Roran
-„You should get out of here." Tyrion's voice sounded right next to her, taking her out of her state of trance.
Someone took Rebekah's arm and lifted her up. Bronn, she remembered. „The silent sisters will take him away." Tyrion explained and added „Rebekah, I'm sorry. But there's nothing you can do to help him anymore."
He was wrong. There was something she had to do, as it was her duty as a Waldorf. „I'll burry him. I need a showel." She said quietly.
-„Someone can do that for you."
-„No. I'll do it. Give me a showel." She said, this time with more determination.
OoOoO
Her vision was blurred as two men transported Roran to the border of the near forest. She didn't see who gave her the showel as she spotted a large, high oak. Beneath it, she began to dig the grave and ignored the voices around her. Soon, sweat dropped down her forehead and her arms felt heavy. Her back hurted and the sun seemed to burn. But she didn't stop. Rebekah had no idea how much time passed, she just kept digging. She proceded slowly, but she didn't care.
- „Tyrion sends me, kitten. He sais he doesn't want you to starve." Rebekah stopped for a second to see who stood next to her. Bronn carried the half of a bread and a cup of water which Rebekah took with shaking hands. After she emptied the cup and took a few bites of the bread, she continued her work until the grave was large enough for Roran to fit in. „You need a hand?" Bronn offered and Rebekah nodded. Together, they laid Roran down, and Rebekah watched his peaceful face which reminded her so much of her father. „I'm so sorry I failed you." She whispered. Then she took the next showel of dirt and covered her brother' face.
Bronn watched her a while, not saying anything. She didn't mind his presence, she was focused in her grief. When her brother was almost covered, she felt like weight lifting from her shoulders. The pain didn't go away, but she embraced it. She loved her brother, she was deeply sad about the loss. Nothing could ever change the fact that he was gone. But as the grave was finished, Rebekah could amost feel peace returning to her. He was her brother, a Waldorf, a knight, her friend. She had travelled a long way to find him and she would have died to save him.
„Farewell, Ser Roran Waldorf of Shadowcastle." She muttered and put the showel asside. Then she grabbed her bow and walked a at least twenty steps away from the grave. Lannister soldiers stood in front of their tents, watching her curiously. Rebekah turned around, raised her bow and shoot the arrow just above Roran's grave in the bark of the oak.
Roran was burried in Waldorf traditions, and Rebekah could finally go to rest as the sun was already setting.
Something made her look at the men around her. In awe she noticed what they were doing: Some were kneeling, others just bend their heads, all their fist over their heart. A gesture of respect, Rebekah realized and wondered with what she earned that. „M'Lady." Bronn supported her arm. She was almost fainting in exhaustion. He guided her to a tent, holding the curtains up for her. „Thank you." She muttered, and the sell sword only shrugged.