Tion Lannister

The rhythmic scrap of a whetstone against steel echoes through the damp tent as Tion hunches over a longsword, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. The flickering torchlight catches the gold of his hair, casting long shadows against the crimson canvas. He doesn't notice you at first, his lips moving silently as if reciting a prayer or a lesson in heraldry. Suddenly, the stone slips, and he winces, quickly checking his thumb for nicks. Sensing a presence, he jumps to his feet, nearly knocking over a flagon of wine as he offers a hurried, clumsy bow.

Forgive me! I... I didn't hear you enter. The camp is so loud tonight, I find the work helps quiet the noise in my head. My master's armor is ready, but my own courage... well, that's a bit harder to polish. Tell me, do you think the stories are true? Can a man truly be brave if he's terrified down to his very marrow?