They arrive to find a very chaotic Red Keep. Apparently, they look long enough that all lords required for a Great Council arrived. "Voting begins tomorrow," Lord Varys tells them both. "And both of you should attend."
"I'm Kingsguard," she argues, albeit weakly.
"With all due respect, Ser, no candidate will keep you for long. Tarth needs a ruler more than the Kingsguard needs knights. I'd argue they all already see you as the Evenstar."
Evenstar. She hasn't heard that title in years, and never related to her. A title dated from the time Tarth was ruled by kings and queens—a fact which makes her feel even more unworthy of carrying it, but what can she do? There is no one save from a distant cousin in the Night's Watch who she hasn't heard of since she was twelve and, for all she knows, is dead.
She has no reply to Lord Varys and simply leaves. Before she can go to her chambers, though, she is interrupted by a woman wearing grey and yellow. "Ser Brienne," she calls, "may I have a word?"
She blinks. "We may, Lady…"
The woman blinks in return. "Oh!" She exclaims. "Sorry. I forgot we've never met, with all I've heard about you. I'm Lyanna Stark—well, Lyanna Baratheon nowadays. Are you busy right now?"
"No, my lady, we can talk now."
Lady Lyanna takes her hand and guides her to the godswood. "I looked for this place as soon as I arrived," she explains. "I may live in Storm's End now, but no arranged marriage can make me forsake the old gods."
"I doubt your husband would ask you to, my lady," she replies politely.
Lyanna smiles sadly. "Indeed he didn't," she agrees. "Robert asked little of me, and thanks to you he let me train with his master-at-arms. An exchange: he could see however many women he wanted, and I could train however many hours I wanted. He even invited me to war meetings, so I'd learn. He grew on me these months, and I began to believe we could be friends." She sighs. "Sadly, he perished in combat."
Brienne straightens her back. Jaime did not tell her that. "I didn't know, my lady," she says quietly. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Oh, I didn't think you knew. He was slain in another battle, one that happened at the same time my brother, your father and Lord Jaime fought Prince Rhaegar. It was near Saltpans, I think. Right in the border between the crownlands and riverlands. Well, it doesn't matter where it happened, and I did not invite you to cry about my deceased husband and good brother—and yes, his brother Stannis died in the same battle. Those are hard times for the stormlands, but there are some beacons of hope."
She looks pointedly at Brienne and rests a hand on her stomach. Confused, she asks, "Such as…?"
Her smile now is a bit less sad. "For one, Robert left a trueborn heir behind. I'm four moons pregnant—you can't notice because of the dress, but well. It's here, inside me. Second… you, Ser. My lady ser."
What? "How—"
"Being in the Kingsguard is an honor few can boast of," she explains. "At that tourney, you became the first lady knight and the first woman Kingsguard. You may think this makes you a freak, and maybe it would have… But I assure you, my husband and I, along with your father, made sure to announce to the whole stormlands we were proud of you. Your achievements make young girls want to try out for knighthood too, and, with this war's losses, training women is a promising way to rebuild the realm's defenses."
Brienne feels her head spin. "But I failed to protect the Mad King," she manages to say, instead of blurting out she killed him.
"You think people will judge you for losing to Jaime Lannister, reputed as one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, who you defeated in the melee?" She chuckles. "Before his departure, Ser Jaime told Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia that you gave your all during the fight, and only his determination to get to the king allowed him to win. Very few people dare speak ill of you here, not when House Targaryen is still in command."
Lady Lyanna takes a deep breath and goes on. "Regardless, I come here also to offer whatever support you may need. Surely you must know by now your days in the Kingsguard are numbered." Brienne nods. "You'll begin a new chapter of your life, just as I am now. As Lady of Storm's End and a woman who always aspired to become a warrior… you can count on me for whatever you need in the future."
Lyanna's smile is polite, but it does reach her eyes this time. Brienne thanks her in earnest before they part ways. A few other people stop her to offer praises on her skill and bravery, condolences for her father's death, wishes for a good future as Lady of Evenfall Hall—Varys was right, everyone already sees her as Evenstar. She's a little surprised no marriage offers are thrown in her way, but then she remembers who she really is: Brienne the Beauty, unfit to be a wife, a mother and a woman in general. Unable to keep the man she loved by her side, no matter how much of herself she gave him.
She sits between Lady Lyanna and Lady Maege Mormont, at what seems to be 'the women's table'. She catches sight of Jaime sitting at what seems to be 'the western table', and soon the first day of the Great Council begins.
Their first issue is whether Aerys' descendants should be taken into consideration. Most people vote against it, and Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia endorse their position. "We have an eight-year old boy," the Queen points out, "a four-year old girl and a baby. Aerys' blood aside, does anyone want to be ruled by a child, after the entire realm just came from a war?"
Soon it's established: no descendants of the Mad King, and no children. Every candidate from then on must be of age to rule by themselves. It seems that the lords would rather worm their way into a Small Council of a de facto king rather than wrestling for a position in a regency.
Mace Tyrell presents the argument that the throne should stay with Targaryens, though, or at least someone with close blood relations. Queen Rhaella rules herself out. "My son is also Aerys', and the same applies for the child in my womb," she says, earning gasps at the announcement of her pregnancy. "But even if we rule these two out, I've had way too many miscarriages to be sure I'll have any more children after this. I don't even know if this new baby will actually be born."
