He had made it on time. The funeral was a sombre affair. Only him, Sansa and the rest of the northern nobles attended. Having no body in either case made things even grimmer. He had managed to reduce his anger from raging fury to flickering embers in the godswood but it was diminished, not extinguished. During the funeral, the embers were reignited. This time, instead of a raging fury, there was a silent, yet deadly flame that never wavered, ever present. The last two days had been intense, and by the time the funeral was over, the evening had come. He grudgingly postponed the executions by a day. He couldn't leave for Torrhen's Square without dealing with a few things first.