A young, blond noble stepped out of the tailor's shop.
He was dressed in a dark purple hunting doublet sewn from fine brocade and velvet. Draped over his left shoulder was a cloak woven with silver thread and soft red-gold spun yarn. The wide, flamboyant lapels on his chest created a striking contrast between the doublet's lining and its rich outer fabric, showcasing the layers of expensive material.
Around his waist sat a gilded belt embossed with a floral pattern, from which hung an exquisite sword bearing the Lannister lion sigil.
This hunting outfit had reportedly belonged to a sworn sword of House Whent. Now, it was being sold in a shop owned directly by Lady Whent herself. Fate, as they say, is fickle.
Ever since House Whent was granted Harrenhal in 281 AC, they had briefly been one of the most prominent families in the Riverlands and the strongest bannermen to House Tully.
In the very year they took possession of the castle, Lord Whent hosted a grand tourney. It was there that the Crown Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen (Daenerys's older brother), won the joust.
But then came the scandal that shook the realm. Rhaegar rode past his own wife—Princess Elia Martell of Dorne—and placed the crown of winter roses, the symbol of the "Queen of Love and Beauty," into the lap of Lyanna Stark, who was already betrothed to Robert Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End (and current King on the Iron Throne).
Shortly after, Lyanna was allegedly abducted by Prince Rhaegar. Her father and brother rode south to demand justice, only to be brutally executed by the "Mad King," Aerys II Targaryen.
The following year, 282 AC, the "War of the Usurper" broke out, changing the landscape of Westeros forever. Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, raised his banners in rebellion. He championed Robert Baratheon as the leader of the uprising, uniting House Stark of the North, House Tully of the Riverlands, and House Baratheon of the Stormlands. In two years, they toppled the Targaryen dynasty that had ruled for nearly three hundred years.
House Whent of Harrenhal, having bet on the wrong horse by siding with the Loyalists, lost most of their power and influence.
Today, the ruler of Harrenhal, Lady Shella Whent, could barely afford to maintain a fraction of the castle's halls. Her garrison numbered fewer than a hundred men.
Many weapons, suits of armor, fine clothes, and jewels that once belonged to the knights and ladies of House Whent were now being sold off in shops like this one to subsidize the family's dwindling treasury.
To buy this fitted hunting doublet and the gilded belt, Ian had spent 5 Gold Dragons and 180 Silver Stags. Praise the old blacksmith, he thought wryly.
In short, to make himself look like a true highborn noble, Ian had blown through the vast majority of his funds.
Consequently, now that he needed to upgrade his mount, he was a bit strapped for cash.
Leading his horse to the stables of Harrenhal, Ian began to wonder if he could use his persona as a Lannister noble to... borrow... a fine steed from Lady Whent's stablemaster.
After all, the Lannisters were the wealthiest family in Westeros, and they had that famous unofficial motto: "A Lannister Always Pays His Debts." If he promised a high enough reward, he might just be able to bluff his way into a free upgrade.
After flashing his Lannister heraldry to the stable guards, Ian successfully gained permission to enter and "inspect" the facilities.
Walking into the cavernous, empty stables of Harrenhal, a sense of desolation washed over him.
The building itself was massive. Judging by the floor space and the number of stalls, it could probably house a thousand horses without issue.
But now, less than a tenth of it seemed to be in use. About thirty horses were corralled in one corner—the last remnants of House Whent's cavalry.
In his past life, Ian had once toured the stables of an old European castle. The guide had explained that in its prime, such a stable would have had specialized rooms for storing hunting gear, riding boots, fine wines, vinegar, olive oil, and salves. There would be separate armories for horse barding, heraldic caparisons, hunting bows, and weaponry.
In the area dedicated to warhorses, the troughs would be filled with high-quality oats, and there would be niches for oil lamps. In the winter, the stablemaster would light the lamps to keep the valuable destriers warm.
A stable like that was essentially a small military base where knights could arm themselves, mount up, or even rest.
Here, however, those functions had clearly long since decayed.
Ian's arrival caught the attention of a stablehand who was pouring water into a trough. The man stopped his work and trotted over.
"Hey, you there—oh!" The man started rudely, but the moment he took in Ian's attire, his tone did a one-eighty. "Apologies, Ser. This is Lady Whent's private stable. Outsiders aren't allowed in."
"I know exactly where I am. Yet, here I am," Ian said, deliberately turning sideways as if inspecting a brown palfrey nearby. In reality, he was angling his hip to make sure the stablehand got a good look at the sword on his belt.
"Oh... yes, Ser," the stablehand stammered blankly. He suddenly remembered there was a squad of guards outside. If this knight was standing here, he must have been let in.
"I am Ser Lucion Lannister, son of Ser Damion Lannister," Ian announced, weaving his fake identity. When facing NPCs rather than players, he could afford to be a little more creative with his roleplay.
"How may I serve you, Ser?" The stablehand's attitude became instantly servile upon hearing the name.
He had never heard of a Ser Lucion Lannister, but that didn't stop him from bowing and scraping before a Lannister knight.
"I wish to board my horse here for a short while," Ian said, not revealing his true objective just yet. He pointed to the rouncey he was leading. "Naturally, I will pay for the service."
"Of course, Ser, it would be my honor. I promise to take good care of your beast," the stablehand agreed hastily. Looking after the mounts of passing nobles was part of the job—and usually, the tips were far better than the standard maintenance fee.
"Also, I need to borrow a horse from you," Ian added casually.
"No problem at all, Ser. Please, have a look." The stablehand gestured for Ian to follow him into the stalls. He didn't suspect the knight was a con artist. After all, the man was leaving his own horse as collateral, wasn't he?
"I'm heading to Maidenpool for Lord William Mooton's hunt," Ian lied smoothly as he scanned the horses in the pen.
Most of the animals were ordinary riding horses. There were only a handful of true heavy warhorses.
Very quickly, his eyes locked onto a white stallion.
Ian estimated its height at the shoulder to be over sixteen hands (about 1.65 meters). Compared to the river rouncey he was currently leading—which stood barely fourteen hands—this beast was a giant.
"That one," Ian said, pointing. "How about him?"