The southern wall was under attack.

Brienne had to mop her brow with every other kill, sweat stinging her eyes even as it ran down the back of her neck and froze. The wights continued to climb and breach the wall only to be pushed back. She watched as Podrick twisted his blade in another wight's glowing eye, tossing it off the battlements. As he pulled the blade back, Brienne realized he wasn't using his sword. She looked around at the bodies surrounding them and spotted a shortsword. She called to Podrick and tossed it to him. He caught it in his left hand and, crossing his arms, used a scissoring motion to decapitate a corpse that had just reached the top of the wall. Brienne took a step back, impressed, wondering if she had taught him that and then crouched as a handful of wights broke through and clambered up.

Suddenly there was a scream from the eastern wall that made her heart lurch.

Raise my hands

She cut through every wight on the southern battlements, grunting with each kill, desperate to get to him. Even if I die today, he'd said. Not today, she thought.

She reached the tower that joined the two walls and was met by four more running corpses - the eastern wall was clearly under heavier onslaught - and wasted no time slashing at them and knocking them off the top of the wall. She knew her limbs should be aching by now but she felt none of it as she strained to reach Jaime, using his shouts to guide her path.

Paint my spirit gold

Finally reaching the eastern wall, she found him struggling and yelling beneath a mass of corpses. She took the head off the closest one, who then crumbled. She stepped over the body and charged the two who had pinned his chest, knocking them down and then moving past him to destroy them.

With his sword arm finally freed thanks to Brienne's charge, Jaime split the one who'd torn through his arm, from top to bottom, the halves curling and falling over opposite sides of the parapet. His eyes found Brienne still battling one of his attackers. He found a new well of strength in her and spun in the other direction to protect her back as more of the dead reached the top. If anyone could have seen the two of them through the smoke – their steps in sync, the twin halves of Ned Stark's sword flashing and singing in the firelight, back at last in the service of his home - one might have thought that they had rehearsed this fight, that they had trained for years to perfect their connection. And, in a way, they had.

And bow my head

As smoke from the burning trenches thickened and rose Jaime fought off the last wight he could see. The roar below carried on but the men on the wall were mostly keeping the enemy at bay. On his final blow, Jaime spun around to see Brienne facing him and his eyes went wide.

Brienne had finished off Jaime's last attacker and turned, thankful to find him alive, but through the haze she could see that his gold hand was glazed in crimson. The dead did not bleed, so it had to be is. As he spun to face her, she reached for his arm but he pulled it back, eyes wide, screaming "Look out!" She dove out of the way just as a wight charged through the space where she had just stood with a spear. Jaime cut the dead thing down and launched it off of the wall.

Brienne was panting, crouched low to the ground, when Jaime turned back around to her. She seemed to be listening for something, then she looked back at the southern wall and saw the dead cascading off of it, landing awkwardly but still moving in the courtyard below. The fighters on the southern wall were unable to stop them, try as they might. She saw Podrick make for the stairs and leap from halfway down into the yard and begin attacking them again.

Then Jaime was at her side, watching the dead charge in. She reached for the golden hand again and found the blood there tacky but not flowing.

Jaime pulled the injured arm back again and helped her up with the left. "I'll be fine. It's not as if it could get worse."

She gave him a withering and worried glance, and he turned away not wanting her to see the amusement he'd managed to find in her face in the midst of their all-but certain death.

"We have to get below," she said, "it's the only place we can really make a stand now. There's no stopping them."

He stared into the yard, calculating, then met her eyes again, "If we can position ourselves against the westerly wall, it'll keep them from coming at us from all sides."

Brienne looked to where he was pointing – it was an acute enough corner – if they could get there they could fan out and wear them down without being assaulted from the back as well, and there was no gate there to be concerned with. But if they kept coming this quickly they'd be crushed. She spied Podrick standing atop a growing pile of bones near that spot. If they could reach him before the gates fell, the three of them could hold that corner together. She thought of the Blackfish, of his dedication to fighting for his home. Brienne hadn't been back to Tarth in a very long time, and Winterfell was Sansa's home, not Brienne's. She'd been unmoored for some time. But taking this stand and fighting til the end with Jaime and with Podrick, both home to her in many ways, that felt right. She nodded and they flew down the steps, making for the clearing in the corner, reaching Pod just before the dead giant crashed through the gates and encountered Lady Mormont.

The dead were everywhere then, rushing in from the gate, raining down from above, but Jaime had been right – that position afforded them a level of advantage, having nothing attacking them from behind, and having the sharpened spikes before them, slowing the onslaught. The disadvantage was that they truly had nowhere to go.

To their surprise, it wasn't long before the stream of walking bodies seemed to slow to a trickle. Jaime's good arm was sore, his bad arm bleeding again. Every time he wiped his face, he wound up dirtier and bloodier. Podrick had perfected fighting with both weapons and had taken to slicing through the wights even after they had fallen, just to be sure, and though the dead had slowed he kept up this practice.

Brienne looked around and realized the fighting had stopped – not a soul was moving in the courtyard. She could see some of their friends through the smoke, equally surprised by this. Had they won? Was it over? Podrick felt exhaustion sink into his feet but he kicked the nearest body to show himself that he was ready if the fighting began again. He didn't have to wait long.

The body that Podrick had kicked stirred. Jaime watched in shock as all of the fallen soldiers that surrounded them began to rise. All those who'd fallen fighting bravely for the living had now been recruited to the army of the dead. They opened their eyes, glowing white-blue embers, and rose from the ground.

"Steady."

Jaime whipped his head toward her. She was clutching Oathkeeper, flexing the fingers on her other hand and stretching her neck. She looked at him and he saw a defiant sadness in her eyes. She looked past him at Pod.

