As Fili's small hands continued to gently probe his scalp, Roman finally realized something deeply bizarre was happening to his own physical body.
Two small, incredibly hard, bony protrusions were pushing through his thick black hair just above his temples.
Although they were currently quite small, there was absolutely no denying their existence: he was growing horns.
To be completely honest, Roman was entirely speechless. In the original lore, as long as a dragon remained alive and possessed a sufficient food supply, it would continuously grow larger until the day it died.
However, because Roman was a magical human hybrid, it seemed his physical draconic evolution required highly specific, massive magical stimuli to trigger. Initially, his core magic had violently awakened when he came into direct physical contact with the residual, cursed dragonflame of Balerion the Black Dread lingering within the melted stones of Harrenhal, unlocking the Pale Flame.
Now, his physical draconic traits—specifically horns inherently imbued with crackling lightning—had spontaneously sprouted after being exposed to the ancient, apocalyptic convergence of magic at the Great Wall.
Roman extended his right hand, spreading his five fingers. Brilliant, crackling white electricity instantly danced aggressively across his gauntlet, causing Fili to retreat several steps in shock.
"Lord Roman!" she gasped, her blue eyes wide. "Is that... is that new magic?"
"Hmm. It appears so," Roman muttered, clenching his fist to extinguish the sparks. "But my control over it is currently entirely raw and unskilled. I will have to aggressively study its applications when we return home."
After waving away the magical display, Roman finished his logistical report and handed the sealed parchment directly to the massive raven perched on the windowsill.
The ancient bird quickly swallowed a few mouthfuls of millet, then hopped onto the stone ledge. Before taking flight into the freezing night, the bird turned its head and clicked its beak at Fili.
"Gah! Lady Fili, do you intend to permanently share Lord Roman's bed tonight? Gah!"
The bird's shockingly blunt, human-like question made Fili flush a violent, aggressive shade of crimson, and the raven quickly launched itself into the sky before she could throw a boot at it.
"So," Roman chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. "Are you absolutely determined to sleep in my quarters?"
Fili's face was still burning, but she mustered her courage, puffed out her chest, and looked Roman directly in the eyes.
"Lady Shella explicitly told me that since my moonblood has arrived, I am legally a mature woman! She said I am entirely ready to serve you in your bed!"
Roman deeply frowned upon hearing this. Lady Shella actually encouraged this? Is the Whent matriarch completely disregarding the tactical necessity of a highborn political marriage?
As Harrenhal's terrifying industrial and military power continued to violently expand, Roman knew his personal political value as a bachelor would absolutely skyrocket. By the time the Red Comet canonically arrived in the sky, House Whent would possess significantly more raw military power than House Tully of Riverrun.
Roman genuinely, deeply cared for Fili, and in the distant future, he absolutely intended to elevate her status. But now was simply not the right time.
The current geopolitical standing of Harrenhal was in a highly delicate, transitional phase. Roman possessed terrifying power, but he had not yet achieved the absolute, continent-wide supremacy required to entirely disregard the complex, interconnected marriage alliances of the Westerosi nobility without sparking a massive coalition war against him.
Therefore, Roman needed to meticulously utilize every single political resource available to him to safeguard Harrenhal—and his status as the most eligible, highly weaponized bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms was currently his greatest diplomatic shield.
Furthermore, Roman looked closely at Fili.
Yes, the girl had rapidly blossomed into a breathtakingly beautiful young woman with a stunning figure, but her personality remained profoundly innocent, pure, and deeply naive to the brutal realities of the world.
More importantly, by modern Earth standards, she was entirely, profoundly underage!
In the impoverished, brutal reality of Westeros, smallfolk generally matured incredibly early. Or rather, they were forced to mature early due to horrific medical care and abysmal food yields. There simply weren't enough resources in the world to casually support a child's development into their twenties; if a peasant didn't reproduce early, their bloodline would likely freeze or starve to death.
However, Fili currently lived in Harrenhal. With Roman's modern agricultural empire, she possessed absolute, unshakeable food security. There was zero biological need to rush her physical development.
Roman sighed, walked over, and gently cupped Fili's face, pinching her lips together with one hand.
"Sharing a bed for warmth is fine. But we will do absolutely nothing else. You are far too physically young; attempting such things now could cause permanent harm to your health."
"But my moonblood has started!" Fili argued, her voice muffled by his hand. "I am not a child anymore!"
"I said you are still too young, and my word is absolute law," Roman stated firmly, releasing her face. "I swore I would never harm you. Do you not trust my judgment?"
Seeing Roman's ironclad, unyielding attitude, Fili could only slump her shoulders, staring dejectedly at the stone floor. She deeply wondered if she simply lacked physical charm, assuming that was the real reason Roman refused to touch her.
