Lady Shella summoned Roman to her private solar to meticulously plan their diplomatic strategy for receiving Ser Garlan Tyrell.
Garlan Tyrell, famously known as "Garlan the Gallant," was the second son of Mace Tyrell, the Lord Paramount of the Reach. The Tyrell family dynamic was highly specific: the eldest son and heir, Willas Tyrell, was a brilliant scholar but physically unable to travel long distances, having had his leg severely crippled in a tourney by the Red Viper of Dorne. The third son, Loras Tyrell, the "Knight of Flowers," was a phenomenal jouster but far too young, arrogant, and politically naive to represent Highgarden in high-stakes negotiations.
And naturally, Margaery Tyrell—the "Little Rose"—was a maiden whose absolute political value lay in a royal marriage, not a diplomatic envoy mission.
Therefore, the highly pragmatic, incredibly skilled, and honorable Garlan was the absolute best, most capable candidate to visit Harrenhal on behalf of the Reach.
"My child," Lady Shella said, tapping the green wax seal on the parchment. "Ser Garlan's formal letter is highly explicit. The Reach formally intends to 'befriend' us."
"Befriend us?" Roman asked, his brow furrowing in genuine skepticism. "Isn't it far too early for Highgarden to make such a blatant move? We have only just begun to expose our true industrial potential to the South. Would the famously pompous Mace Tyrell truly be this deeply interested in a Riverlands upstart?"
Lady Shella offered a sharp, knowing smile. "Of course this was not Mace Tyrell's idea. The Lord of Highgarden is a buffoon who only cares about tourneys and feasting. A geopolitical maneuver of this profound magnitude was absolutely orchestrated by Lady Olenna Tyrell. The Queen of Thorns is the true, undisputed power ruling the Reach. Mace merely signs the parchment."
Roman nodded slowly, the political puzzle clicking into place. Although Garlan was a second son, he was highly respected and deeply valued within the Tyrell family structure. The fact that the Queen of Thorns had dispatched him directly to Harrenhal proved this was a deeply calculated, highly prioritized intelligence-gathering mission.
"I understand, Lady Shella. I will prepare a highly appropriate reception for Ser Garlan."
Over the following weeks, as Roman continued to violently optimize the medical system and draft plans to permanently integrate the massive water resources across the Whent territory, the Tyrell envoy finally crossed the border.
As Garlan Tyrell rode deep into Harrenhal's lands, he was absolutely, profoundly shocked to discover that the infrastructure of this 'cursed' Riverlands territory completely surpassed that of the Reach.
The Reach was canonically the wealthiest, most fertile, and most heavily populated region in the known world. Yet, the advanced, heavily irrigated, mechanized agricultural system the Whents had established made the Reach's traditional farming methods look completely archaic.
Secondly, the baseline standard of living and the education of the smallfolk far exceeded his wildest imagination. In the rest of Westeros, no matter how astronomically wealthy a highborn lord was, their peasants were universally illiterate, filthy, and entirely ignorant.
But here, thanks to Roman's relentless public education campaigns, the Harrenhal smallfolk were clean, healthy, and entirely capable of reading the public health notices and legal decrees plastered on the town walls.
The closer Garlan rode to the towering, melted spires of Harrenhal, the more deeply unsettled and awestruck he became by the sheer, terrifying prosperity of the region. By the time Garlan officially dismounted in the courtyard and stood before Lady Shella, his mind was already racing, desperately calculating exactly how Highgarden could legally tether itself to this industrial juggernaut.
The honor guard Roman had organized for the Tyrell prince was deceptively brilliant. On the surface, it appeared traditionally festive: beautiful maidens scattered fresh flower petals, and highly skilled bards played elegant Southern melodies. However, standing silently directly behind the musicians were hundreds of fully armored, terrifyingly disciplined Harrenhal heavy infantrymen, radiating absolute, unyielding wartime readiness.
The vast wealth of the Reach allowed House Tyrell to field the largest army in Westeros. But as a seasoned military commander, Garlan looked at the gleaming steel lamellar, the towering Shuo lances, and the terrifying mechanical discipline of the Whent Vanguard, and instantly realized a horrifying truth: If the chivalrous knights of the Reach ever clashed with this modernized war machine on an open field, Highgarden would suffer a rapid, utterly crushing defeat.
