"How many battles have we survived between us?" Came Jaime among the crackling of the fire and the bated breaths of his comrades, breaking the silent tension in this dark cell the Starks once called a lounge. "Of what I've heard of Ser Davos Seaworth, he's survived both the Battle of the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards"

"I haven't a shred of combat experience." Ser Davos scoffed. "I wasn't close to the fighting. Didn't smell an ounce of shit from the dead combatants until the battle was long over." The old Fleabottom smuggler sighed, remembering his own fear as he tried to talk the terrified Northman into a relative sense of peace as he served him soup. Tormund grunted as if he agreed with Davos' poor assessment of himself.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, fabled hero of the Siege of Pyke." Brienne stated.

"And fabled loser of the Battle of Whispering Wood." Jaime chuckled, getting up and heading over to the table to refill his cup. "Lady Brienne of Tarth. Enacted justice for her king against the usurper Stannis Baratheon, and defeated the Hound in single combat." He nodded approvingly.

"She's not ser?" Tormund interrupted with a cocked brow, leaning forward in his seat, wildling brew still dripping from his copper beard. "You're not a knight!?" He sputtered in shock, looking left and right at the men around him, wondering how such an injustice could be allowed to persist for so long.

"Women can't be knights." Brienne blinked, curling her lips, uncomfortable with the wild man's attention.

"Why not?" He grunted. Brienne turned her head away, making eye contact with Podrick temporarily before he averted his gaze.

"It's tradition." She stated.

"Fuck tradition." He spat back with a casual cock of his head.

"I never really wanted to be a knight." Brienne sighed, spying Podrick take a confused glance towards her, knowing her better than that.

"I ain't no king. But if I were, I'd knight you ten times over." Tormund leaned in, attempting to draw the big woman's eyes, but they did not meet him.

"You don't need a king." Jaime said over a sip of wine. "Any knight can make another knight." He turned towards Brienne, a smirk crossing his face. All eyes were on him for a moment before he placed his cup down and drew his sword Widow's Wail. "I'll prove it." He trotted towards the centre of the room, uninhibited by furniture or firewood. "Kneel, Lady Brienne." She chuckled briefly before turning away. "Do you want to be a knight or not?" Jaime pouted, regaining her attention. "Kneel."

After exchanging brief looks with Jaime, and then Podrick, who faintly nodded, and then back to Jaime, she let out a slightly shaky sigh, her nerves starting to work themselves up as she stood, gently stomping her way over towards him. She soon found herself on her knees, butterflies racing in her stomach, like a long lost dream had been reignited in her heart. Everyone in the room stood and watched as Jaime lowered his sword and rested the flat against her shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." Jaime lifted the Valyrian steel blade over her head and rested it on her other shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." The blade rose again and fell gently flat against her shoulder once more. "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent." The blade rose again, but did not return. "Arise Brienne of Tarth. Knight of the Seven Kingdoms." And with those words, she stood to her feet a new person, a poorly concealed smile across her face. The applause started with Tormund, and then to Podrick, and then to Davos. The three stood in congratulations to the newly appointed knight.

"Ser Brienne of Tarth!" They all praised in unison. "Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Theon sat with his legs curled under one another on the cold stone floor of the crypts, watching as the heavy wooden door was closed for the last time before the coming battle. The booming thud echoed through the halls of the interred dead and faded into silence. Beating of hammers could barely be heard from the other side as the workers that remained nailed wooden board after wooden board across the door. All that was left for Theon to do for now was place the massive wooden beams into place. As the eunuch ironborn stood to do his heavy lifting, the Three Eyed Raven cleared his throat incessantly, drawing Theon's attention.

"Brandon Stark would thank you for what you're doing." He stated blankly. Theon curled his lips and stepped backwards away from him. A question on his mind for the Three Eyed Raven, but no courage to ask it. Theon replied with a simple bow of the head before turning towards the heavy beams and stretching his back and shoulders... His fingers strained as they wrapped around the corners of the thick block of wood. It was thicker than his hand, and as tall as he was, and it's was carved from the densest of Northern trees. Barely managing to lift the edge of the beam from the floor, Theon slid his foot beneath it, letting it rest on his toes somewhat painfully as he adjusted his grip.

"Grrrough!" He strained, lifting one side of the beam off the stone crypt floor and letting it fall into it's iron slot with a crash. The other side was a lot easier, lifting it to the same elevation was simpler, and sliding it across and allowing it to thump into place. Theon took a short breather, realizing that the second beam would have to be lifted higher. While it wasn't easy, Theon would eventually get it done. Stacking the other beam on top of the first and lifting it from there. A two or three man job done on his own. The question on his mind nagging him more. "But, umm..." Theon stumbled over his words, sliding back against the door and letting himself fall into a seated position. "Would, uhh-" His words were cut off by the echoing boom of the war trumpets, followed by the men on the other side of the door dropping their tools, yelling to one another, and scampering up the stone stairs as the trumpet continued it's loud three blast pattern.

"The dead are here." The Three Eyes Raven sighed, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling, as if aware of the inaudible scampering panicked feet running around on the upper floors of the castle. Theon's spine grew cold, a deep shiver running slowly up it's length. He grasped the dragon glass dagger on his hip, assuring himself that it was there for when he needed it, and he shut his eyes tightly.