Roman was far too exhausted by the magical revelation and the freezing cold to attempt to explain modern biological ethics to her. He simply stripped off his armor, pulled Fili into the heavy furs of the cot, and went to sleep.
The next morning.
When Roman finally opened his eyes, he saw Fili grinning foolishly in her sleep, clearly having a deeply wonderful dream.
The girl was clinging fiercely to his broad chest like a limpet, her hands aggressively wrapped around his heavy draconic tail, treating it like a massive, scaly stuffed animal.
Feeling the subtle shift in Roman's breathing, Fili groggily opened her massive blue eyes.
"Mmm... good morning, Lord Roman," she mumbled, stretching. "Thank you for last night. It was very warm."
"You looked absolutely devastated last night," Roman smirked, sitting up. "But it seems you have entirely recovered your spirits today."
Fili quickly sat up, her face flushing slightly. "I simply assumed I lacked the charm to tempt you! I would never blame you, Lord Roman!"
Roman let out a booming laugh, vigorously ruffling the girl's blonde hair to assure her she had absolutely nothing to worry about.
After resting at Castle Black for three days and fully verifying the structural integrity of the localized Wall defenses, Roman ordered the Vanguard to mobilize. Staying any longer would rapidly deplete the Night's Watch's fragile food reserves, completely negating the purpose of their relief mission.
Before departing, Roman stood before the gates to formally bid farewell to the Old Bear.
"Lord Commander," Roman said deeply, grasping Jeor's hand. "House Whent shall forever remain a staunch, unyielding ally of the Night's Watch. If the Wall ever encounters a threat it cannot repel, send a raven to the Gods Eye immediately."
"Thank you, Lord Rivers. Your staggering generosity will literally keep my men alive this winter," Jeor bowed deeply. "Please, give my highest regards to Lady Shella."
Because the massive supply wagons were now entirely empty, the Harrenhal Vanguard marched south at a terrifyingly accelerated pace.
However, as the army navigated the frozen wilderness near the Last River, intending to briefly stop at Winterfell for fresh water, they encountered a deeply unexpected, highly tense situation.
Riding directly toward them on the King's Road was a small, heavily armed Northern retinue flying the Flayed Man banner of the Dreadfort. At its center rode Lord Roose Bolton.
The Old Flayer was currently returning from Winterfell. His famously smooth, emotionless face was currently deathly pale and rigid. Clearly, whatever legal punishment Eddard Stark had inflicted upon House Bolton for Ramsay's psychotic crimes was severely humiliating, even if it hadn't resulted in physical violence.
Roose Bolton immediately spotted Roman's towering figure at the head of the Vanguard. He reined in his horse, his pale, icy eyes locking onto the Riverlord with a profoundly gloomy, venomous expression.
"The North Remembers, Roman Rivers," Roose spoke, his voice a chilling, quiet whisper that carried over the wind. "You should have handled that situation with proper political etiquette, rather than directly, violently insulting a Great House. Your family will bleed heavily for your arrogance."
Roman was genuinely, deeply surprised. The Old Flayer's canon personality was strictly defined by cold, emotionless calculation. Roose historically preferred to feign absolute indifference while secretly plotting a devastating, flawless betrayal in the shadows (like the Red Wedding).
For a man canonically defined by his terrifying, quiet cunning to openly, blatantly threaten Roman on the open road... Eddard's legal punishment must have been utterly catastrophic to House Bolton's pride to enrage the Old Flayer this deeply.
"So," Roman replied loudly, his voice echoing across the King's Road. "Lord Bolton is formally declaring a blood-feud against my House... all over the execution of a psychotic, unacknowledged bastard who violently raped and murdered innocent Northern women? A beast who explicitly broke the King's peace?"
Upon hearing Roman publicly broadcast his son's horrific crimes, Roose Bolton's face remained utterly composed, a mask of pale ice.
"The women were nothing but worthless peasant servants," Roose stated coldly. "Ramsay was my blood."
What a twisted, lying hypocrite, Roman sneered inwardly. If you actually cared about the bastard, you wouldn't have assigned 'Reek' to mold him into a monster.
But Roman decided to legally play along for the moment.
"Lord Bolton," Roman said formally. "I was merely upholding the absolute laws of the Iron Throne. Lord Eddard, as the honorable Warden of the North, has clearly recognized the absolute legality of my actions. Are you publicly stating that the Dreadfort intends to disregard the laws of the Seven Kingdoms?"
Roose completely ignored the legal trap, instead offering a deeply chilling, veiled threat.
"House Whent has grown far too flamboyant and arrogant lately," Roose whispered. "Lady Shella should teach her bastard how to conduct himself properly among true lords. Otherwise, the fragile old woman will suffer a highly tragic, bloody end sooner rather than later."
Initially, Roman had genuinely intended to simply trade political insults and ride past. He hadn't wanted to casually assassinate a Great Lord on the King's Road, as it would put Eddard Stark in an incredibly difficult, honor-bound political dilemma regarding the King's Peace.
