"May death wash away your sins and grant you rest..."
Amid the low, solemn chants of the accompanying Seven Septon, Stannis was buried where he fell.
When the funeral ended, most of Stannis's soldiers knelt on one knee as if by prior agreement, their knees striking the frozen earth of the North with a neat series of dull thuds.
They petitioned Gryn I, hoping to remain in this camp to guard Stannis's grave and become its keepers.
Gryn was a generous king. He granted their request and bestowed upon those loyal warriors ample thick tents, cured meat, black bread, and Strongwine.
As for the remaining small number of Stannis's soldiers, Gryn allowed them to don black and arranged for them to be sent to the Wall of the End.
Gryn was a romantic king.
Before leaving, he hired hunters from the Wolfswood to gather the rare winter flowers that grew there and ordered them to lay the flowers before Stannis's grave.
Gryn was a compassionate king. He also instructed the natives of the Wolfswood to look after Stannis's gravekeepers as best they could.
Two days later.
The Crabb army finally emerged from the Wolfswood and set foot on the Kingsroad.
After marching for another hour or so, the outline of the camp they had built earlier gradually came into view. Unmelted icicles still hung from the edges of the tents, like a silent honor guard raised to welcome the returning force.
The steed beneath Gryn let out a soft neigh, its front hooves lightly pawing at the ground and crushing the thin ice on the road with sharp crackling sounds. The Kingsguard behind him also tightened their reins in unison.
Gryn gazed over the long column. Weariness lay across every soldier's face like a thin layer of frost.