By the time Roman returned from depositing a bruised Jon Snow into the maester's ward, Bran had already regained consciousness. Surrounded by his frantic, fiercely protective family, the young boy accurately recounted the horrific details of the assassination attempt.
With the boy's firsthand testimony confirming Roman's heroism, the Lord of Harrenhal was showered with a second wave of profound gratitude and blessings from the people of Winterfell.
However, Lady Catelyn harbored deep, lingering suspicions. She had personally recovered a magnificent, incredibly valuable dagger from the corpse of one of the assassins.
It was a flawless blade of Valyrian steel, adorned with a dragonbone hilt. Clearly, these filthy cutthroats were not highborn lords; it was mathematically impossible for them to legally possess a weapon of such unimaginable wealth.
Catelyn immediately summoned Ned and Roman into a private solar to discuss the identity of the mastermind.
"Ned, Lord Roman," Catelyn began, her voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. "I strongly suggest we immediately launch a quiet investigation into the owner of this dagger. I want the monster who ordered this to pay with their life!"
Ned stared grimly at the lethal weapon that had nearly slit his son's throat. Roman, however, offered a far more calculated perspective.
"Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, I entirely agree that we should trace the origins of this blade. However, we must absolutely not assume the owner of the dagger is the mastermind."
"Why would you say that?" Catelyn asked, her brow furrowing.
"Think about it purely from a tactical perspective," Roman replied smoothly. "What is the absolute most important rule for an assassin?"
Ned pondered the question for a moment, his strategic mind engaging. "To execute the target, and to leave absolutely no trace of themselves behind."
"Precisely," Roman nodded. "Do you not find it incredibly deliberate that a professional assassin would fail to conceal their employer's identity, and instead leave behind one of the most distinctly recognizable, easily traceable weapons in the entire kingdom?"
Ned and Catelyn, having survived the brutal political betrayals of Robert's Rebellion, immediately grasped Roman's implication.
"Lord Roman," Ned said slowly, his grey eyes darkening. "Are you suggesting someone specifically armed the cutthroat with this blade to deliberately frame a rival house?"
Roman looked at the suddenly rational Lady Catelyn and nodded in deep satisfaction.
As long as Catelyn does not pull the same hysterical, impulsive stunts she did in the original timeline—like kidnapping Tyrion Lannister—I can finally spare the logistical energy required to safely extract Lord Eddard when King's Landing inevitably erupts into chaos.
Otherwise, Roman would be forced to simultaneously evacuate Princess Myrcella and rescue Ned Stark from the Red Keep, which would dangerously stretch his elite Harrenhal ambush troops to their absolute limit.
Having finalized their administrative plans, King Robert and Lord Eddard officially prepared to march the massive royal progress back south to King's Landing.
Roman was naturally returning to Harrenhal. But before he departed, he made a point to track down Tyrion Lannister.
"Lord Tyrion," Roman greeted, finding the dwarf packing his saddlebags. "I heard a rumor you are planning to ride further north to inspect the Wall. Is this true?"
The Imp glanced up at the towering lord. "Lord Roman. Yes, I do possess that particular itinerary. How exactly did you come by that information?"
Roman chuckled and retrieved a heavy, stamped iron token from his doublet. "I heard it passing through the lips of a rather talkative Wintertown prostitute. Here, take this token. The territories directly south of the Wall are currently swarming with thousands of heavily armed wildlings under my jurisdiction. Without official clearance, you will easily be mistaken for a southern spy. Present this token, and you may travel the Gift without any harassment."
Tyrion accepted the heavy iron token, noting the nine exquisite black bats of House Whent flanking Roman's personal seal.
"Lord Roman, why are you actively assisting me?" Tyrion asked, genuinely suspicious. "We are not even properly acquainted."
"Ah, please do not think I am questioning your motives, my lord," Tyrion added quickly. "I am simply curious."
Roman laughed a genuine, rumbling laugh. "I am helping you because neither of us is particularly favored by your sweet sister, the Queen."
The Imp was entirely taken aback by Roman's brutal, unapologetic candor. A moment later, he burst into a fit of uproarious laughter.
"Ha! Hahaha! You have the right of it, Lord Roman! That venomous bitch is always exactly the same!"
"Lord Tyrion, keep your voice down!" Roman smirked, glancing around the courtyard.
"Oh, it is perfectly fine!" The Imp waved his hand dismissively. "That is simply how my dear sister and I communicate. She calls me a twisted, demonic bastard who killed our mother, and I call her a miserable whore who would gladly spread her legs for a prize-winning stallion! Every stableboy and kitchen wench in King's Landing knows we despise each other. So what if it reaches her ears?"
Tyrion then stepped closer, nudging Roman's armored leg with his elbow. "I heard that idiot Cersei was absolutely apoplectic over your betrothal to Myrcella. She spent three days cursing you and King Robert while violently smashing every piece of priceless porcelain in her chambers. But the truly hilarious part is that once she finally calmed down, she was forced to secretly buy replacement porcelain from your Harrenhal merchants! Otherwise, she wouldn't have proper tea sets to host the ladies' court!"
At the sheer absurdity of Cersei financially supporting Harrenhal to maintain her pride, both men burst into genuine laughter.
After wiping a tear from his eye, Tyrion's mismatched eyes suddenly grew dead serious.
"Lord Roman, all jokes aside... Myrcella is a genuinely sweet, innocent girl. She possesses a kind heart, making her a hundred times better than that venomous bastard Cersei. You must not bully her, or I swear to the Gods I will look down upon you for the rest of my days."
"You have my word, Lord Tyrion. I understand completely."
