Chapter 14: A Lannister Pays His Debts
"That one," the stableboy stuttered, looking in the direction of Ian's gesture. "Oh, ser, that's Lady Whent's personal mount. A fine courser bred from a cross between a tall rounsey and a Dornish sand steed renowned for its endurance. It costs twice as much as a regular destrier!"
A destrier costs about 20 times as much as a plow horse, 10 times as much as a draft horse, and 3 times as much as a rounsey. This meant the horse Ian wanted to borrow cost about six times as much as the one he was leaving behind.
"That suits me perfectly, doesn't it?" Ian chuckled. "You know, a hunt without a proper mount is no hunt at all. I'm going this time to win Lady Elenei's favor."
"Ser, oh, that won't do. I don't have the authority to make such a decision. I must consult the steward on such matters." The stableboy shook his head.
His voice was loud enough that it startled another, younger stableboy working at the manger on the other side, who hurried over. He didn't speak immediately, but just looked at the two of them, as if he hadn't figured out the situation yet.
"It's just borrowing a horse—what's there to ask permission for?" Ian frowned. "And Lady Whent's mount? How old is Lady Whent? Can she even still ride? Much less such a tall courser." At her age, she'd probably break a hip just mounting the thing, let alone riding it.
"Well..." Of course Lady Whent couldn't ride anymore. Her last horse was never ridden by her from the time it was chosen until the day it died of old age. But Lady Whent could choose not to ride, yet there still had to be a proper mount in her stable! This was the pride of the Lady of Harrenhal!
"I'm only borrowing the horse for a week. I'll return it immediately after the hunt. If anything happens to it during that time, I'll compensate you for its full value. Haven't you heard the saying? A Lannister always pays his debts."
"Ser, please don't put me in this position."
"Besides, my horse is still with you as collateral. It's been with me for years. You don't actually suspect me of wanting to steal your horse, do you?" You'd be right to suspect that.
"Very well, then. You can report to the steward now. I'll wait." Ian pulled out a gold dragon. "And tell him this is my payment for borrowing the horse."
The younger stableboy, who had been standing silently nearby, seemed to finally understand the situation and hurried over to Ian.
"Ser, the steward is not at Harrenhal right now, but I think he'll agree once he knows it's you who wants to borrow the horse. So I'll let you take it now, and we'll report back to him later." He gave Ian an ingratiating smile.
The older stableboy looked at him in confusion.
"Leave it all to me, father. Don't worry about it." The younger stableboy shook his head at his father.
The Lady of Harrenhal was old and childless. Tourneys and hunts hadn't been held at Harrenhal in years, and the horses in these stables were rarely used.
Because the lady neglected them, the steward hadn't even bothered to inspect the stables in recent years. He and his father were the only ones working here.
The knight would return the horse in a week. Who could possibly notice in such a short time?
And why wouldn't the knight return the horse anyway? How could that be possible? A Lannister always pays his debts! Even a child knows that!
A gold dragon? What gold dragon? I'm just trying to accommodate this noble knight. The gold dragon is irrelevant!
"As you wish," Ian said casually, but inwardly he felt relieved. If the steward had been summoned, he might have been forced to give up the white courser and borrow a more ordinary destrier instead.
While that wouldn't have ruined his disguise as a "Lannister bastard," it wouldn't have been perfect either.
Ian tossed the gold coin into the air, and the young stableboy quickly caught it. After examining it carefully, he pocketed it.
"This way, ser," the young stableboy beamed, leading Lady Whent's mount out.
Having already been saddled, it was still quite docile. With his intermediate riding skills, Ian had the horse, which showed no resistance, under control in just a minute.
"My good man," Ian said, astride his white courser, turning back to the still-uncertain older stableboy. "I promise you, if I'm lucky enough to win Lady Elenei's favor and marry the heiress to Maidenpool, I'll invite you to be master of horse at Maidenpool. Hahahaha."
With that, Ian rode out of the stables with a swagger.
The guard outside the gate simply glanced at him and stepped aside without questioning him.
Only after Ian disappeared from their sight did one guard suddenly speak, looking at his companion. "Did you notice that ser seemed taller when he left than when he arrived?"
"What are you talking about?" his companion said, unable to grasp his meaning.
"No, nothing," the guard scratched his head. "Must have been seeing things."
Ian, of course, was oblivious to the guard's confusion. He returned to the inn where he'd stayed, bought two skins of ale and a supply of provisions, then left Harrenhal through the northern gate and set out on the road to Saltpans.
North of Harrenhal lay a vast expanse of fertile farmland. Thanks to this rich soil, its owners were once considered among the wealthiest in Westeros.
If it weren't for the curse, this would have been one of the most desirable holdings in all of Westeros.
Passing winding streams and sun-drenched fields, Ian began to see rolling hills and low scrubland. He slowed slightly, continuing toward the Kingsroad.
Ian had originally estimated that reaching Saltpans would take three days, but with this new courser, if he pushed hard, he could cut the journey to a day and a half.
Of course, he wasn't going to do that.
After all, even the most endurance-bred horse's stamina paled in comparison to its speed.
A horse capable of 25 miles per hour could indeed cover 25 miles in an hour, but in two hours, it would probably only cover less than 40 miles. Covering 60 miles would take five to seven hours, and that required extensive conditioning.
If the horse had lived a leisurely life in a stable, it would be practically exhausted by that point. Running another dozen miles or so would likely kill it.
While the horses in Lady Whent's stables possessed superior bloodlines, were fed the finest grain, and received the best care, Ian didn't overestimate their actual exercise tolerance.
Therefore, Ian's best option was to have the courser trot at a 6-mile-per-hour pace, resting adequately along the way, aiming to reach Saltpans before sunset tomorrow.
Saltpans was a port town, not enclosed by walls, so he didn't have to worry about being stopped at city gates if he arrived after dark.
At midday, Ian rested for a while in a grove beside the Kingsroad and had a piece of white bread for lunch. He only took two small swigs of ale.
He didn't want to let alcohol affect his judgment in a world where violence could erupt at any moment.
Why didn't he drink water, you ask?
In an era when people didn't have the habit of boiling water before drinking, he would rather choose this weak ale. At least he could be reasonably sure it was a clean liquid.
After a short midday rest, Ian set out on his journey again.
Not interested in enjoying the scenery along the way, Ian simply focused on making steady progress north.
Suddenly, Ian pulled hard on the reins, staring at something ahead on the road, muttering, "What the hell...?"
(End of Chapter)
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