Brandon started count on their supplies. 'Three ten piece regals, one wineskin with the most sour wine he had tasted, 5-10 pounds estimated of horse meat (compliments to Ser Rodricks old palfrey), a dagger, a sword and sword belt, an old shield bearing the sparrow of his old house, Roach my horse, quills and parchment ruined from rain and travel, the old story books Brandon always carried with him, and the dirty girls heirloom she gifted to me for saving her (a copper watch long broken). Rodrick saved her not me, I haven't saved anyone yet.'
Seeing nothing of use, frustration took over and Ser Brandon slammed his fist to the ground with another curse. Looking up he saw the dirty girl shivering. 'She won't survive another night without a fire.' Brandon knew they were located somewhere in the Veer as of now. Rain had left the land cold and feverish and with the recent War between the Harholds and Tyrannians, the lands were left burnt and thick with broken men. Knowing such, Ser Brandon had forbid any fires for fear of being descended upon by brigands. Now he knew though another cold night would threaten the dirty girls life, the very life Ser Rodrick forfeited his own to defend.
'She needs strength, but why am I the one to give it to her when I myself am so weak?' Weak of mind and will. Damn it Rodrick why'd you leave me, she requires a knight not a boy.'
With no choice, Ser Brandon set off not far to find dry kindling and firewood which was hard found due to the unrelenting rains. 'If any brigands chance descend upon us She'll have me to protect her." he told himself stubbornly. By dusk Ser Brandon had the fire lit and sat with his back to a tree. Sword in hand, he started the long night of waiting.
Normally the pair would take turns with watches, though with the dirty girl so sickly Ser Brandon had taken her watch three days now, often sleeping in the saddle by morning. As the night dragged on he started to hum to keep himself awake. An old hymn from his family, the humming of a sparrow that his mum had made for him as a babe.
'Young sparrow don't you cry, young sparrow's tears go dry.'
Brandon missed his mother
As the hymn finished and the boy sighed a tired sigh and he listened. Rain pattered the leaves above him and he swore he heard a twig break behind him, but as he turned to check it was too late. Already an arm wrapped around him and cold steel kissed his cheek. As he stood, in front of him the noisy brigand ceased his crouching and started towards Brandon upright and cocky.
They spoke but Ser Brandon did not hear. The world was drowned out and all around him he could hear thumping. 'What is that? What's that noise?' Thump thump. 'How'd they get so close? I was watching, waiting!' Thump thump 'The girl! They'll kill her!' Thump thump. ' No, NO! They see her! I have to do something, anything!'. As the brigand moved to drag the dirty girl she screamed and Ser Brandon moved forgetting the blade pressed against his cheek.
Ser Brandon moved quick, years of training were forgotten in an instant and instead his sword moved on brash instinct alone. In a pirouette Ser Brandon found his blade between him and the brigand behind him, opening their belly. Luckily the man had no armor. Something red leaked from his cheek, yet he felt nothing but adrenaline as he shouldered the dying man to the ground. Brandon spun trying to take a count of how many foes there were yet as he did so he found himself in a dance of swords with two more opponents, both armed with short swords. The dirty girls screams persisted along with the sound of steel on steel. Brandon only heard the latter. Better equipped and trained Ser Brandon held the advantage for a moment, and for that moment he felt a true knight. One of his attackers struck his half plate and it cost him and eye. As Ser Brandon turned to face the other his knee was kicked and gave out on him. He managed to parry a potentially fatal blow yet being forced to one knee he failed to hold off another strike and his long sword was sent flying towards the trees. Ser Brandon struggled to find his dagger, but before he knew it something struck him on the back of his head, and he fell. Despair set in.
'I've failed. Ser Rodrick I've failed you. The dirty girl, I've failed you. I am not a knight, I am a boy. In my stories the hero always won. This isn't a story though, and I'm no hero. Just an idiot boy who wanted to play the knight."
And then the realization came.
'I don't want to die... Spirit save me I don't want to die please! Someone save me! Father... Save me! Spirit please save me! Rodrick save me, please come back and save me. Please; anyone..'
Ser Brandon the boy knight laid there broken and bleeding, waiting for someone to save him. He knew that was too much to hope for though, so he closed his eyes and accepted his fate.
'Spirit judge me'
Someone shouted, not the girl he knew it was a mans voice. Brandon opened his eyes and smiled as one of the brigands fell defeated. 'Rodrick- you've come.' Brandon thought weeping tears of joy.
Something was off. 'Rodrick's horse was grey.' His savior mounted a white stallion.
'That's not Rodrick, spirit save me it's an angel!'
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