With Tywin Lannister forced back into the Westerlands and Robb Stark holding Jaime Lannister hostage in the Riverlands, the Young Wolf negotiated favorable terms with the Old Lion. The ceasefire finally allowed Roman Rivers to pull his Vanguard troops eastward and resume his campaign.
Thanks to Roman's earlier intervention in King's Landing, the entire Stark family had reunited safely in Winterfell months ago. During the Whispering Wood, Roman had also single-handedly destroyed Jaime's elite guard, ensuring no major Northern noblemen were slaughtered.
Now that the Riverlands were no longer under siege, the pragmatic Northerners had lost any desire to keep bleeding in a southern war. They planned to collect a massive ransom in gold and grain for Jaime's release, then march home behind the Neck.
Before parting, Robb and Roman had spoken openly about their plans.
"I intend to sit tight in the North," Robb said bluntly. "I'll wait until the Baratheon brothers finish fighting over the Iron Throne, then decide which king to support."
"Will Lord Eddard allow such a cynical strategy?" Roman asked, pouring tea. "His honor is tied to Stannis Baratheon's rightful claim. I fear he won't agree."
Robb shrugged. "I'll do my best to convince him. The North isn't rich, and our people are precious come winter. We can't throw lives away for southern squabbles. Better to stay safe behind the Neck while the three kings slaughter each other."
As they talked, Fili entered the solar with fresh, steaming tea.
"Come, try this, Lord Robb," Roman smiled. "It's expensive tea imported from Essos. Westeros's climate can't grow anything this good."
Robb took a cautious sip, savoring the aroma, then stole a glance at Fili. "Lord Roman, I keep hearing rumors that you plan to marry your common-born seneschal. Is it true?"
Roman set down his teacup and rolled his eyes. "And what about you, Lord Robb? Last I heard, you're entangled with a battlefield nurse of minor nobility. Lord Eddard hasn't said a word about Jeyne Westerling."
Robb rubbed his nose sheepishly. No one in the North was pushing a political marriage on him right now, so he figured he could court whoever he wanted. At worst, Eddard would scold him—but knowing his father's kind heart, he would eventually accept Jeyne.
Roman then asked about the rest of the Stark family.
Sansa still dreamed of the South like a hopeless romantic. Arya hoped Roman would visit Winterfell someday so she could train swordsmanship with him. Bran kept climbing the castle ruins, and little Rickon remained a wild toddler. Jon Snow had taken up with a fierce wildling woman and now served as a captain in the new Northern Defense Force under Benjen Stark, patrolling beyond the Wall and missing the southern war entirely.
Before leaving, Robb asked whether Roman would ever consider marrying Sansa. Roman politely declined, citing the uncertainty created by Cersei's sudden dissolution of his betrothal to Myrcella.
"I don't understand you, Lord Roman," Robb sighed. "On one hand you're ruthless enough to tear down the entire knightly system and replace it with radical new policies. On the other, you still worry about archaic matters of honor and broken betrothals. You're a strange creature—whether as a man or a dragon."
Robb eventually departed. His immediate priority was squeezing every possible coin and bushel of grain from Tywin for Jaime's release. The rest of the continent's politics could wait.
The Crownlands
After the Northern army withdrew, Roman launched his campaign against the remaining loyalist lords of the Crownlands. Most of the arrogant traditional nobles surrendered the moment they saw the disciplined Vanguard troops appear on the horizon.
The few stubborn holdouts only needed Roman to hover his draconic form above their towers, roaring with pale flame, before they frantically opened their gates.
Harrenhal's armored soldiers would often sigh at the sight. "Lord Tywin used to have bards play 'The Rains of Castamere' to scare his vassals. Now our lord simply flies overhead wreathed in white fire. History repeats itself."
"That's not the same," a veteran argued. "Tywin slaughters entire bloodlines and leaves no room for mercy. His own people are already stirring against him. Lord Roman confiscates land and wealth, but he doesn't butcher families. He lets defeated nobles live comfortably in Harrenhal and even lets them trade and build. How can you compare the two?"
Rumors had once claimed Roman would burn captured nobles alive and eat their charred remains like some Targaryen monster. Those stories died quickly once the well-fed prisoners began sending letters describing their luxurious house arrest. The smallfolk and minor knights realized Roman was no mindless tyrant.
When faced with Harrenhal's industrialized army, most chose to surrender rather than be bombarded by steel trebuchets or burned by white flame. Only a handful, like the proud House Staunton of Rook's Rest, refused.
Roman gave them one week to reconsider.
When the week ended, he took to the sky. Harrenhal's advanced counterweight trebuchets hurled stones while white flame and lightning rained from above. Roman used concentrated magic missiles to destroy defensive artillery and grain stores along the walls, then poured torrents of pale flame into the arrow slits, incinerating hidden archers.
He could have melted the stone itself, but he preferred to preserve the fortress. Instead he precisely demolished key towers, making the defenses untenable. The arrogant Stauntons quickly learned that an intelligent humanoid dragon was far more dangerous than the mindless beasts of old Valyria.
After several precise strikes, the defenders dared not raise their heads. Harrenhal's troops breached the gates with ease. Rook's Rest fell, completing Roman's drive from the Gods Eye all the way to the shores of Blackwater Bay.
Immediately after stripping the Stauntons of power, Roman began rebuilding and industrializing the new territory. He moved slowly and deliberately—only advancing once roads were repaired, agriculture improved, and castles rebuilt.
Every new region his forces entered was welcomed by the starving smallfolk as liberators. Compared to the cruel old nobles, Roman's meritocratic laws felt like salvation. The arrival of the Vanguard meant the end of crushing taxes, the building of paved roads, new irrigation, medical care, and free schooling.
To the three kings bleeding the South, Roman Rivers had become more terrifying than Aegon the Conqueror ever was.
Aegon had needed the old nobility to govern. Roman's system dismantled the feudal fiefdoms entirely. His armies of trained soldiers, skilled workers, subsidized peasants, and technocrats turned every conquered land into an extension of Harrenhal's industrialized core.
Recently, the Second Apostle Wilson had achieved another breakthrough: using magic, Harrenhal's maesters had bred a short-stemmed, pest-resistant wheat variety. Planted with subsidized phosphate, potash, and ammonium fertilizers produced in Harrenhal's workshops, and supported by new irrigation systems, yields in decent soil now exceeded five hundred pounds per acre.
Such miracles no longer surprised the farmers of Harrenhal. They had come to expect them from the Dragon Lord.
But for the traumatized people of the Crownlands, Roman seemed like the Seven Gods walking the earth.
In a golden wheat field during the autumn harvest, Fili watched the ecstatic farmers report the unprecedented numbers. She scooped up a handful of swollen grains and gave Roman a brilliant smile.
"Look, Lord Roman!" she cheered as the wheat slipped through her fingers. "With yields like these, everyone within our borders will have more than enough to eat. Your greatest wish is about to come true."
Now Get The FULL AVAILABLE NOVEL at Once!
Get 60% OFF for limited time only.
@patreon.com/Authorizz/shop