Darion Bragga (TfV B1 C1 P4)

“What are you thinking, Darion?”

The Captain looked at his life-long friend and smiled. “We ride out in as soon as the horses are fed. Those bastards won’t stick around for long. We need to catch them in the open when they move.”

“They put on quite a show, I must say. Haven’t seen bandits go through this much trouble. The balls on that kid, though.”

“Yes. He took a big chance.”

“So did you. Should have taken him. They wouldn’t have fired on you if you had their meal ticket as a shield.”

“I really doubt he’s their meal ticket.”

“Wait… you don’t mean…”

“What seasoned killer would allow a boy with piles of gold to live for very long?”

“I see your point,” Brom smirked. “You think it was the big man?”

“Maybe.”

“Get some rest, I’ll see to the men.”

“Send Tommen home. We need to report this.”

“Sure thing.”

Darion sat on the grass and stared up at the moon. He spent too much time within castle walls, swinging at a training dummy instead of sparring. Age had caught up to him and fear of death whispered in his ear every time steel was drawn. He forced a mask of bravery onto his face, while the coward in him screamed and begged for sweet smell of home.

“Time to go,” Brom’s ragged voice tethered Darion back to reality.

“Yes. Thank you.” The Captain got up and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. He drew it from the sheath and admired the weight. For some reason it felt heavier than the last time he held it.

“Coming?”

Darion turned and smiled. “Let’s hunt, boys!”