There was still more than an hour before dawn when I made my way toward where Smoker was being housed, in one of the smallest of the hastily-erected stables that rose near the tiltlanes.
A veritable town had been built along the northern walls of Lannisport for this tourney. Lower and upper stands for the joust with separate ones for the melee grounds, stables, forges, the maesters' tent; and that's without counting the thousands of small tents and campfires dotting the land around the city.
Having ran from Casterly Rock, which sat to the north of Lannisport, I had to weave my way through the tent-city filled with passed out freeriders, still-rallying hedge knights, and the true winners of the night still skulking their way from one campfire to the other, looking for their next customer.
Many a coin had made their way into a prostitute's hands last night.
No one gave me more than a passing look, as I made sure to wear what could pass for a hedge knight's unwashed leathers.
No cloaks and shadowy cowls, no sir. Blending in with the locals and acting like you belong wins you the day. Anything to avoid blowing my cover as the mystery knight before the big reveal tomorrow.
Or today, I suppose, though that reveal would come in a different kind of battlefield and a much tougher opponent. Tywin Lannister's office seemed a more daunting arena than the tiltlanes.
What I didn't expect when I arrived at the stables, however, was having one of those passed out drunks slobbering all over Smoker's hay pile.
With the dim light of a small torch I lit once I pulled my way into the stall, the drunk looked like a large blob of a man scrunched up in the fetal position.
Pointing to the drunk, I looked at Smoker in askance, and the horse let out a soft neigh, which surprised me. He didn't usually get along with strangers. I would've expected him to have stomped the guy's brains out by now.
Shrugging, I was about to kick-awake the sleeping man when a sort of passing familiarity to his face made me pause. Was that…
"Pate?"
Pulling my torch closer, I recognized the streak of blotchy pimples on his face and sighed.
I shook him instead of kicking him awake. My temporary squire squealed in fright, fell to the hay-strewn dirt floor, and it took him a moment to calm himself.
"Why are you sleeping here, Pate?" I asked once he'd settled down.
"Uh, for the horse, milord," he said, blinking against the torchlight. "I thought since you were the mystery knight, someone could, ye know, do something to it." He wrung his hands like a child caught sneaking candy.
Did he think I'd be upset that he'd gone above and beyond his duty to care for my horse? If anything, I should be thanking him. I had clearly not thought this through as much as I should've.
Without Smoker, I doubt I could've gotten as far as I did in the lists, and much less win it all. Against guys like Dayne, Barristan, and the Prince, every little edge mattered, and my connection with Smoker was one such edge.
"Has anyone tried anything, then?"
He shook his head fiercely. "No, milord. Just some curious littluns' came 'round yesterday, some of the old Lanna's get. She's a washerwoman I know. Good folk, them, I swear. They just wanted to see the horses more than anything."
I didn't know whether to be amused or terrified that the smallfolk were so easily panicked whenever they dealt with nobles. Complete and utter social inequality would do that, I supposed. I'd gotten used to it over the many years of my life here, but it could still jar me sometimes.
"It's alright." I gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. "Think nothing of it. I'm taking him out for a ride but I should be back before sunrise. Keep taking care of him and I'll reward you once the tourney's done, that good?"
"Yes, milord." He nodded even more fiercely.
Holding onto Smoker's lead, I was about to make my way out of the stall when I paused. "How old are you again, Pate?"
"I turn three and ten next moon." He sounded defensive, then seemed to catch himself and added, "milord." His throat bobbed.
My eyebrows rose until they nearly hit my hairline. Bloody hell. He was making me feel like an old fart at fifteen. Still, he was twelve and already nearly as tall as I was, and I was plenty tall. What kind of monster would he grow up to be?
I knew the answer to that, at least. If I had any say in it, he would grow up into my monster. A less rabid, more skilled Gregor Clegane.
xxx
Here's today's chapter. Only got to 375 Power stones now. I'll drop another chapter today if we get to 500 but if not, I'll see you all tomorrow.
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