Bran Stark was perfectly unharmed. Under Lady Catelyn's fiercely protective watch, absolutely nothing could harm the boy now unless Roman personally authorized it.
In the days following the assassination attempt, Roman spent his free time visiting Bran's chambers, striking up casual conversations with Walder the stableboy.
Roman quickly discovered that Walder, possessing a completely intact mind, was actually quite intelligent and remarkably quick-witted. Because the giant boy was so gentle and physically capable, Lord Eddard had officially assigned him to serve as Bran's personal attendant during his recovery.
"Walder, you work with the efficiency of a seasoned veteran," Roman commented, leaning against the wall. "I do not recall seeing you serving in the Great Hall during my previous visits to Winterfell."
"Oh, thank you, my lord!" Walder smiled brightly. "I am usually assigned to look after the horses in the stables, so I try not to disturb the high lords during the banquets."
Walder was currently experiencing a massive streak of good fortune. First, he was recognized and directly favored by the legendary hero Roman Rivers. Then, Roman actively praised his efficiency in front of Lord Eddard, which resulted in a significant promotion and better wages for the giant stableboy.
Roman, meanwhile, stared at Walder, lost in deep thought. In the original timeline, Walder's brain was catastrophically damaged because a future version of Bran inputted the psychic command "Hold the door" while warging into the past.
Because Walder's mind was perfectly normal right now, it definitively proved that the apocalyptic future where Walder sacrificed himself to save a crippled Bran in the Three-Eyed Raven's cave had been entirely erased.
The Three-Eyed Raven... I had almost forgotten about you, Roman mused internally. What exactly are you plotting now that I have derailed your grand design?
Later that afternoon, Roman decided to take advantage of his rare free time. He commandeered one of the Winterfell kitchens to fry fresh river fish, casually contemplating the massive butterfly effects he had unleashed upon the timeline.
Meanwhile, Fili stood beside him, studying his movements diligently. As Roman's personal aide, she absolutely refused to miss any opportunity to improve her domestic skills.
"Lord Roman, why do you remove the fish from the hot oil before stir-frying the spices? Could you not just cook them together directly to save time?"
"If I leave the fish in the pan, the delicate meat will burn before the spices fully release their aroma," Roman explained patiently.
"I see! And why do you add water back into the pan afterward? Is it to allow the spiced broth to properly seep into the fish?"
While Roman and Fili were happily enjoying their domestic time together in the kitchens, Sansa Stark was secretly wiping away bitter tears in her bedchamber.
Just a few hours prior, Lord Eddard and King Robert had finalized a massive political agreement. Sansa was officially betrothed to Prince Joffrey Baratheon.
In the past, Sansa would have absolutely swooned over the prospect of marrying a handsome, golden-haired prince.
But ever since she had heard the legendary tales of Roman Rivers and personally spent time with the towering lord, Sansa had completely lost interest in soft southern boys.
Roman had rebuilt the cursed ruin of Harrenhal, modernized an entire region, annihilated the Riverlands bandits, marched north to reinforce the Night's Watch, slaughtered four hundred wildlings in a claustrophobic tunnel, and crushed Giant Ice Spiders with his bare hands.
Roman was already a living legend across the Riverlands and the North. His terrifying reputation was only further cemented when he miraculously saved Bran's life.
There was absolutely no one in her generation who could even begin to compare to Roman's sheer, overwhelming competence.
Moreover, Lord Roman is a true gentleman, Sansa thought miserably. He treats everyone with equal respect. He was actually willing to listen to me and discuss courtly etiquette without mocking me.
And Joffrey? Putting aside his complete lack of martial achievements, terrifying rumors about his cruelty were already creeping through the castle.
Sansa had heard horrified whispers from the servants that Joffrey had recently butchered a pregnant kitchen cat, slicing the poor creature's belly open simply to see the unborn kittens inside.
Sansa grabbed Ned's arm, her blue eyes pleading. "Father, please... I do not want to marry Prince Joffrey! I do not want to go south to the Red Keep!"
Ned stared at his eldest daughter in profound shock. He was completely puzzled by her sudden change of heart.
Sansa had spent her entire childhood obsessing over the elegant songs of high ladies and queens. She had constantly begged to visit the glamorous capital of King's Landing. Now that he was finally handing her the ultimate fairy-tale dream, she was violently rejecting it.
Catelyn Stark appeared silently beside Ned, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
"Your sweet daughter's heart has been completely captivated by Roman Rivers. How could you, as her father, be so utterly blind?"
Hearing her mother expose her secret crush, Sansa blushed furiously.
"Mother, please..."
Ned suddenly felt a massive headache forming behind his eyes. He had seen Roman politely dance with Sansa during a previous banquet, but he had assumed it was nothing more than standard aristocratic etiquette. He never expected his naive daughter would be so easily enchanted by the terrifying dragonseed right under his nose.
