Chapter 163: The Debt Must Be Paid

As Ser Mark stepped off his ship onto the rickety dock, Samwell Caesar greeted him at the valley's entrance with a warm embrace.

"Ser Mark, welcome to Eagle's Nest!" Samwell said, giving a hearty smile to the knight from Highgarden's Mullendore family. They were, after all, old acquaintances by now.

"Lord Caesar!" Ser Mark looked at him with a blend of admiration and excitement. He had witnessed firsthand this young lord's rise from an unremarkable hedge knight to a renowned champion across the Seven Kingdoms—all in less than a year.

Mark vividly recalled the shock on his father's face when he recounted Samwell's victory at the King's Landing tournament. That expression of disbelief was almost worth the trip itself. However, his father, Viscount Martyn Mullendore, quickly sobered up and dispatched Mark to Eagle's Nest with one purpose in mind: to collect a debt.

Back when Samwell first began his territorial expansion, Viscount Martyn had sent all of Highgarden's skilled artisans and apprentices to support him. In return, Samwell had promised to return the workers, along with a payment ten times their hire cost, after a year.

At first, Viscount Martyn grew suspicious upon realizing Samwell wasn't taking up the profitable pirate raids he'd hinted at. But since he had already sent the workers, he had little choice but to wait and hope he wouldn't be left empty-handed.

Upon hearing of Samwell's recent victory and the 40,000-gold-dragon prize, however, Viscount Martyn couldn't wait any longer. With the debt term nearly at an end, he saw this as the perfect time to remind the young lord of his obligation.

Samwell seemed to guess why Mark had come, but he avoided any mention of repayment, instead taking the knight on a leisurely tour of his lands. They shared drinks, exchanged stories, and Samwell proudly showed off his collection of "dragon treasures."

"Lord Caesar," Mark eventually said, unable to contain himself, "I'm here about the agreement between our houses. As you know, the one-year term is up in just two weeks, so…"

"Oh, is it?" Samwell replied, scratching his head in feigned surprise. "How time flies. I nearly forgot about it." He gave a sheepish chuckle before adding, "Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I should tell you something."

"What is it?" Mark asked, a bit warily.

Samwell sighed, spreading his hands. "I don't have the funds to pay the debt."

Mark blinked, stunned. "Impossible! You must be joking, Lord Caesar. You won a champion's prize of 40,000 gold dragons!"

"And here it is," Samwell replied, gesturing grandly to the pile of "dragon treasures" behind him.

Mark's face contorted, caught between amusement and disbelief. After a long moment, he finally managed, "My lord…you were swindled!"

"Swindled? Nonsense," Samwell said with an unconvincing smile. "I paid good coin for these from reputable merchants in King's Landing. But tell you what—since you're here, feel free to pick out something you like. We can count it toward my debt."

"I don't want any of this!" Mark said, shaking his head. "I need gold."

"No gold here, I'm afraid." Samwell shrugged. "Feel free to check the castle if you'd like. Anything you find is yours."

Mark fell silent, at a loss for words. After a moment, he took a deep breath and said, "Then silver stags will do. Surely your land has some silver to spare?"

"I'm afraid that's tied up as well," Samwell replied smoothly. "The entire economy here is propped up by our single silver mine. Any silver that comes out is gone by the time it cools, claimed by relentless suppliers. Ah, Ser Mark, I truly am in dire straits!"

Mark sighed, his frustration mounting. Pulling out a rolled scroll, he said, "Lord Caesar, you can't just shrug this off. We have a contract. Signed before the Seven."

"Yes, of course," Samwell said solemnly. "And believe me, I have no intention of breaking our agreement."

"So you'll pay, then?" Mark asked, his voice almost hopeful.

"No. I truly don't have the money," Samwell admitted. Then, with a pained expression, he sighed. "So instead, I'll have to surrender my collateral."

"Collateral?" Mark's eyes fell to the contract in his hand. "The dock?"

"Precisely. Since I can't pay in coin, I'll simply hand over the dock. It's yours, as per the agreement."

