Harren Town sat on the high ground above God's Eye, just outside the walls of Harrenhal.
In the stories it would one day burn during the War of the Five Kings. Today it was getting a second chance.
The harvest had just come in, so the townsfolk finally had a little breathing room. Roman chose that moment to organize them for a full infrastructure overhaul—water channels, sewage ditches, household septic tanks, reinforced roads, and a large waterwheel mill.
At first the people grumbled. They'd finally earned a rest and now their lord wanted free labor. But Roman made it simple: finish the work and everything would belong to them, free to use forever.
That promise lit a fire under the entire town.
For generations they'd been forced to haul grain to the lord's mill, bake bread only in the lord's ovens, and pay fees for every service. That was feudal life in Westeros, and the Riverlands had kept every ugly tradition.
Now Roman was offering something different. Build it right and it's yours. The townsfolk threw themselves into the work.
Only the old mill owners and a few shopkeepers looked like they might cry.
Reports kept arriving from across the lands. Harrenhal's white stone was spreading outward like roots, becoming the foundation for bridges, roads, and new buildings in every village. There was so much of it that Maester Tom had told Roman to stop worrying about brick kilns for now.
Roman spent every day in Harren Town. He no longer hauled mortar himself, but he walked the streets from dawn until the last light faded, watching every detail.
A handful of sharp, loyal servants walked with him—men and women hand-picked by Lady Shella at his request. They carried notebooks and asked constant questions. These were the people Roman intended to turn into local administrators. One day they would carry his plans into every corner of the lands.
They came from old steward families and had served House Whent for generations. Now their young lord was trusting them with real power. They followed him like shadows, eyes bright with gratitude.
"Learn everything," Roman told them, clapping shoulders. "Soon the rest of the lands will be yours to manage."
One young man nearly wept. "My lord, I swear on the Seven—I'll work until my last breath to build this place the way you want!"
"Don't talk like that," Roman laughed. "If you drop dead I'll have to lay bricks myself. Lady Shella would never forgive me."
The men around him roared with laughter. From that day on they would have followed Roman into the Seven Hells.
The townsfolk loved him even more because he didn't stay in the square giving orders. He walked every street, knocked on every door, rich or poor.
"Are you eating enough?"
"How did your family survive the last long winter?"
"How much wheat are your fields giving you? Can six people live on it?"
"Is coal easy to get for cooking and heat? Any problems?"
He listened. He remembered. And every answer gave him new ideas.
While the construction crews worked, Roman and Maester Tom stood in the town square and gave blunt public health lectures.
Roman didn't expect them to understand everything—knowledge was too rare in Westeros—but he expected obedience.
"Don't drink the river water raw! Lord Roman brought you coal for a reason—use it!"
"No dumping shit in the streets. First warning. Second time you'll be sweeping roads. Third time you pay a fine."
"Why haven't you dug a septic tank yet? Did your whole family die?"
"Garbage goes to the dump. Not the street. Not the river. Not your neighbor's yard."
The sharpest of the new administrators were already installed in Harren Town. They began enforcing the rules, hiring more help, and slowly building the first real local government the Riverlands had seen in centuries.
It was small, but it was the beginning of something bigger—a system that would one day pull every scattered village and town under House Whent's direct control.
When the work was finished, the people of Harren Town could hardly believe their eyes.
The muddy lanes were gone. Clean stone roads ran between freshly repaired houses. Fresh water flowed through new channels and sewage disappeared into proper drains. The big new mill turned quietly beside the stream.
For the first time in their lives, their town looked beautiful.
Roman planned to do the same thing everywhere. Right now the lands were still run the old way—local mayors and town leaders handled justice and taxes while House Whent only showed up at collection time. That had to change.
He told his new administrators exactly that.
"This system is broken. Learn fast. Soon you'll be running those places yourselves."
The men and women standing with him knew this was the chance of a lifetime—from lifelong servants to local lords in all but name, answerable only to Roman.
When everything was done, Roman turned back toward Harrenhal.
At the edge of town he found the entire population waiting.
They had come to see him off. Baskets of fresh bread, smoked fish, cheese, and winter apples were pressed into his hands and the hands of his guards. Children waved. Old men bowed. Mothers called blessings.
One of Roman's servants stared at the crowd, eyes wide.
"Even the king doesn't get this kind of love," he whispered.
Roman smiled, accepted one last loaf of bread, and spoke quietly.
"Come on. We've got a lot more work to do."