"Master?"
"Don't call me master! Call me my lord, or I'll throw you out!"
"Eek!"
Fili's yelp followed Roman out of bed. He had been exhausted from all the traveling, so he had given the guards a few days off and let them rotate rest.
By the time he reached the washbasin, Fili had already laid out everything he needed. It felt strange. He had always done these things alone. Now the girl had quietly become his personal attendant.
Lady Shella had tried to assign him servants before, but the moment she mentioned including that girl Pina, Roman had nearly choked. He had refused every offer until Fili showed up.
"Did you used to work as a squire or something?" he asked while washing.
"Mm—yes, my lord. I was an orphan. The place that took me in trained me as a servant, so I know how to do all this."
Roman frowned. "Then why did you want to come here? Because of the dream?"
Fili nodded, eyes dropping. "I had a nightmare one night. I dreamed bandits attacked the place where I lived and killed everyone. I was too scared to go back… and then the bandits actually came. After that the dreams started leading me toward you. The closer I got, the fewer bad dreams I had. Now they're almost gone. I think the Seven are protecting me."
Roman studied the girl. He ran through every major POV character from the books in his head.
No one like her. Is she special like me?
Through his white-flame sight most nobles and smallfolk looked the same—weak, ordinary life sparks. Only the Baratheons stood out, probably because of whatever divine blood still lingered in their line.
He shook the thought away. He had more important things to worry about right now.
"Come on, Fili. Time to work."
He turned and watched the 5'7" girl casually hoist his massive warhammer—taller than she was—and fall in behind him like it weighed nothing.
Yeah… this one is definitely not normal.
First stop: the blacksmith yard. Nearly two hundred new skilled workers had arrived with the latest group. Roman found Blackfinger Ben and asked how many sets of brigandine they could finish in a month.
"My lord, the first hundred sets used up all our stored plates. Now we have to make everything from scratch. If we keep this pace we should have enough armor and spares for five hundred men by the next harvest."
Roman had expected slower progress. The answer made him grin.
"Excellent. Keep that speed. Quality first. If you need anything, come straight to Lady Shella or me."
Ben's wrinkled face split into a huge smile. He grabbed a sheet of parchment.
"My lord, your armor design gave me an idea. Instead of separate pieces we can make one-piece articulated arm guards using the same overlapping plates as brigandine. Soldiers won't have to fumble with two separate pieces."
He pointed at the sketch. "Also, the way you drew it puts all the weight on the shoulders. If we curve the hip plates inward and add a proper belt, the soldiers can carry the load on their waists instead. We should add solid chest plates too—keep arrows and blades out of the heart and lungs—and better protection under the arms."
Ben rattled off half a dozen practical improvements. Roman was impressed.
"You smiths are sharper than I gave you credit for. One rough drawing and you already found all these upgrades. Do it exactly as you said. Any problems, bring them to me."
Ben looked like he had just been handed a chest of gold. His dark hands rubbed together in excitement.
Roman left the yard with Fili and headed to the ruins-clearing site. The unskilled workers had been kept inside Harrenhal for odd jobs, but most were now tearing down the old wreckage. The salvaged stone traveled out along the new main roads to wherever it was needed.
With help from the castle's builders, Roman had already picked sites for new strongholds at key road junctions. They were building simple but effective fortifications: wooden frames packed with rammed earth, then faced with stone. Far cheaper than the traditional thick stone walls of Westeros, yet almost as strong.
"Too bad I don't have a builder's magic," Roman muttered. "I could really stir things up for the other Riverlands lords."
He chatted with the workers about crop progress while Fili kept staring at the black-scaled tail swaying behind him.
Everyone in Harrenhal assumed the tail was just some noble affectation—a decorative piece Roman wore for show. But Fili could feel it was real. The thought made her fingers itch with curiosity.
"Fili? You coming? We still need to check the fields."
"Ah—yes! Right behind you!"
When she looked up she saw an endless sea of green. The wheat had just begun to sprout, neat rows of tiny blades covering the earth.
The blacksmiths, inspired by Northern plows, had designed a heavy three-share plow mounted on wheels. Two oxen or horses could pull it easily, turning soil far faster than before. Thanks to the white flame they could now cast metal molds and mass-produce the plowshares.
Blast furnaces and workshops ran day and night. Iron tools poured out in a steady stream, yet the demand was still enormous. Orders were already booked through next year.
Only then did Roman truly understand how valuable steel was in this world. He immediately ordered construction of a third blast furnace.
He also spent heavily to recruit more blacksmiths and founded a craftsman academy right inside Harrenhal. There simply weren't enough skilled hands. Agriculture, industry, textiles, mining, smelting—every field needed experts. Roman could give them ideas, but he couldn't do the work himself.
He stood at the edge of the fields, breathing in the clean scent of freshly turned earth, and felt the tension in his shoulders ease.
None of this would happen overnight. Better to stop worrying and go find more people.
"Time to go fishing again."