As Ser Barristan Selmy walked out of the Red Keep, Ser Kevan Lannister burst into the Great Hall, his face flushed with fury and panic.
"Cersei!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. "What in the seven hells do you think you're doing? Do you have any idea what will happen if you drive out Ser Barristan? He's the only man who managed to quell the Bread Riots in King's Landing. Those tens of thousands of starving, desperate people are keeping the peace solely because they respect him. What do you think will happen when they learn he's been banished and the riots start again tomorrow?"
The Queen Mother sat casually on the steps of the Iron Throne, completely unconcerned. "Uncle, our Lannister army is the strongest in Westeros. If the rabble in Flea Bottom causes any more trouble, the Gold Cloaks will handle them with steel."
Kevan's face turned a deep, dangerous red. He spun toward the Kingsguard standing by the heavy oak doors.
"Guards! Escort the Queen Mother back to her private quarters. Now."
He had no interest in arguing further with Cersei's arrogance. His only priority was to find Barristan and try to win him back, even if it meant humbling House Lannister in the process.
At that moment, his personal steward came running into the Great Hall, panting heavily.
"Lord Kevan!" the steward gasped. "The Queen Mother sent a detachment of Lannister assassins after Ser Barristan. They probably ambushed him near the Mud Gate already!"
"What?!" Kevan's blood ran cold.
The man before him was his most trusted bodyguard. He would never joke about something this serious. That could only mean Cersei had truly ordered the assassination of a living legend.
"Quickly!" Kevan ordered. "Rally the red cloaks and stop them. Do not let them engage him in combat!"
He led a large force of heavily armed Lannister guards through the winding streets, shoving commoners out of the way as they rushed toward the Mud Gate. But when they reached the sandy shore, they were already too late.
More than thirty bodies lay scattered across the blood-soaked sand. Every one of them wore fine, custom-fitted Lannister plate armor. The costly failure carried Cersei's unmistakable signature.
What truly stopped Kevan in his tracks was the condition of the corpses. Not one of them was intact. Their thick steel breastplates had been sheared open, along with the flesh beneath, spilling organs onto the sand. The edges of the shattered armor looked melted, as if the steel had been exposed to intense heat before cooling and hardening again. Even the sand beneath the bodies had been fused into jagged clumps of glass.
"By the Seven," Kevan whispered, staring at the glassy patches. "It cut straight through plate armor, carbonized the flesh inside, and turned the sand to glass. This was the work of Ser Barristan's magical sword."
His heart sank. There would be no bringing Barristan back now. The next time House Lannister encountered the old knight, it would be across a battlefield.
Barristan the Bold—the man who had charged through enemy lines to slay Maelys the Monstrous during the War of the Ninepenny Kings and rescued King Aerys during the Defiance of Duskendale—had drawn his Harrenhal Spellblade. He had left King's Landing with the adoration of the smallfolk and a deep, lasting hatred for House Lannister.
Kevan staggered back a step, nearly losing his balance. His sharp mind already understood the political disaster that was coming.
"Guards!" he commanded, his voice unsteady. "Clean up this scene and make sure no word of this slaughter spreads through the city. We cannot give Roman Rivers any chance to use this against us."
The Crownlands. Sow's Horn.
Barristan Selmy, disguised in a simple hooded black linen traveling robe, moved quietly with a large convoy of starving refugees fleeing King's Landing. The roads through the Crownlands were dangerous, and the group faced armed bandits every few days. It was only thanks to Barristan's superior skill with a blade that the refugees stayed safe.
The commoners in the convoy held the quiet old man in black in high regard. They often offered him their precious scraps of dried meat and wine.
The day was sunny and brutally hot. The exhausted refugees sat mostly in silence inside the wooden wagons, afraid that any extra effort would drain what little strength they had left in the humid air.
Suddenly, the lead driver shouted and pointed ahead with his whip. "Look! Praise the Gods! It's the Nine Black Bats of House Whent! We've reached the borders of Sow's Horn!"
The entire convoy stirred to life. Everyone turned to look as a disciplined patrol of Harrenhal border cavalry rode toward them. Their polished steel breastplates proudly displayed the black bat sigil.