As the Lord of Winterfell, Ned had no choice but to awkwardly attempt to sell the betrothal, offering his daughter comforting words he did not entirely believe himself.
"My sweet girl, Prince Joffrey is young and promising. Marrying the crown prince will bring you immense respect and love. You will eventually become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, just like Queen Cersei..."
Finally, after exhausting hours of gentle persuasion from both Ned and Catelyn, Sansa tearfully agreed to travel south to get to know Joffrey before making any final judgments.
After a dejected Sansa retreated to her room, Ned and Catelyn stood together by the high arched windows overlooking the courtyard. Through the thick glass, they spotted Roman and Fili sitting together on a bench.
Roman had finished cooking, and Fili was playfully feeding him a piece of spiced fish. The sheer, unadulterated happiness radiating from the young couple was so glaringly obvious that Catelyn could not help but mutter her disapproval.
"Lord Roman is officially betrothed to Princess Myrcella," Catelyn frowned. "It is highly improper for him to display such blatant intimacy with a commonborn servant girl in public. Do you suppose he has been spending too much time with King Robert and picked up his wretched, womanizing habits?"
Ned could only offer an awkward, strained laugh. Robert's legendary reputation as a lecherous drunkard occasionally cast an unfair shadow over his closest friends.
Unable to defend the situation, Ned quickly excused himself under the guise of checking on Bran's recovery.
After enjoying their delicious meal, Roman and Fili took a leisurely stroll through the sprawling grounds of Winterfell. They happily compared the ancient Northern architecture to Harrenhal's modern industrial layout until they unknowingly wandered near a secluded timber shack.
Fili suddenly grabbed Roman's sleeve. "Lord Roman! Look up. There is a wolf on the roof!"
Roman glanced up at the snowy thatch. A massive, pure white direwolf with piercing red eyes was silently staring down at them.
"Ghost?" Roman asked softly.
"How do you know the runt's name, Lord Roman?"
Jon Snow stepped out from the shadows beside the shack, offering the two guests a polite, if slightly guarded, greeting.
Roman looked at the brooding bastard of Winterfell and smirked. "You have been trailing us since we left the kitchens, haven't you?"
Jon visibly shuddered. He truly had no idea how Roman had managed to spot him. He and Ghost had been exceptionally careful to remain downwind and out of sight.
Jon did not realize that Roman constantly maintained his thermal Pale Flame Vision. Absolutely no biological creature could hide its body heat from his gaze. Furthermore, Fili's ravens maintained a constant aerial perimeter. It would be a genuine miracle if a half-trained boy like Jon Snow could successfully ambush them.
Roman did not want to waste time teasing the boy. "You clearly have something important to say, Jon. Get straight to the point."
Jon scratched the back of his neck, looking highly hesitant. "I heard the tales from the Wall. They say you fought a giant wildling king in a claustrophobic tunnel and held the gate alone. I... I would like to challenge you to a spar. I want to learn from you."
Roman did not answer the challenge immediately. Instead, his glowing blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Where exactly did you find this direwolf pup?"
"Ghost? We found him near the bridge a few weeks ago," Jon explained. "There was a whole litter of direwolves. Lord Eddard allowed each of the Stark children to claim one."
"And you were not afraid the mother wolf would seek revenge for stealing her cubs?" Roman asked, genuinely puzzled.
"No, Lord Roman. We never saw the mother wolf. There were absolutely no tracks or traces of her anywhere near the den."
Upon hearing this, Roman's eyes widened slightly. The mother direwolf wasn't dead? She wasn't killed by a stag's antler?
If the symbolic mother direwolf survived, did that mean Lord Eddard's canonical execution in King's Landing could also be avoided?
Roman suddenly felt a powerful urge to mentally review the original timeline to predict the next prophetic event, but he violently crushed the thought.
Foolish! Roman berated himself. When did I become a coward who strictly relies on archaic prophecies to dictate my actions?
So what if the ancient prophecies existed? Roman had already fundamentally rewritten the fate of Harrenhal, the Riverlands, the Night's Watch, and Bran Stark. He could easily shatter any remaining worthless prophecies with overwhelming industrial force.
Having reaffirmed his absolute confidence, Roman looked back at Jon Snow and laughed loudly.
"Of course you can spar with me, Snow! But be warned, I will absolutely not hold back. Taking a beating from me is going to hurt worse than anything you have ever experienced!"
"I would expect nothing less!" Jon grinned eagerly, drawing his practice sword. "I will do my best to keep up with your legendary speed, Lord Roman!"
Ten minutes later, amidst a series of highly embarrassing yelps, Jon Snow was being carried toward Maester Luwin's chambers to be treated for severe, full-body bruising.
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