Mark hesitated, feeling a prickle of apprehension. He vaguely recalled that the last time he'd seen this so-called dock, it was nothing more than a bare plank of wood stretching into the water.

"Can I at least see this dock?"

"By all means." Samwell immediately began leading the way.

When they arrived, Mark's face went pale.

"Lord Caesar… this… this is your dock?" he stammered, barely able to contain his disbelief.

"Of course," Samwell replied coolly. "Just as it says in the contract, this dock is now yours."

"No!" Mark burst out, his anger finally bubbling over. "This is outrageous! You're mocking us!"

Samwell pointed calmly at the parchment in Mark's hands. "The terms are written clearly in black and white. Lord Martyn agreed to this collateral. I never forced him to sign anything."

Mark glanced down at his father's signature and found himself at a loss.

Seeing his frustration, Samwell chuckled. "Alright, alright, I was only jesting, Ser Mark. Don't take it to heart."

Mark felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Lord Caesar, you nearly gave me a heart attack! So you'll be repaying the debt, then?"

"I'm afraid I still don't have the gold," Samwell said, shrugging again. Before Mark could explode, he quickly added, "But, What I do have, are men."

"Men?" Mark repeated, suspicion creeping back into his voice.

"Come, I'll show you," Samwell said, motioning for Mark to follow him.

Perplexed and wary, Mark kept up as Samwell led him along the shore. Before long, they heard the rhythmic shouts of soldiers drilling on the beach.

"Tell me, Ser Mark, what do you think of my troops?" Samwell asked, gesturing at the soldiers.

"They seem well-trained," Mark admitted. Despite his annoyance, he respected Samwell's military prowess. The young lord's accomplishments in battle were well-documented.

"Good," Samwell replied with a nod. "You see, as much as I wish to pay the debt in coin, that's simply not feasible. Since you aren't inclined to take the dock, I have an alternative offer: soldiers."

"Soldiers? You mean to exchange soldiers for craftsmen?"

"Essentially," Samwell explained. "Think of them as mercenaries from Eagle Nest. I'll cover their training, weapons, and wages. All they'll need from House Mullendore is provisions. Since Highgarden provided 270 craftsmen, I can send you the same number of soldiers. As long as those craftsmen remain here, these mercenaries will fight under your banner. If this is acceptable, we can draw up a new contract."

Mark fell silent, considering the offer.

The proposal was one Samwell had mulled over for some time. With the recent surge in population, he was faced with a dilemma: his lands were too barren to support everyone with farming, and the white brandy and silver mines couldn't absorb all the labor force. To fully utilize this growing populace, Samwell had devised a solution: mercenary troops.

In a world with no structured second or third industries, surplus labor typically ended up as beggars or drifters. Samwell's territory would be no different, unless he found a way to make use of the manpower.

Thus, he turned to the idea of hiring out soldiers. The wildlings in his domain, raised as hunters, were naturally more suited to combat than farm work. With weapons, armor, and some discipline, they could become capable fighters.

Westeros had never lacked wars, and as long as there was war, there would be demand for fighters. The many mercenary companies scattered throughout the continent were testament to that fact.

This mercenary solution would not only bring in additional income, but it would also allow Samwell to build a reserve force that he could call upon if needed.

Of course, he knew these troops wouldn't match the loyalty of a standing army, but his small territory couldn't sustain a large standing force. Sacrificing some loyalty for quantity was, in his mind, a reasonable trade-off.

Samwell also had measures in place to maintain some control over these troops: their families would remain on Eagle Nest, trusted officers would be appointed, wages and benefits would come directly from him, and he'd cultivate a sense of loyalty through indoctrination and promises of future glory.

"Ser Mark, what do you think of my offer?" Samwell finally asked, breaking the silence. "Soldiers instead of coin. Unless, of course, you'd rather take that dock."

"I'll have to discuss this with my father," Mark said, still uncertain.

"Of course." Samwell smiled. "I trust Lord Martyn will find the idea agreeable, especially with war looming on the horizon."

(End of Chapter)