Following a thorough examination by Grand Maester Pycelle, it was determined that Jaime Lannister would survive, though the Kingslayer would be incapable of walking without severe pain for several weeks due to his shattered groin and broken nose.
However, Roman and Ned Stark had absolutely no time to worry about the political fallout of maiming the Queen's brother. A far more urgent, catastrophic crisis had suddenly erupted:
King Robert had been severely injured while hunting a monstrous boar in the Kingswood.
When the frantic messenger delivered the news, Roman was genuinely stunned. He immediately sprinted through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, heading straight for the King's bedchambers.
When Roman and Ned burst through the heavy oak doors, they found Robert lying in bed, his massive body covered in horrific lacerations. He was barely clinging to life.
The king had suffered a devastating, penetrating wound directly through his abdomen. Jagged splinters of a shattered hunting spear were still deeply embedded in the torn flesh, and the stench of ruptured bowels filled the suffocatingly hot room.
"Ser Barristan!" Roman roared, grabbing the old knight's armored arm. "What in the seven hells happened out there?!"
Roman squeezed the Kingsguard's arm so violently that the white enameled steel began to loudly creak and warp under his grip.
"Unhand him, boy!" Robert grunted weakly from the bed, his voice tight with agonizing pain. "Leave the old man alone. I was careless. I missed my thrust, the boar caught me, and my horse threw me into the dirt!"
Roman naturally refused to believe such a catastrophic coincidence could naturally occur. He looked back at Barristan. "Ser Barristan, tell me honestly. Was His Grace heavily intoxicated during the hunt?"
The old knight shook his head, his face pale with guilt. "His Grace has rarely indulged in heavy drinking during his recent hunts. It was my absolute failure as a Kingsguard. I was too slow to intercept the beast."
Robert groaned in intense annoyance. "Get out of here, Barristan! You were mounted on your own horse, trying to track the hounds! How were you supposed to pull me out of the way of a charging boar?!"
A sudden spike of agonizing pain radiated from his ruptured abdomen, causing the king to violently seize up. It took him several long, agonizing seconds to recover his breath.
"Gods," Robert wheezed, forcing a wet, hacking laugh. "I never imagined that I, Robert Baratheon, the Demon of the Trident, would spend my entire life surviving legendary battles, only to be gutted by a fat pig because my horse slipped in the mud. Haha! It is absolutely ridiculous. Perhaps it is a divine punishment from the Gods for all my past absurdities."
"Do not speak like that, Your Grace!" Ned pleaded, his voice breaking. "You will survive this. It is just a flesh wound."
Robert slowly shook his massive head. He was a seasoned battlefield commander; he knew exactly what a fatal wound felt like. With the current medical technology of the Citadel, he knew his ruptured bowels would inevitably fester. He would not live to see the end of the week.
Roman, meanwhile, stood silently by the wall, his brilliant mind frantically analyzing the political board.
Lord Eddard's relentless investigation into Jon Arryn's death must have finally cornered Cersei,Roman deduced. But I genuinely did not expect her to strike back so quickly. The king was hunting with his Lannister squires when he was attacked. If Barristan was too far away to intervene, what about Lancel and Tyrek Lannister? Did they intentionally delay their support? Did they continuously ply him with fortified wine before the charge?
Damn it all to the seven hells! Is there a single squire, guardsman, or minister in this wretched castle who isn't harboring a treasonous ulterior motive?
Within the gilded cage of the Red Keep, Robert was merely a fat, wounded stag, completely surrounded by starving lions, calculating spiders, and opportunistic hyenas desperately waiting to devour his corpse. In this entire, massive city, only a single wolf and a bastard dragon genuinely cared for his survival.
A complex whirlwind of emotions crashed over Roman. He looked down at the dying king. Initially, years ago, Roman had only approached Robert to secure a powerful political shield for Harrenhal's early industrial expansion.
But Robert was a deeply generous, fiercely loyal, and fiercely straightforward man. Once he officially decided you were his friend, he would never doubt you again. Over the years, Roman had developed a profound, genuine friendship with the boisterous warrior king. Robert possessed the rare, magnetic charisma required to turn bitter enemies into lifelong brothers.
But now that the king was dying, the fragile stability of the Seven Kingdoms was about to shatter into absolute chaos.
I should have known, Roman realized bitterly. I knew all along that King's Landing was a lethal viper's nest. I knew the catastrophic secret of Cersei and Jaime's incest would inevitably trigger Robert's assassination, yet I arrogant allowed the timeline to play out.
Why?
Roman suddenly recalled Petyr Baelish's infamous philosophical quote: Chaos is a ladder.
Deep down in the darkest recesses of his draconic heart, hadn't Roman been subconsciously thinking the exact same thing?
A terrifying part of him was actually relieved that Robert was dying. Because if Robert lived, Roman would eventually have to violently betray his friend and king when Harrenhal officially launched its inevitable military conquest of Westeros.
Now completely free of that future psychological burden, Roman felt a surge of profound self-disgust.
"Shameless cowards!!" Roman roared, his voice shaking the stone walls.