Tyrion offered a knowing, slightly cynical smirk, glancing over at Fili who was organizing the carriage. "Having such a stunningly beautiful aide constantly by your side... how could a young man possibly resist? I simply hope you exercise proper discretion. It would be a terrible political blunder if you sired an illegitimate bastard before the royal wedding bells even rang."
"I appreciate the strategic advice, my lord," Roman offered a polite bow.
"Ha, it is simply a crude joke from a bitter dwarf," Tyrion sighed, a flash of old pain crossing his eyes. "Take it as sheer jealousy. Not every man is fortunate enough to have such a brilliant, fiercely loyal woman stand by his side."
Hearing Tyrion's self-deprecating humor, Roman knew the Imp was being dragged down by the traumatic memories of Tysha. Roman stepped forward and gently placed a massive hand on Tyrion's shoulder.
"Lord Tyrion, the fools of this world have unjustly cursed you because of your stature. But absolutely no one can deny your sheer intellect. Compared to the suffocating hypocrisy of the high lords in the capital, I am vastly happier communicating with straightforward, brilliant men like you and King Robert."
The Imp looked up at Roman in profound shock. Aside from his brother Jaime, this was one of the very few times in his entire life he had received such genuine, high praise from a legendary warrior.
Tyrion instinctively tried to calculate Roman's hidden political agenda. But after analyzing the board, he realized Roman had absolutely no need to flatter him. The gap in their current social power was staggering. Roman was the terrifyingly powerful future Lord of Harrenhal, directly betrothed to the crown princess. And Tyrion? He was a despised dwarf who did not even know where he would sleep next week.
Perhaps this terrifying giant is actually telling the truth, Tyrion thought. The realization stirred a profound, unfamiliar warmth in Tyrion's heavily guarded heart, momentarily breaking his cynical composure.
"Lord Roman," the Imp said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "When I finally return from the freezing edge of the world, I must treat you to a proper drink in the capital. I have an exceptional vintage of Arbor gold in my private collection!"
Roman offered a respectful bow and watched Tyrion waddle away. The Imp mounted his horse with the help of his attendant, frequently turning back to look at the towering young lord standing stoically in the freezing wind.
Once Tyrion disappeared down the Kingsroad, Roman signaled his vanguard to prepare for departure.
Robert and Ned had been waiting near the main gates for hours. As the massive southbound convoy organized its lines, Roman noticed Benjen Stark, dressed entirely in the black of the Night's Watch, leading Jon Snow toward the stables.
Upon spotting Roman, Jon completely ignored the lingering pain of his bruised ribs and waved excitedly.
"Lord Roman! I am officially riding north to join the Wall Guard! You must come visit me when you march north again. I swear I will have made a proper name for myself by then!"
The Wall Guard was a revolutionary new military branch Roman had personally proposed to Lord Eddard. It was a Northern auxiliary force officially controlled by House Stark, specifically designed to recruit the most disciplined wildling warriors alongside Northern volunteers. They fulfilled the martial duties of the Night's Watch by defending the Gift and the Wall, but they were absolutely not bound by the archaic, lifelong celibacy oaths of the black brothers.
They operated on Roman's industrialized system of combining military drills with agricultural labor. During peacetime, they cultivated the New Gift to solve their own logistical supply chains. During the brutal winter off-seasons, they trained relentlessly to fight the undead.
However, because the physical requirements were brutally high and the living conditions were freezing, very few southerners were willing to enlist. But for Jon Snow, it was the perfect compromise. Joining the Wall Guard would permanently remove him from Catelyn's hostile gaze while allowing him to earn true military glory without throwing his entire life away to the Night's Watch.
Under the tearful, watchful eyes of Catelyn, Bran, Rickon, and the rest of Winterfell, the three most powerful factions in Westeros officially began their journey south.
With Roman's heavily armored Harrenhal Vanguard and Fili's expansive surveillance network escorting the massive royal progress, the journey was remarkably peaceful.
Aside from Myrcella actively seeking Roman's company, the Lannister faction was deeply wary of Roman. They actively avoided provoking him unless absolutely necessary, which unintentionally drastically reduced the canonical friction between the Starks and the Lannisters along the Kingsroad.
Roman could not help but sigh as he rode. When you step out into this brutal world, true respect is only earned at the edge of a sword.
Weeks later, when the massive procession finally crossed the borders into the Riverlands and arrived at Harrenhal, the Northern lords were absolutely floored by the sheer scale of House Whent's wealth.
They saw an endless, golden sea of wheat, flawlessly engineered cobblestone highways, massive water-powered industrial mills, and incredibly dense, thriving towns surrounding the colossal, rebuilt fortress.
Even the proudest Northern commanders were forced to admit their military strength was vastly eclipsed by the thousands of identically armored, highly disciplined heavy infantry drilling in the distance.
Seeing King Robert's incredibly smug, satisfied expression, Lord Eddard finally understood exactly why the king was so desperate to marry his beloved daughter to a bastard lord. Harrenhal was an unstoppable empire.
"Your Grace, Lord Eddard," Roman announced as the wheelhouses rolled to a halt in the outer courtyards. "We have arrived at Harrenhal. Please forgive me for not escorting you the rest of the way to King's Landing."
After formally bidding farewell to the royal court and ensuring the procession had fresh supplies for the remainder of their journey, Roman and Fili immediately bypassed the resting troops and marched straight toward Lady Shella's private chambers in Kingspyre Tower.
First, Roman needed to deliver a highly classified, detailed report of the apocalyptic threats he had witnessed in the North.
Secondly, Harrenhal needed to instantly shift its industrial foundries into wartime production. The continent was about to bleed.
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