"Steady. They are no longer ours. Let us be sure that they do not remain theirs either." And with that, she hefted the sword over her shoulder and began striking them down.

Brienne's back ached as her armor dug into it. The freshly dead were stronger than the skeletons they'd fought in the field and on the walls. She'd now been knocked against the stones more times than she could count. Podrick and Jaime still stood with her, but they too were feeling the exhaustion of the endless battle.

Now one of the dead Dothraki had her pinned to the stones, trying to claw at her armor as she fought to slice her sword through his belly with more and more dead men crowding them. She could no longer see Podrick, but when she last had, he'd suffered a blade across one cheek and he'd cut a terrifying figure as he fought off the ghosts with his face drenched in blood.

The dead man was now pounding her shoulder into the wall and she felt her head hit as well, going dizzy, then refocusing with as much strength as she could muster, but her will to fight was suffering. She searched for Jaime's face and heard a crash to her left. He'd been pinned to the wall as well, two dead Northmen trying to scrape and bite at his face as he tried to swing at them with his metal hand.

Keep my heart slow

I'm going to die here, she thought as her arm uselessly strove for purchase against the wight. We're going to die right here. Jaime dodged another bite, his face coming into view for her again.

As he fought against them he caught sight of her struggling to keep a grip on the sword. "We have to keep fighting," he called urgently as he twisted his body against his attackers. She looked weakened and his gut churned with the idea that she could be injured, bleeding within her armor and not even realize it. Or worse – that her will to live was suffering. "Brienne! Listen to me! You have to keep going," he struggled for what to say as the dead pressed him against the wall, nearly taking him off his feet, "Please!" He turned to her desperately and met her glance with a firm finality, "Ser Brienne, " he gasped out, "your lady needs you. Sansa needs you, you have to keep fighting!"

At that, something clicked in Brienne's mind and she felt her body shake as her feet found solid purchase. She shoved the Dothraki back and swiped her sword through the air, catching the dead man across the chest. As he crumpled she fought off two more wights behind him then, the ache in her back and arms gone. She spun around and, accentuating each word with a thrust of her sword, she took on the dead that had pinned Jaime down: "I. Am Not. Fighting. For. Sansa!" she screamed. With the Northmen cut down and Jaime free from the crush of the stones she turned around again, the sword shining as she held it high over her heard, daring the next man to attack.

Just then, the bodies all fell to pieces and stirred no more.

'Cause I will wait, I will wait for you

Brienne fell to her knees, onto the bodies, swaying and still gripping Oathkeeper with one hand. Jaime dropped his sword and went to her, supporting her from falling forward with his left hand, the golden hand at the back of her shoulder to steady her.

A stunned Podrick followed him in a daze, picking up Jaime's sword and then running to Brienne's other side. "My Lady?...Ser?"

Jaime looked down, checking for injuries or worrisome bleeding, but he only saw the bruises blooming across her face. "Brienne?"

And I will wait, I will wait for you

She blinked, escaping her daze, and looked up to find both of them standing over her. Automatically she clasped his hand to her shoulder. "I'm alright." She kept her eyes on him as he helped her to her feet, searching his face for signs of pain or injury, but he only nodded, still worrying over her. She turned to Pod as she sheathed her sword and looked him over as he handed Jaime's sword back to him.

He was still bleeding from the cut on his cheek, but otherwise he seemed to be in one piece. "We survived, my lady," he said quietly as if to not offend the dead surrounding them.

She nodded, then turned back to survey the destruction, knowing that they'd come so close to not making it. "We should check on the crypts."

Jaime nodded, "I know the way." And they followed slowly he crossed the courtyard, climbing over the fallen corpses.

And I will wait, I will wait for you

But before they could get much further, they were greeted by the sight of Tyrion and Sansa leading a ramshackle group of women – and Lord Varys – through the halls and into the yard, their faces aghast at the sight of the bodies.

Brienne went to the stunned Sansa who was trying to take in the sights before her and equate the ruin with her home, "Are you hurt, my Lady?"

Sansa glanced up at her, "No…no, I'm…well."

Tyrion offered his brother a sad grin as the looked about at the dead. He turned to Brienne gesturing to the left side of her face, "Ser Brienne, you should have the maester see to that bruise."

Brienne reached up and touched it gently and wincing, "I'm fine. Others will need the attention more. Podrick –" she turned back to him, "make sure you see that they patch up that cut." Then she looked back to Sansa who appeared confused by something, "My lady, I would prefer to rest now. I can be back on my feet in a few hours for whatever you have need of."

Sansa nodded, her face still quizzical, and Brienne walked away slowly, the exhaustion clouding her thoughts as she stumbled toward the steps. Sansa turned to Tyrion in her confusion, "Ser Brienne?"

"Yes…a recent development."

"When did the queen see to that?"

Jaime smiled to himself, "Most knights are made by other knights, my lady." Sansa had nearly forgotten that Jaime was there and spun to him. She cocked her head as she noticed his grin, and blinked as she remembered that he was indeed a knight, himself. She stared at him in surprise, "Did you-?!"

"Yes," he said sheepishly, shrugging painfully.

Sansa regarded him with new appreciation, then looked in the direction that Brienne had headed. "Thank you for your service, Ser Jaime. I'm afraid we'll need to call on everyone again soon to help remove the bodies. Make sure you see to your wounds," she said with a care he'd thought unlikely from Catelyn Stark's daughter.

"Thank you, my lady," he said with a tremor in his voice, bowing as low as his aching back would let him.

His brother clasped his arm, "Please – get some rest as well," he said with an encouraging nod.

Jaime returned it, then slowly shuffled toward the steps.

A/N: I do not own Game of Throne or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's Game of Thrones or George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.

Writing about battles is hard AF.