Everyone in the room flinched violently at the sheer draconic fury radiating from the young lord, but Roman refused to back down.
"His Grace has survived countless battlefields! Even if he was slightly intoxicated, he is a legendary warrior. How could he possibly fail to kill a simple boar? This was a blatant, orchestrated assassination!"
The atmosphere in the room instantly turned lethal. Roman glared aggressively at Grand Maester Pycelle and the Lannister squires standing near the door, but no one dared to meet his glowing blue eyes.
Even Robert weakly attempted to comfort him.
"Good lad," Robert rasped, coughing up a spatter of blood. "I know you are fiercely loyal to me. But the truth is, I simply made a fatal mistake. The outcome cannot be changed now. You must look ahead to the future."
Robert weakly raised a trembling finger, beckoning Roman to step closer. When Roman knelt beside the bed, the king grabbed his leather collar, pulling him close to whisper earnestly.
"Myrcella... I have been a terrible, neglectful father. From now on, you are the only man in this world who possesses the power to truly protect her. Only you will actually love her and refuse to treat her like a piece of political merchandise. Promise me, Roman! Swear to me you will take care of my little girl!"
Roman firmly gripped Robert's bloody arm and nodded with absolute, unwavering conviction. "I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."
Exhausted, Robert dictated his final will, officially lifting the assassination order on Daenerys Targaryen and naming Ned Stark as Lord Regent.
The dying king then requested a private moment with Ned, forcing Roman and the rest of the court to wait in the outer corridors.
When Ned finally emerged from the bedchamber, Roman immediately intercepted him.
"Lord Eddard, tell me the absolute truth. What lethal secret did you uncover? I refuse to believe this 'hunting accident' was a coincidence."
Ned stared deeply at Roman, the catastrophic pieces of his long investigation finally slamming together in his mind.
The king's bastards... all of Robert's illegitimate children possessed thick, coal-black hair. Ned thought frantically. What is the difference between Gendry and Joffrey? What is the difference between Mya Stone and Myrcella? Their appearance? Their features? No... it is the hair color! The seed is strong!
Suddenly, the terrifying, world-ending truth flashed behind Ned's grey eyes. He looked sharply at Roman. If Robert's three legitimate children are entirely Lannister by blood, born of incest, then Jon Arryn's assassination makes perfect sense!
No! We cannot let Robert die in the dark, without knowing the truth. I must act immediately. I must secure the throne for Stannis! But I absolutely cannot do this alone. I need Lord Roman's overwhelming military strength!
Ned desperately wanted Roman to spearhead the impending coup d'état against Queen Cersei. With Roman's terrifying martial prowess and the Harrenhal Vanguard at his back, Ned's chances of successfully arresting the Lannisters would increase tenfold.
But Ned also remembered his vulnerable daughters and his loyal Northern retainers scattered throughout the city. If the coup failed, they would all be brutally slaughtered.
The Lord of Winterfell placed a heavy hand on Roman's armored shoulder. "Lord Roman, a crisis of unimaginable proportions is about to erupt. I have a crucial task that requires your immediate assistance."
"You only need to ask, Lord Eddard," Roman replied firmly. "I swore an absolute oath before the heart tree in Winterfell that I would do everything within my power to protect House Stark. Just give the word."
"I need you to immediately evacuate my daughters and my household guard from King's Landing," Ned commanded softly. "I cannot act against the Queen while my family remains hostage in the Red Keep."
Roman nodded firmly, leaning in to whisper in Ned's ear. "I will secure them. But I beg you, Lord Stark, exercise extreme caution. Do not trust Littlefinger."
Roman immediately turned on his heel and sprinted out of the Red Keep, heading straight for the Harrenhal encampment near the Dragon Gate to mobilize his forces.
"Fili!" Roman barked as he entered the command tent. "Send a high-priority raven to the Riverlands immediately. Order our generals to initiate a forced march toward the capital with five hundred Vanguard heavy infantry and one thousand light cavalry."
"The rest of the men stationed here will immediately deploy to the Tower of the Hand to extract the Winterfell retinue. If the Lannister red cloaks or the Kingsguard attempt to block your path, you are authorized to use lethal force."
"Simultaneously, activate our embedded agents within the Gold Cloaks. I want absolute, uncontested control of the Dragon Gate to ensure we have a secure extraction route out of the city."
Finally, Roman looked around at his assembled officers. "Remember your standing orders! Tactical safety is our absolute highest priority. I do not want to carve any of your names into the memorial stones at Harrenhal, do you understand me?!"
The heavily armored officers slammed their fists against their breastplates, their voices a synchronized, disciplined roar.
"Sir, yes sir!!!"
Roman personally led an elite extraction squad to the Stark quarters. Upon kicking open the doors to the solar, he found Sansa, Septa Mordane, and Jeyne Poole frantically trying to scold a defiant Arya, while Arya's Braavosi water dancer, Syrio Forel, casually attempted to mediate the domestic dispute.
When Sansa and Arya saw Roman stride into the room in full battle armor, they immediately stopped arguing and rushed toward him, though they continued to playfully bicker with one another.