But the very second Roose Bolton openly threatened to murder Lady Shella, Roman's patience instantly, violently evaporated.
Roman's face went completely blank, his glowing blue eyes narrowing into lethal slits.
Riding beside him, Fili instantly understood the terrifying shift in his aura. She closed her eyes, quickly communing with her flock high above. She leaned over and whispered directly into Roman's ear.
"The ravens confirm the perimeter is entirely secure, my lord. We are completely isolated in the wilderness. There are absolutely no Northern scouts or outriders within ten miles."
That is more than enough.
Roman raised two fingers and blew a short, sharp whistle.
Instantly, the front ranks of the Harrenhal heavy cavalry surged forward with terrifying, mechanical precision. Within seconds, the gleaming, silver-armored Vanguard completely encircled Roose Bolton and his small retinue. Dozens of massive, five-meter Shuo lances were violently lowered, the armor-piercing steel tips pointed directly at the Lord of the Dreadfort.
Surrounded by a suffocating forest of Whent steel, Roose Bolton's famously calm face finally cracked, shifting into an expression of genuine, ugly panic.
"Roman Rivers!" Roose barked, his hand dropping to his sword. "Do you intend to declare open war upon the entire North?!"
"What the North is, and what the North desires, is for Lord Eddard Stark to decide," Roman replied, his voice a freezing, apocalyptic baritone. "Psychotic beasts who flay women and trample on the King's laws are not worthy to represent the North."
Roman pointed a heavy, steel-clad finger directly at the frozen ground.
"Dismount your horse right now. Beg on your knees for forgiveness for insulting my mother, or I will execute you where you stand."
Roose Bolton remained rigidly in his saddle, his pale eyes locked onto Roman, refusing to yield his aristocratic pride.
Without uttering another word, Roman violently swept his right hand forward. A blinding, roaring torrent of White Flame instantly erupted from his gauntlet, splashing violently across the frozen ground directly in front of the Bolton horses.
The sheer, apocalyptic heat of the draconic fire instantly terrified the Dreadfort mounts. Roose's horse shrieked in absolute panic and violently bucked, unceremoniously throwing the Lord of the Dreadfort directly into the frozen mud.
A low, mocking laughter rippled through the ranks of the Whent cavalry.
Laying in the mud, Roose stared up at Roman in absolute terror. The boy is a complete, suicidal madman! Roose realized, staring at the violently burning White Flame, the massive steel warhammer resting on Roman's shoulder, and the absolute, unyielding killing intent burning in the Riverlord's glowing eyes.
The Old Flayer finally understood that Roman was entirely serious; the bastard would slaughter him without a second of hesitation.
Gritting his teeth in ultimate humiliation, Roose slowly pushed himself to his knees in the mud. With an expression of pure, venomous hatred, he forced out a stiff, deeply resentful apology to Lady Shella Whent.
Roman nodded coldly. Keeping his promise, he ordered the Vanguard to raise their lances and allowed the deeply humiliated Bolton men to remount and frantically flee down the King's Road.
As the Vanguard resumed their march, the senior Whent captains rode up beside Roman, deeply confused.
"My lord," Master Jessy asked cautiously. "Why did you let him live? Anyone with half a brain knows the Lord of the Dreadfort is a deeply ruthless, highly vengeful snake. He will absolutely retaliate for this humiliation."
Roman simply smiled warmly. "Lord Eddard handled the bastard; he will handle the father."
None of the captains dared question Roman further. They assumed Roman was simply preparing for an inevitable, localized war with the Dreadfort in the future.
No one else in the Vanguard understood Roman's true intentions. But Fili knew exactly what Roman was planning.
Ten minutes later, as the Vanguard rode peacefully down the road, Fili closed her eyes, communing with her flock far in the distance. She smiled brightly and whispered into Roman's ear.
"My lord, the ravens report that the Dreadfort retinue has ridden deep into the isolated Barrens. There is absolutely no sign of life around them except for dead weeds."
"Excellent. Thank you, Fili," Roman smiled, affectionately pinching her cheek.
Then, Roman casually raised his right hand... and snapped his steel-clad fingers.
Miles away, deep in the desolate Barrens, microscopic sparks of residual White Flame that Roman had secretly embedded into the clothing of the Bolton men during his initial magical blast violently, instantaneously detonated.
The ferocious, apocalyptic dragonflame violently engulfed Roose Bolton and his entire retinue in a massive pillar of searing white fire.
The heat was so absolute, so impossibly intense, that the Old Flayer and his men were instantly incinerated to ash before they could even draw breath to scream.
A split second later, the crackling blue lightning woven into the White Flame violently erupted, blasting their charred skeletons into a shower of dust that scattered across the Northern sky.
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