Row upon row of the dead bodies of soldiers lined the ravaged landscape in front of me. The sound of sobs and sniffles filled my ears. I stood in front of my newly acquainted friend, my friend whom I had fought alongside but whom I couldn't save; who had saved me in the end. My friend who had shared the same pride of feminism against masculine dominance with me. As I looked at her I remembered her last yell as she stabbed the giant in the eye. I remembered her last look at me; her face gashed and her eyes sorrowful, her body broken by the fist but her integrity not yet deprived. Her once defiant and confident face now appeared as white as the mountain snow covered with a film of languor. How peaceful she looked now with her face cleaned of the filth that had defiled her pretty features. How snug she looked in her cloak. I half expected her to open her eyes and start yelling why we were all crying. But I knew that it would not happen; that the heart had long stopped pulsating. I bowed my head in respect for she had not stopped. She had not stopped when the giant had flinged her aside as if she were nothing but a flea on a direwolf. She had persisted, and I must respect her for that, apply her final act as an example of how I should be. I took her tiny hand in mine and whispered a poem of respect: "Although you are gone, you are not dead. Although I may not see you, you are alive in my head. Your honor, unfathomable. Your integrity, ineradicable. May legends venerate you, and may your song whisper through the dew. Sleep well my friend, you shall sleep like a queen in the end. I shall forever be in your debt. Resurgam." I kissed her palm and rose, my gaze upon her unfixed. I turned around and hobbled to the rest of the survivors who had appeared for the makeshift funeral. My sister Arya catches my eye and slips a melancholy smile at me. Standing beside her I looked at the bended bodies in front of the other lost souls. Amongst them were Queen Daenerys and my eldest sister Sansa.