To prevent any accidents, Lady Helaena of House Hoare specifically had Old Jessy lead a force of 1,500 men to escort the tax payments.
Nominally, it was to ensure the iron throne's wealth wasn't stolen by bandits, but in reality, everyone at Harrenhal knew it was to protect Roman.
Once these 1,500 men entered King's Landing, the situation would be completely different.
In the original story, Eddard lacked the necessary military force and dared not confront Cersei directly, which led him to seek help from Littlefinger and Janos, ultimately leading to his inevitable demise.
"Sigh, I don't know what lies ahead after leaving Harrenhal this time. I hope nothing goes wrong."
Old Jessy, however, was dismissive: "Those folks on the iron throne still rely on us and The Reach for their food supply. As long as Robert isn't a fool, he won't do anything excessive to you."
The Guards didn't take it to heart either, chatting and laughing as they went.
Roman and the others slowly walked onto the cargo ship; they would be transporting the food and gold dragons to King's Landing by water this time.
Harrenhal was truly the wealthiest territory in the Riverlands; the cargo ships they built were enormous. If not for the limitations of the Blackwater Rush downstream, Roman had no doubt the craftsmen of Harrenhal could have built them even larger.
However, no matter how large the ship, it paled in comparison to the Gods Eye.
The Gods Eye was as vast as the sea; a light breeze blew, making the surface of the lake shimmer, while beneath the clear water were dense schools of fish.
No wonder the common folk of Harrenhal that Roman saw were all so full of energy; being well-fed really makes a difference.
—— King's Landing, The Red Keep. The atmosphere in the council chamber was heavy.
King Robert Baratheon, Hand of the King Jon Arryn, Master of Whisperers Varys, and Master of Coin "Littlefinger" Petyr Baelish were gathered together.
None of them looked very pleased.
The Hean Family of Harrenhal had always been an unavoidable obstacle for the iron throne.
It was wedged between King's Landing and the Trident, while also controlling the Gods Eye and the Golden Road.
Back then, when "The Conqueror" Aegon fought "Black Harren" Heren, he was ambushed by the enemy from the water, resulting in the loss of a large number of troops, which finally forced Aegon to ride his dragon himself and burn Heren's warships.
Originally, upon the death of Lady Riveran, Harrenhal was supposed to be reclaimed by the iron throne according to regulations, but no one expected a certain Roman to suddenly appear out of nowhere.
Robert looked at the letter from Lady Helaena of House Hoare, exhaling breath laced with alcohol, and asked those around him: "Does anyone know who this Roman is? Varys?"
The Master of Whisperers known as Varys was a round, chubby, bald man. He was a master spy, not only having child spies under his command called "little birds," but he himself was also a master of disguise.
However, at this moment, Varys was also troubled: "Your Grace, my little birds in Harrenhal have all been eaten by ghosts. Now, I only know that Roman was picked up in the wilderness by Lady Helaena of House Hoare."
"Ghosts? Picked up? A child picked up would be granted the surname of a great house? Varys, have you lost your mind?"
The one who spoke was Old Arryn. He himself was a traditional great lord, and he knew better than anyone how much importance a great house placed on an heir.
It was impossible for him to believe what Varys said; at the very least, it couldn't be that simple.
"Lord Arryn, our intelligence is still too scarce right now. It would be better to investigate for a while longer; it won't be too late to discuss it then."
Littlefinger intervened just at the right moment, easing the atmosphere.
"It just so happens that the tax payments from Harrenhal are coming, and Roman Rivers is on the way as well. We might as well meet him first."
Robert looked at the chattering people before him, his slightly hungover head aching even more. Information about Roman was pitifully scarce right now; he could rack his brain all he wanted and wouldn't get any good results.
"Forget it, forget it. We'll talk about that Roman later. Let's discuss the next tourney first..."
"Your Grace! We already owe the Lannisters too many gold dragons; we cannot borrow any more!"
Here we go again. Old Arryn looked at his foster son and pressed his head in frustration.
Precious time was wasted in meaningless bickering; this was the norm at The Red Keep.
On the other side, on the cargo ship, Roman was diligently practicing the White Flame.
After such a long time of investigation and studying the documents of Scholar Tom, Roman was certain that his flames were a product of magic.
"Strange, the red comet hasn't arrived yet, so why am I able to use magic?"
In the original story, the arrival of the red comet was what prompted the hatching of Daenerys's three fossilized dragon eggs; otherwise, those dragon eggs would have remained just fossils.
Roman could feel the flow of magic. When he channeled the magic toward his eyes, he could see the sparks of life on other people.
The spark on Old Jessy was already weak and tiny, yet still steadfast, while the flames on the other young soldiers were larger by comparison.
"Are these their life forces?"
It was very obvious that the elder's spark was weaker. Perhaps in the future, he could rely on this method to detect those who were hiding.
Besides using the White Flame himself, Roman also tried to attach the fire to his weapons, though all attempts ended in failure.
Roman felt that it was due to insufficient magic power, especially since attaching flames to non-combustible materials was particularly difficult.
"It seems I am still far from being comparable to a real dragon."
After working hard for a long time without much progress with the White Flame, Roman turned to practice weapons and combat.
Ever since Roman gained control over the fire, his strength had increased once again, and now the warhammer in his hand felt a bit light.
The pole-hammer, which other soldiers found difficult to even lift, was swung by Roman until it became a blur, and everyone was increasingly reluctant to spar with him.
Even if it was one against many, Roman could knock their weapons away with a casual strike, and there was a good chance they would get injured even if they were wearing armor.
Roman could only helplessly practice alone.
Old Jessy carefully analyzed Roman's situation and created a corresponding training plan.
"My Lord, your strength is your advantage. Those training methods previously suitable for heavy weapons are no longer useful to you. I suggest you practice staff fighting."
Old Jessy felt that since Roman was swinging the warhammer anyway, he might as well be swinging a wooden staff, so it was better to have Roman specifically practice the striking techniques of staff fighting.
Under Old Jessy's guidance, Roman found his rhythm on the ship in just a few days.
Every morning and evening, the soldiers could see Roman there swinging his warhammer in practice.
Watching Roman swing the warhammer into a blur, everyone unanimously agreed that no one should ever challenge this guy to a duel, and group fights were out of the question too.
After the cargo ship traveled south from the Gods Eye and merged into the Blackwater Rush, Roman finally saw King's Landing.
However, his first thought was not the grandeur of King's Landing, but a lament for its foul stench.
"Does King's Landing not have sewers? Why does it smell so bad?"
After getting close, Roman really couldn't help himself. He had lived in Harrenhal for so long that he had forgotten King's Landing didn't have sewers.
In the past, this was just a small detail in a book, but after experiencing it firsthand, Roman felt a huge shock.
Old Jessy and the other soldiers also held their noses.
"That guy Robert, he has money to hold tourneys, but he can't fix some sewers?"
"Sigh~ The hero of the Trident has fallen!"
Old Jessy sighed with emotion; as a knight, he still felt some regret over this change.
However, based on Roman's understanding, this was likely Robert's true nature.
Some people are born to go to the battlefield; if you constrain them with a crown, you will only end up with a pile of rusted iron.