House Whent has miraculously returned to the absolute zenith of its historical power, Garlan thought, looking up at Roman's massive, imposing figure. And it is entirely because of this terrifying young warlord.
Garlan clearly understood that Roman was politely but firmly demonstrating his absolute military supremacy. The Riverlord was not a man who appreciated empty political poetry.
Following Lady Shella's formal introductions and a highly luxurious, multi-course feast featuring Whent canned delicacies, Roman personally took Garlan on a comprehensive, unescorted tour of Harrentown.
Witnessing the flawlessly paved roads, the massive public hospital, the roaring blast furnaces, and the mechanized agricultural sectors thoroughly cemented Garlan's absolute desperation to secure a treaty.
"Lord Roman," Garlan sighed in profound, genuine admiration as they stood on a newly constructed aqueduct. "Harrenhal is truly shining with unimaginable brilliance in your hands. It is comparable only to its legendary heyday under the Ironborn."
"That statement is fundamentally flawed, Ser Garlan," Roman replied smoothly, his glowing blue eyes locking onto the Reachman. "Harren the Black built the original Harrenhal using the blood, agonizing tears, and crushed bones of a million enslaved Riverlanders. Today, the free people of House Whent are actively, happily smiling as they rebuild this fortress from the ashes. We do not build with blood; we build with silver."
Garlan instantly realized his deep historical faux pas and offered a highly respectful, apologetic bow.
Roman waved his hand dismissively, deciding to completely bypass the traditional Southern political dance and cut directly to the core issue.
"Ser Garlan, I have transparently demonstrated Harrenhal's true, unvarnished strength to you today. Let us speak plainly. What exactly does the Queen of Thorns want?"
Garlan was slightly taken aback by Roman's bluntness, but recognizing he was dealing with a true, pragmatic master of the Game, he abandoned his flowery rhetoric.
"House Tyrell formally intends to establish a permanent, highly lucrative long-term partnership with House Whent, focusing heavily on bulk trade, your revolutionary healthcare techniques, and intellectual exchange."
Garlan paused, glancing around to ensure they were alone on the aqueduct, before lowering his voice. "Furthermore... Highgarden is deeply open to considering a formal marriage alliance in the near future."
"Hmm?" Roman raised a dark eyebrow, feigning surprise. "A marriage alliance? Does Lord Mace Tyrell actually know about this offer?"
Garlan suddenly looked deeply embarrassed, coughing politely into his fist. "Well... the exact parameters are not strictly finalized. House Tyrell still needs to carefully consider the specific candidates available for such an honor."
Roman's face twitched for a fraction of a second before he flawlessly suppressed his cynical smirk.
These roses possess a truly ravenous appetite! Roman sneered internally. The Queen of Thorns desperately wants to secure Harrenhal's terrifying military and industrial power, but she absolutely refuses to give up Margaery—her most valuable royal political asset! They want to bind me with some random Tyrell cousin while keeping the Little Rose for the Iron Throne! Do they truly think I am that politically desperate?
"Ser Garlan," Roman replied with a perfectly polite, entirely dismissive smile. "I am still quite young, and my absolute focus remains on my territory. Let us shelf the topic of marriage for a later date. Instead, let me show you our newly fired porcelain shipments, so you can better understand our immediate trade logistics."
Seeing that Roman had instantly seen through the political bait and flawlessly changed the subject, Garlan felt a wave of profound respect for the young lord's intelligence. Not wanting to make the diplomatic atmosphere awkward, Garlan happily pivoted back to pure economics.
Because the Reach's nobility possessed an insatiable, wealthy appetite for luxury goods, Garlan and Roman rapidly hammered out a massive, highly detailed trade treaty.
Roman formally granted House Tyrell a highly lucrative, preferential tariff rate on bulk Whent glass and porcelain. In exchange, the Reach legally committed to systematically funneling their excess intellectuals, displaced scholars, and master craftsmen directly to Harrenhal.
