A Lannister Always Pays His Debts

"It, it..." The groom followed the direction Ian pointed and immediately began to stammer. "Oh, Ser, that is Lady Rowan's mount, a fine warhorse bred from a tall Riverland Horse and a Dornish Sand Steed famed for its endurance. It costs twice as much as an ordinary warhorse!"

A warhorse cost roughly twenty times as much as a farm horse, ten times as much as a draft horse, and three times as much as a trained horse. In other words, the horse Ian wanted to borrow was worth about six times the horse he had left here.

"Isn't that exactly what I need?" Ian smiled instead. "You know, a good horse is essential for a hunt. This time, I intend to win Miss Elanor's favor."

"Ser, oh, that won't do. I do not have the authority to make such a decision. I must ask the stablemaster."

The groom's voice was so loud that it alerted another, younger groom working by the stalls nearby. Hearing them, the young man hurried over. He did not speak at once, merely watched the two of them, apparently still trying to figure out what was going on.

"It is only borrowing a horse. What is there to ask about?" Ian frowned. "As for Lady Rowan's mount? How old is Lady Rowan now? Can she still ride a horse? Especially one this tall." At her age, she would probably fall off a bicycle with training wheels. And she wanted to ride a horse?

"Th-that..." Lady Rowan naturally could not ride a horse. Her previous horse had never once been ridden by her from the day it was chosen until the day it died of old age. But while Lady Rowan did not need to ride, the stables could not be without one! It was part of the Earl of Harrenhal's prestige!

"I am only borrowing it for a week. I will return it immediately after the hunt. If anything happens to it during that time, I will compensate you at its full value. Have you not heard that saying? A Lannister Always Pays His Debts."

"Ser, please do not make things difficult..."

"Besides, isn't my horse still here with you? That horse has followed me for many years. Oh, you do not actually suspect that I intend to steal your horse, do you?" Then you would be exactly right.

"All right, then I will not make things difficult for you. You may go report this to the stablemaster now. I will wait here." Ian took out a Gold Dragon. "And tell him this is my payment for borrowing the horse."

The young groom, who had been standing silently at the side, seemed to finally come to his senses and stepped directly in front of Ian.

"Ser, the stablemaster is not in Harrenhal at the moment, but I believe he would certainly agree once he learned that it is you borrowing the horse. Let me first show you the horse. We can report it to him afterward." He gave Ian a fawning smile.

The older groom looked at him in confusion.

"Leave everything to me, Father. Do not concern yourself with this matter." The young groom shook his head at his father.

Lady Rowan was advanced in years and had no heirs. Harrenhal had not held a tourney or hunt in who knew how many years, and the horses in these stables were practically never used.

Since the lord did not care, the stablemaster had not even bothered to make routine inspections of the stables in recent years. It had always been just him and his father working here.

This ser would return the horse in a week. Who could discover anything in such a short time?

And would the ser fail to return the horse? How could that be? A Lannister Always Pays His Debts! Even a three-year-old child knew that!

A Gold Dragon? What Gold Dragon? I was merely doing this knightly lord a favor. Whether there was a Gold Dragon or not was completely unimportant!

"Do as you please," Ian said as though he did not care, though inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. If the other man had truly fetched the stablemaster, he might have had no choice but to give up on this white horse and borrow an ordinary warhorse instead.

Though that would not have affected his disguise as "some Ser Lannister," it would ultimately have been less perfect.

Ian tossed the coin into the air. The young groom hurriedly caught it, examined it carefully, then slipped it into his pocket.

"This way, my lord." Beaming with delight, the young groom led out Lady Rowan's mount.

Since it had already been gelded, its temperament was fairly docile. With his intermediate riding skill, Ian took only a minute to tame the horse, which had not resisted in the first place.

"My old friend." Seated atop the white horse, Ian turned to look at the older groom, who was still conflicted. "I promise you, if I am fortunate enough to win Lady Elanor's favor this time and marry the heir of Fountainspring Town, I will invite you to become the stablemaster at Fountainspring Town. Hahaha."

With that, Ian rode out of the stables in grand fashion.

The guards outside merely glanced at him and stepped aside without questioning him.

Only after Ian vanished from sight did one guard suddenly speak, turning to his companion. "Did you feel like that ser got taller when he left?"

"What kind of nonsense is that?" His companion could not understand what he meant.

"No, nothing." The guard scratched his head. "Must have been an illusion."

Ian naturally knew nothing of the guard's confusion. He returned once more to the inn where he had started, bought two jugs of ale and a portion of dry rations, then left Harrenhal through the north gate and set out toward Salt Town.

North of Harrenhal lay a vast stretch of fertile farmland. It was because of this rich soil that Harrenhal's owners had once been considered the wealthiest people in Westeros.

If not for the curse, this place would have counted as the most ideal fief in all of Westeros.

After passing winding streams and sunlit fields, Ian began to see rolling hills and low brush ahead. He slowed slightly and continued toward the Kingsroad.

By Ian's original estimate, it would take him three days to reach Salt Town. But after changing to this horse, he could shorten the journey to a day and a half if he pressed on.

Of course, he would not do that.

After all, even the most enduring horse possessed endurance that was insignificant compared to its own explosive speed.

A horse capable of forty kilometers per hour could indeed cover forty kilometers in an hour, but after two hours, it would probably cover less than sixty kilometers. To travel one hundred kilometers would take five to seven hours, and that was only for a horse that had undergone long-term training.

If the horse usually lived a leisurely life, then by that point it would already be at the end of its strength. If it ran another twenty kilometers or so, it might very well run itself to death.

Though the horses in Lady Rowan's stables possessed natural advantages in their bloodlines, ate the finest food, and received the best care, Ian did not dare overestimate their actual amount of exercise.

Therefore, his best choice was to let it rest fully along the way while keeping it at a trot of ten kilometers per hour, striving to reach Salt Town before sunset tomorrow.

In any case, Salt Town was a harbor town, and the entire town was not enclosed by walls. He did not need to worry about being blocked by the gates if he arrived in the middle of the night.

At noon, Ian rested briefly in a small grove beside the Kingsroad and ate a piece of white bread for lunch. During that time, he only wet his throat twice with ale.

He did not want alcohol to affect his judgment in a world where fighting could break out at any moment.

What? Why did he not drink water?

In this era, where people had no habit of boiling water before drinking it, he would rather choose this weak ale. At least he could be sure it was a clean liquid.

After his brief noon rest, Ian set out once more.

With no mind to admire the scenery along the way, Ian simply traveled north in silence.

Suddenly, Ian yanked hard on the reins and stared fixedly toward the end of the road, murmuring, "Where have we ended up?"