Ser Brandon sighed an exhausted sigh as he looked down on the blanket hiding the foul smell. After a surreal moment staring down at the cloth he shook his head and started to drag the body into its new resting place. By then the crows gathered. The blanket protected Ser Rodrick from being pecked upon but did nothing to hide the smell of death, drawing the crows to gather and glare down upon the three with their black beady eyes. Ser Brandon hated the crow, though he appreciated the noise they brought. It had been silent since Ser Rodricks departure as Brandon himself had been speechless. As he stood over the open grave the crows went silent for once as if waiting for his eulogy.
Ser Brandon had none prepared.
Ser Rodricks death came without warning. Only five days ago had the two camped together sharing the last skin of wine their coin bought them. It was sour but good, Ser Rodrick rarely let him drink as much as they did that night. Only four days ago had Ser Rodrick saved the little dirty girl who now stood brooding over his grave, cutting down two brigands as Brandon watched starry eyed. Only three days ago had Ser Rodrick dismissed the gash he received as just a scratch and nothing to fuss about.
Now the two stood over his companion and mentor. Swallowing a breathe Ser Brandon went to uncover the blanket for his final goodbye. Ser Rodrick was pale and his cheeks had hollowed recently, though even in death he kept his stern demeanor.
Brandon had known Ser Rodrick to be a man of the old gods and the boy knew little enough of unionist prayers let alone some northern gods. He had refused to strip his mentor of armor and sword. Good steel gone to waste maybe but, Brandon would rather his friend go steel in hand to meet whatever Northerne god he praised. And Brandon knew it was now time to find some words to send off his protector.
Ser Brandon started the eulogy with a voice crack. Clearing his throat he tried again. "Ser Rodrick was a true knight. My father's retainer who never broke his oath. Ser Rodrick was a true friend, may he find peace.". And with that he finished the eulogy, feeling too awkward and sad to expand on it. The small dirty girls eyes never left him, and it made him feel naked; expressing his emotions was never a strong suit.
Afterward he filled in the grave quickly leaving a leather bound novel that only Ser Brandon and Rodrick would know held. That would be his epitaph, a keepsake for him to take into his afterlife.
Feeling dirty and sad he'd help the girl atop Ser Rodricks old destrier and start off. Sun was setting and normally they'd set up camp but, Brandon longed for a featherbed and a drink.
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