Once he was sure his body was back in working order, Roman threw himself into the work at Harrenhal.
Lady Shella had told him there was no rush, but Roman insisted. He worked side by side with the servants and quickly became something like her personal attendant.
At first the people of Harrenhal were openly afraid of the outsider with the dragon tail. But no one dared say anything—not with Lady Shella protecting him.
Roman let his actions do the talking.
He asked questions, found the etiquette instructor, and learned the proper manners. He'd only ever seen the big players in the show; the smaller roles had never gotten much detail.
The rest of the time he simply worked. Hard.
The servants soon noticed he didn't act spoiled because of Lady Shella's favor. He was serious, reliable, and always willing to lend a hand.
Before long the whispers of "monster" turned into quiet respect. The steward started using Roman as an example whenever he caught someone slacking.
"By the Seven! Look at yourselves. You've been here for years and you still can't keep up with one young man?"
"My lord, we don't have Roman's strength. He never seems to tire. Of course it's easier for him."
"That's no excuse! If Roman can do it, so can you. Stop making excuses or you'll go without supper tonight!"
Lady Shella watched Roman closely during those weeks.
Ever since Robert took the throne, her family had slowly vanished. House Whent was nothing like the proud house that once hosted the great tourney at Harrenhal.
Watching Roman, she decided the gods had sent her a gift—a polite, hardworking boy to stand at her side.
"Maester Tom, how has Roman been behaving?"
Maester Tom was the maester who served House Whent. Like most maesters, he had no family name. These days he spent a lot of time studying Roman.
He wasn't interested in Roman's manners. He was interested in Roman's body.
"My lady, the boy is far stronger than any normal man. His wounds heal with almost no effort, and his strength is well beyond that of an ordinary soldier."
"I've already sent a raven to the Citadel asking for records, but they have nothing like him."
Maester Tom looked at Roman with barely hidden excitement. In his eyes this was the discovery of a lifetime. If he documented it properly, his name might actually be remembered in the Citadel's archives.
Lady Shella sighed. Tom had always been like this—any new curiosity and he lost all sense of proportion.
While they were talking, Roman came up the stairs and joined them.
"Lady Shella, Maester Tom. Good day. You both look well."
Tom stared at him like he was a research paper. Lady Shella's expression softened with old grief as she remembered her own children, long gone.
"Lady?" Roman asked, confused by the sudden sadness on her face.
"Ah—forgive me. I was thinking of the past." She shook it off. "You've already learned every job in the castle. The head maid says you're ready for more important work. From now on, I'd like you to serve as my personal attendant."
Roman blinked, surprised. That fast? She's treating me like one of her lost children.
The thought made something twist in his chest, but he wasn't about to turn down the opportunity.
"It would be my honor, my lady."
After that, Roman's duties changed. In addition to seeing to Lady Shella's daily needs, he was now responsible for her safety.
Which meant he was sent straight to the master-at-arms for training.
The master-at-arms was called Jesse—no family name, and he refused to be called a bastard. Everyone just called him Old Jesse.
Old Jesse was a stern old man. When Lady Shella sent Roman to him, he barely reacted.
"Boy, before we start I want to see what you're made of. Come on—let's have a match."
Old Jesse tossed him a wooden stick. The guards watching from the sidelines burst out laughing.
"Old Jesse, at least give the lad a wooden sword! What's he supposed to do with a stick—poke you in the ass?"
Laughter rolled across the yard.
Neither Roman nor Old Jesse paid them any attention. They just stared at each other.
Old Jesse saw the change in Roman's eyes the moment he picked up the stick. The polite young man disappeared. In his place stood something dangerous.
Only then did Old Jesse notice how broad Roman's shoulders were under that simple tunic.
What the hell? Lady Shella said this boy just got out of bed a few weeks ago. How is he already this strong?
Surprised or not, Old Jesse raised his wooden sword and settled into a ready stance.
Roman's first swing wiped the confidence right off his face.
Roman didn't know fancy swordplay. The little he remembered came from some youth training program back home—mostly footwork and basic strikes.
But he didn't need technique. His dragon-altered body was ridiculously strong. Old Jesse had heard the rumors from the servants. Now he understood they were true.
The short wooden club in Roman's hands moved so fast it left afterimages. The air whistled.
Old Jesse broke into a cold sweat and barely managed to block.
Wood cracked against wood. The guards who had been joking a moment earlier fell silent.
A few who had money riding on the outcome watched with wide, nervous eyes.
"This… this ain't right."
Roman's swings were fast and heavy. He had no real form, but raw power made up for it.
After several exchanges Old Jesse was still blocking, but his arms were numb and his breath was gone.
"Stop!!"
He called it off, rubbing his aching wrist and eyeing Roman with reluctant respect.
"You've been hiding your strength, boy. You hit like a damn ox. If you had any real sword skill I'd be on the ground right now. From today on you train with me. The sooner you learn proper technique, the better you can protect Lady Shella."
Before Roman could answer, Old Jesse launched straight into the most brutal training regimen he had.
"Damn, Old Jesse's pissed," one guard muttered. "He's trying to kill the kid. How long you think Roman lasts?"
"I say he lasts the whole time. That boy's as tough as his tail."
"Same. I've never seen Old Jesse this worked up. Want to bet again?"
Old Jesse heard every word.
"Get back to training or you'll all skip lunch!"
The guards scattered like birds, leaving only laughter behind.
For Roman the days that followed were pure hell. Old Jesse seemed determined to make him suffer—highest intensity drills from the first minute.
Even with a body far beyond normal limits, there was only so much a man could take.
Roman could only pray he earned the old man's approval soon… before he really did get treated like some wild savage.