Barristan instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword as the armed riders approached, but the refugees around him only smiled and waved happily.
The Harrenhal cavalrymen remained calm and professional. They carried out a quick, routine border inspection. One of them politely told Barristan he would need to surrender his drawn weapon before entering the town walls.
"How can a man guarantee his own safety if he is forbidden from carrying a sword inside the city?" Barristan asked skeptically.
The riders exchanged amused glances and laughed warmly. "Relax, old man. Our towns are patrolled day and night by disciplined sheriffs. Draw your sword in the streets and you'll only get a fine for disturbing the peace."
Still puzzled, Barristan followed the crowd of refugees toward Sow's Horn to register with the local authorities. It was during this last stretch of the journey that the old knight's eyes were opened to something entirely new.
Around the ancient keep of Sow's Horn stood newly built stone and earthen villages, constructed with impressive speed. The surrounding fields, once abandoned and barren, had been transformed into vast, irrigated stretches of thriving winter wheat.
Barristan had hunted in this region with King Robert in the past. He remembered it as empty, muddy wasteland. Yet now, in the middle of a brutal continental war, this vulnerable border area looked far more developed and prosperous than it had during peacetime.
As the refugees gazed at the thriving fields, some began to sigh with regret.
"We fled too late," one said. "All the good agricultural plots have probably already been given to the earlier arrivals. We'll have to find factory work inside the town walls."
"It's still fine to live in the town," another comforted him. "Lord Roman abolished the poll taxes, and food and medicine are heavily subsidized and cheap. You can get a good factory job here and never worry about your family starving again."
"I heard the merchants say Lord Roman built several large textile factories by the river canals. They're looking for workers and pay good wages."
Only moments earlier, these same refugees had been consumed by fear of starvation and bandits. The moment they crossed into House Whent's territory, their mood lifted. Some even began talking excitedly about the possibility of earning decent wages in the new factories.
Barristan walked along the smooth, newly paved cobblestone road, looking around in quiet amazement. Crowds of commoners worked with real energy and cheer. Their faces were healthy and smiling, as if the War of the Five Kings tearing the rest of Westeros apart barely touched them here.
They talked eagerly about new infrastructure projects started by Lord Roman, the benefits of the new public schools and municipal hospitals, and how to secure good employment contracts.
After speaking with several locals, Barristan began to grasp the full scope of Roman's rule. After occupying the Crownlands, the Dragon Lord had seized the wealth of the exiled nobles and reinvested it into roads, aqueducts, industrial workshops, public mills, hospitals, and schools. He had abolished most of the old miscellaneous taxes and capped the agricultural tax at a merciful thirty percent. As a result, desperate people from across Westeros were risking everything to reach Harrenhal's lands.
The sight that greeted Barristan at the towering gates of Sow's Horn confirmed every rumor he had heard. The old, decaying fortress he remembered from the rebellion was now surrounded by strong new walls. Inside, a bustling, well-organized city housed tens of thousands of well-fed people from every background.
He unbuckled his sword belt, respectfully handed his magical longsword to the Vanguard guard at the gate, and stepped into the transformed city with growing anticipation.
Inside the walls, the streets were clean and perfectly paved. Disciplined sheriffs and sanitation workers patrolled everywhere. An efficient drainage system carried away waste, and the stone houses were neatly arranged in orderly blocks. Even the air smelled fresh, nothing like the usual stench of a crowded Westerosi city. Residential districts and industrial areas were carefully separated, with polluting workshops banned from operating inside the city.
Barristan was deeply moved by what he saw. In all of Westeros, there seemed to be no other lord quite like Roman Rivers—one who genuinely cared about the prosperity of his common people. He thought of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator.
He also reflected on his own service under Robert Baratheon—on how he had failed to prevent Robert's death, failed to stand up to Joffrey's cruelty, and ultimately failed the people of King's Landing who had trusted him.
Disgusted by what he had witnessed, Barristan now felt a strong need to find a truly honorable king and pledge the rest of his life to him.
He looked out toward the distant towers of Harrenhal. Perhaps this young dragon could offer an old, weary knight a better path forward.
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