburn hair across his eyes, entirely obscuring his peripheral vision and preventing him from noticing the dark, silent figure pulling itself onto the ledge beside him.
By the time Bran sensed the shift in the air, the assassin was already standing over him. The killer drew a gleaming Valyrian steel dagger, aiming the lethal blade directly at the boy's throat.
The sudden, terrifying ambush startled Bran so severely that he stumbled backward, falling hard onto his rear against the cold stone.
Just as the assassin lunged forward to deliver the fatal strike, a massive flock of black ravens violently swooped down from the sky. The birds swarmed the killer's head, viciously pecking at his eyes and tearing at his mask. Howling in pain, the assassin was forced to drop his guard and wildly swing his arms to drive the blinding flock away.
Bran seized the miraculous opportunity to scramble to his feet and sprint across the ruined roof, screaming for the guards. However, because he had intentionally chosen a secluded, abandoned tower to avoid his mother's scolding, his cries for help echoed uselessly into the wind.
Instead of summoning the Winterfell guards, Bran's screams simply alerted the rest of the infiltration team.
When Bran scrambled up onto a higher architectural platform, he suddenly found himself completely trapped, surrounded on all sides by three more masked killers.
"No! You can't do this!" Bran cried out, backing against the parapet.
The assassins completely ignored the boy's pleas. They gripped their rusted blades tightly, stepping forward in unison to deliver the killing blow.
Suddenly, a heavy, muffled thwack echoed across the roof.
The assassin standing directly in front of Bran was violently violently violently thrown backward, securely pinned to the stone chimney by a massive, steel-tipped arrow protruding from his chest.
The dying man looked around in absolute, despairing confusion, desperately trying to locate the phantom archer.
The remaining assassins instantly went on high alert, frantically scanning the surrounding rooftops. One of the killers ignored the threat and lunged forward to silence Bran first, but a second heavy arrow tore straight through the man's neck, snapping his cervical spine.
The assassin possessed incredible physical resilience. The brutal shot failed to kill him instantly. He collapsed to the stone floor, making a horrific, wet gurgling sound as bright arterial blood rapidly pooled from his mouth and the gaping wound in his throat.
Bran watched in absolute shock as the remaining assassins were methodically slaughtered, picked off one by one by the devastatingly accurate sniper fire.
"Lord Bran! Climb down immediately!"
Roman had finally reached the base of the First Keep. Fortunately, the narrow architecture of the tower had prevented the assassins from swarming the boy simultaneously, buying Roman the crucial seconds he needed to systematically execute the hit squad.
Bran peered over the ledge and looked down at the massive, horned lord holding a heavy weirwood bow. He instantly realized the terrifying Southerner was his savior.
Overjoyed at surviving the horrific ordeal, Bran burst into hysterical tears. In his frantic haste to climb down to safety, the boy's foot slipped on a patch of slick moss. He lost his grip entirely and plummeted straight down from the towering heights.
"Ahhh!!!!" Bran screamed as the ground rushed up to meet him.
"You miserable brat!" Roman roared in sheer exasperation. "You just had to fall out of a window anyway, didn't you?!"
Bran was plummeting from the highest peaks of the First Keep. Roman knew he could not simply catch the boy with his bare hands; the sheer kinetic energy of the fall would shatter Bran's spine against Roman's steel gauntlets.
Roman instantly dropped his heavy bow. He surged forward with terrifying, inhuman speed, physically sliding into the mud directly beneath Bran's trajectory. He forcefully expelled the air from his lungs, using his massively dense, flexible abdominal muscles to act as a biological shock absorber.
Bran slammed heavily into Roman's stomach, the sickening impact completely cushioned by the dragonseed's supernatural physiology.
Despite the perfectly executed catch, the sheer G-force of the sudden deceleration still caused Bran's fragile consciousness to fade to black.
Fili sprinted into the courtyard a second later, her chest heaving. "Lord Roman! Are you alright? Are you injured?"
"I am perfectly fine," Roman grunted, gently lifting the unconscious boy into his arms. "But I cannot say the same for little Lord Bran."
"Fili, keep your ravens actively patrolling the perimeter. I will maintain my Pale Flame Vision. We cannot guarantee the area is entirely secure yet."