"Lord Roman!" Sansa gasped. "Please tell Arya to behave like a proper lady!"
"I am not a stupid southern lady!" Arya shot back.
"Arya! You absolute brat!"
"Silence! Both of you!" Roman barked, his commanding tone instantly silencing the room. "We do not have time for petty sibling squabbles. We are leaving the capital immediately."
Roman quickly relayed Lord Eddard's strict evacuation orders, demanding the entire retinue pack only their most vital essentials, otherwise they would be trapped in the city.
The Stark servants were deeply confused, entirely unsure why their lord was suddenly demanding an emergency evacuation. However, the highly experienced Syrio Forel immediately recognized the scent of impending political slaughter. Coupled with the grim rumors of King Robert's mortal injury, the Braavosi master bowed respectfully to Roman.
"Little wolves," Syrio advised smoothly. "I strongly suggest we follow the terrifying dragon lord's instructions. If the First Sword of the North demands you flee, the city is no longer safe."
One of the terrified handmaidens wrung her hands. "But is it truly necessary? What if the Queen violently punishes us for fleeing the Red Keep without her permission?"
At this crucial moment, Septa Mordane stepped forward, her usual strictness replaced by absolute, solemn faith. "Lord Roman swore a sacred oath in Winterfell, before both the Old Gods and the New, to protect House Stark. Have you all forgotten his legendary exploits in the North? I have absolutely no reason to doubt his honor."
Hearing the famously strict Septa completely endorse Roman's authority, the remaining servants abandoned their doubts and immediately rushed to pack their bags.
Arya absolutely despised the suffocating, treacherous rules of the Red Keep, so she was more than thrilled to escape.
Sansa had already completely severed her emotional attachment to Prince Joffrey, so she had absolutely no desire to foolishly run to Queen Cersei for permission to leave. In fact, she was secretly overjoyed because the evacuation meant she would be traveling under Roman's direct protection.
Once the Stark household had packed their bags, Roman deployed the Harrenhal Vanguard to escort the massive civilian column toward the secured Dragon Gate.
But before Roman officially left the Red Keep, he needed to say goodbye to Myrcella.
The highly perceptive princess had already received the devastating news of her father's mortal injury. Following their recent, deeply emotional conversations in Winterfell, Myrcella had finally begun to develop a genuine, profound filial love for Robert.
When Roman quietly slipped into Myrcella's private bedchambers, the princess's eyes were already swollen and red from crying. Seeing her towering betrothed enter the room, she broke down sobbing even harder.
"Lord Roman!" she wept, rushing into his arms. "My father... is he truly dying? Can your magic not save him?"
Roman felt a deep, agonizing pang in his chest. He silently shook his head, pulling her into a tight embrace.
"I am so incredibly sorry, Your Highness. There is nothing I can do for him." Roman took a deep breath. "And I must leave the capital immediately."
The princess looked up at him in absolute, terrified disbelief, her voice trembling violently. "My father is dying... and you are abandoning me too?"
Roman quickly activated his Pale Flame Vision, scanning the walls and corridors to ensure no Lannister spies were eavesdropping on their conversation. Satisfied the room was secure, he gently wiped the tears from Myrcella's cheeks with his thumbs.
"Myrcella, listen to me very carefully," Roman whispered fiercely. "I swore a sacred oath to your father that I would protect you. This departure is only a temporary tactical retreat. I will absolutely keep my promise to you."
"No! You are lying!" Myrcella sobbed, clinging desperately to his armor. "I have read the histories! I know exactly how these political wars end! Once you leave the Red Keep, the Queen will never allow you to return! I will be trapped here forever!"
Roman gently grabbed Myrcella's delicate hands, forcing her to look directly into his glowing blue eyes. "My sweet princess, I am not a helpless knight from your storybooks. I possess power your mother cannot even begin to comprehend. But I beg you, you must swear to keep what I am about to show you an absolute secret. Do you understand?"
Although she had absolutely no idea what Roman was planning, Myrcella sniffled and nodded, swearing by the Mother and the Maiden that she would remain silent.
Seeing that her vow was genuine, Roman took a step back into the center of the room. He closed his eyes and mentally flexed his back muscles.
Suddenly, massive, dark blue, heavily scaled dragon wings violently tore out of his back, effortlessly unfurling to their full wingspan and instantly taking up almost the entire volume of the bedchamber.
Myrcella had never witnessed anything so terrifyingly majestic in her entire life. Her jaw dropped open in sheer, unadulterated awe, her tears completely forgotten as she stared at the mythical appendages.
Roman gently extended one of his wings toward Myrcella. The princess hesitantly reached out, her small fingers tracing the warm, indestructible scales and thick, leathery membranes with absolute astonishment.
"If you ever find yourself in mortal danger, Myrcella," Roman instructed softly, "you use the encrypted raven network Fili established for you. You send me a message, and I swear to you, I will fly across the entire continent, tear this wretched castle down to its foundations, and pull you out of the ashes myself."
Roman stepped forward, wrapping his massive wings around Myrcella, cocooning her in a warm, protective embrace of Pale Flame and draconic steel, gently soothing the terrified princess's breaking heart.
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