House Tyrell didn't even have to force anyone to move; they merely had to provide the personnel manifests and open the borders. Because Roman offered these impoverished scholars a utopian environment, unlimited funding, and profound respect, the resulting "brain drain" from the Reach to Harrenhal would be massive and entirely voluntary.
Over the next few days, Garlan practically saw everything in Harrenhal (aside from the highly classified military armories and alchemical foundries). His detailed observations would allow the Queen of Thorns to perfectly assess Harrenhal's terrifying true power.
Before the Tyrell envoy departed, Roman decided it was time for a physical demonstration of power.
Standing in the central training yard, Roman grabbed a massive, blunted steel training warhammer and tossed a heavy practice sword and shield to Garlan.
"Let us put aside these dizzying economic charts for a moment," Roman smiled, rolling his massive shoulders. "You leave on the morrow, Ser Garlan. Why don't we enjoy a satisfying, honest spar to get our blood flowing?"
"I have heard incredible rumors that you routinely spar against three or four skilled knights simultaneously in the Highgarden yards to simulate the chaos of a true battlefield," Roman continued, stepping into the ring. "I severely lack that specific martial experience. I highly hope you can enlighten me."
Garlan was in incredibly high spirits after successfully securing the massive trade agreements, and as a true warrior, he eagerly accepted the challenge.
"Very well!" Garlan laughed, strapping the heavy oak shield to his arm and dropping into a flawless, textbook combat stance. "But please be careful, Lord Roman! I strike heavily!"
Seeing the two highborn lords face off, the off-duty Whent soldiers immediately swarmed the perimeter of the training ring, cheering wildly. The Vanguard medics, however, began sweating profusely, frantically gathering bandages and splints in the highly likely event that the Tyrell prince was accidentally pulverized.
Although Roman's training warhammer was intentionally blunted and theoretically lacked the lethality of a sharp blade, its sheer mass was more than enough to violently demonstrate his terrifying physical strength.
The moment the spar began, Roman didn't bother testing Garlan's legendary defenses with probing strikes. He simply exploded forward with terrifying, supernatural speed, instantly baffling the Reachman.
Garlan quickly realized Roman's terrifying, unorthodox strategy: Roman was actively ignoring Garlan's body and was exclusively, violently attacking his weapons.
Garlan's flawless, canonical defense was rendered completely, instantly useless. While most opponents desperately tried to find gaps in his guard to strike his flesh, Roman was using the massive warhammer to actively hunt down and violently smash Garlan's sword and shield, intending to completely disarm him through sheer, overwhelming kinetic force.
The Whent heir swung the massive, heavy steel warhammer with the blinding, impossible swiftness of a Braavosi Water Dancer. Garlan's eyes widened in absolute terror; he had never seen a man move a heavy weapon with such apocalyptic speed.
A warhammer's raw destructive power exponentially multiplies with its velocity. Roman only landed three direct, thunderous blows against Garlan's shield. The sheer, overwhelming concussive force instantly shattered the thick oak and completely numbed Garlan's right arm up to his shoulder.
On the fourth blinding strike, Roman hooked the head of the hammer under Garlan's crossguard and violently ripped the sword from the Tyrell's entirely numb grip, sending it spinning into the dirt.
The legendary, gallant swordsman of Highgarden had lasted exactly thirty seconds before being entirely, helplessly disarmed.
The surrounding Whent soldiers instantly erupted into deafening, roaring cheers.
Roman laughed warmly, tossing his hammer aside. He reached down and effortlessly hoisted the panting, deeply shocked Garlan up from the dirt. Roman wasn't even breathing heavily; he hadn't broken a single bead of sweat.
Whether it was an intentional psychological tactic or just a friendly spar, Garlan Tyrell felt an incredibly profound, suffocating sense of pressure at that exact moment.
The terrifying pressure extended from the absolute supremacy of the Whent territory to the impossible, supernatural physical might of the Whent Lord himself.
As Garlan rubbed his numb arm and looked up at the terrifying horns protruding from Roman's head, he made an absolute, ironclad internal vow.
Whatever happens in the wars to come... I must ensure House Tyrell absolutely never becomes the enemy of Harrenhal.
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