Roman and Fili meticulously scanned their surroundings for any lingering thermal signatures. After confirming the courtyard was completely devoid of hidden threats, Roman carried Bran directly into the Great Keep.
News of the brazen assassination attempt spread through Winterfell like wildfire. The fact that armed killers had infiltrated the ancestral seat of House Stark while King Robert and Lord Eddard were out hunting was a catastrophic breach of security.
When Robert and Ned rushed back from the wolfswood, they were absolutely furious. They immediately deployed their combined guards to scour the castle for clues. The bodies of the assassins Roman had shot down on the roof provided the only tangible evidence.
Within minutes, Bran's bedchamber was heavily barricaded by Stark household guards. Absolutely no one was permitted to enter the corridor without Lord Eddard's explicit authorization.
As Roman and Fili walked through the halls of Winterfell, the passing servants and Northern lords immediately stopped and bowed with profound, genuine respect. The bastard of Harrenhal had just saved the life of a Stark.
The two entered Bran's heavily guarded room, where Ned, Robert, and Catelyn Stark were anxiously gathered around the bed.
The moment Catelyn saw Roman step through the doorway, she burst into tears, rushed forward, and threw her arms around him in a desperate, deeply uncharacteristic embrace.
"Thank you, Lord Roman! Thank the Old Gods and the New! You saved my sweet boy. I... I do not know how I will ever repay this debt!"
Roman politely returned the embrace before gently stepping back. "It was not solely my doing, Lady Stark. Fili played an absolutely vital role in the rescue. Without her surveillance network, I would never have reached him in time."
Fili smiled shyly, bowing her head. Seeing the wholesome interaction, King Robert let out a booming, infectious laugh.
"Good lad! You have found yourself a brilliantly capable woman. You must cherish her deeply!"
Robert's boisterous praise caused Fili's face to turn bright crimson. Embarrassed by the royal attention, she quickly stepped behind Roman to hide her blushing cheeks.
Roman shot the king a highly exasperated look. "Your Grace, have you entirely forgotten about your own daughter?"
Robert leaned close to Roman, an incredibly wicked grin spreading across his bearded face. "Oh, stop pretending with me, boy! Do you really think I don't know the exact nature of your relationship? Do you honestly expect me to believe you and this beautiful girl share a strictly professional master-servant dynamic?"
"Are you not concerned that I will neglect Princess Myrcella in the future?" Roman countered dryly.
"I firmly believe you are a man of your word," Robert chuckled darkly. "Besides, if you ever dare mistreat my little girl, I will personally chop off your tail and saw off those demonic horns!"
Ned quickly stepped forward, pulling Robert away from his highly inappropriate joking. The Lord of Winterfell turned to Roman, his notoriously stoic expression shifting into one of profound, emotional gratitude.
After a long, heavy silence, Ned placed a firm hand on Roman's shoulder. "You have aided House Stark once again, Lord Roman. The North remembers its debts. You will always be a true friend to Winterfell."
Roman warmly returned the gesture before looking toward the bed. "How is Bran faring? Are there any serious internal injuries?"
"No," Ned sighed in profound relief. "Maester Luwin examined him thoroughly. His legs are perfectly intact. He is merely suffering from the physical trauma of the fall and will recover after a few days of rest. By the way, how exactly did you manage to save him from that height?"
Roman offered a heavily abbreviated version of his tactical intervention, casually omitting his superhuman speed and leaving the specific details for Bran to recount once the boy woke up.
At that exact moment, a towering, simple-minded stableboy entered the bedchamber. He stood over seven feet tall, bowing respectfully to the assembled nobility.
"Your Graces, my lords. I have brought the sweet milk and medicine from Maester Luwin."
Roman stared at the massive servant. A jolt of sudden, jarring recognition hit him. He narrowed his eyes and tentatively asked a question.
"You... your name is Walder, is it not?"
The giant stableboy beamed with absolute joy, incredibly excited that the legendary hero actually recognized him.
"Hodor! Yes, my lord! I am Walder!"
Roman maintained a perfectly calm, polite nod, but internally, his mind was reeling in absolute chaos.
Hodor is still capable of speaking his real name?
The canonical timeline had completely ruptured. The future had fundamentally changed.
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