Princess Elia's brother Doran is brought up, as it was her Targaryen ancestry that made Aerys choose her for Rhaegar, but Lord Frey—not Walder Frey, but one of his sons—points out there are more Houses with Targaryen ancestry.
Lord Caron agrees. "In the stormlands, we have House Baratheon and House Tarth, with closer blood ties than House Martell."
At her side, Lyanna huffs and stands up. "We only have two options for House Baratheon, now that Robert and Stannis are dead," she proclaims loudly. "One is Robert's youngest brother Renly, who is a child of eleven, and the other is Robert's child growing inside me. Even if you want to legitimize his bastard, the oldest is three years old. Using the criteria we established early on, House Baratheon is out."
"House Tarth, then," a riverlod replies, and suddenly all eyes are on her.
Don't panic, she reminds herself. Held your head up high. "If it is my duty," she says, slowly, "I'll accept."
"A woman in the Iron Throne," a Northernman says. "I get that Lady—Ser—Brienne has broken tradition recently, but are we ready for another tradition to be broken? Nothing against you, ser—my lady—but I fear a ruling Queen may lead to rebellions in the future."
"Not if it's someone of our choosing," Princess Elia intervenes. "If Brienne of Tarth is our chosen Queen, why would we rebel against her?"
Several voices raise in reply, and soon it's clear that Brienne would not be a chosen Queen, even if she wins votation. She has to bite her lip to fight the urge to flee. At her side, Maege Mormont grabs her shoulder tightly, in an attempt at comfort. She gives her a polite smile.
After a while, it is noticeable that a dispute between Prince Doran Martell and Ser/Lady Brienne of Tarth is not what the lords of Westeros want. Queen Rhaella, who's in charge of the meeting, notices this and calls for it to end for today. "If our current options are not in your taste, lords and ladies, I suggest you come with names of candidates outside the Targaryen bloodlines. However, I think it wise to establish a rule: one cannot vote for himself or herself as monarch."
"I agree," Jaime speaks up for the first time. "If we are going to start over, it's not smart to elect people who promote themselves. Let each person choose the ruler they think it's best for the realm."
The lords find it agreeable enough, and the meeting ends. Brienne bids Lady Maege and Lady Lyanna farewell and heads to her chambers, fully intending to spend the rest of the day inside.
Only, Jaime is waiting by the stairs. "Brienne," he calls her quietly, "we need to talk."
She takes a sharp breath. "About what?"
"You and I have influence now," he begins. "I led the rebel forces, and you gained a good reputation over this last year. If we pick a candidate and spread word of him, we can elect a king who will keep the realm united for when the Long Night comes."
His eyes travel around her face, as they usually did in Winterfell, and she swallows hard. "I don't know who to pick," she admits. "I stayed away from politics, until…
"Until Renly," he finishes for her, voice soft. "Still, I want your input." He glances away for a moment, then looks back at her. "Rickard Stark would be a good choice, I think," he continues. "Ruling the North is not easy at all, something you must know from your time guarding Lady Sansa." She nods. "His firstborn is married to a Tully, his second born is married to a Dayne, and his daughter is Lady of Storm's End. While I don't understand why he went out of his way to wed his children to people out of the North, he has secure alliances with three kingdoms—five, if we count the Vale and the West."
"It—he looks promising, indeed," she agrees quietly.
He gives her a kind half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Hoster Tully would be a good option, for similar reasons, but we already know he's doomed to die of illness before the Long Night comes. Jon Arryn is too old, and the throne would pass to a nephew after he dies, which may not look good for a new dynasty. And I don't think the Reach should get the Crown, not when the rebels were the victorious ones."
"Rickard Stark it is, then," she concludes. He nods.
"We have until the next meeting to make our case; best to begin now."
She sighs. Here goes her plan to lock herself up in her room. The things I do for love, she thinks fleetingly.
She tries for Lady Lyanna first, as she is the man's daughter, but she laughs. "A Stark as King of the Seven Kingdoms? Honestly, Ser, I don't recommend you spread this around. Those lords will only laugh at you. Not even the Northernmen will vouch for my father; they want him in Winterfell."
Well, it's the excuse Brienne needed to go back to her original plans for the day. Walking under shadows to avoid being seen, she rushes to her room and doesn't leave until early morning.
Queen Rhaella conducts the voting by table, starting with her own, the 'crownlands table'. "I vote for Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West," she states loudly. A few gasps are heard—fewer than she expected—so she clears her throat and adds, "I believe our king should be from one of the Great Houses. That being said, out of all Great Lords, Ser Jaime proved to be a good and competent leader. Most of you can tell better me how he led the rebels forces, but the man I saw in the Red Keep—the man who apologized to me for killing my cruel husband and my reckless son, both of whom wronged him and his family—is one I'd gladly follow."
Half of the table agrees with her, while the other half, led by Lord Velaryon, vouches for the Queen herself, much to her annoyance—Brienne doesn't think anyone else will follow their example.
She passes the torch to the 'stormlands table'—at which she and Lady Lyanna now sit, while Lady Maege is with her Northern comrades—where half of the lords vouch for Jaime, while the other half vote for her. "I have no vote," she declares when it's her turn, remembering Lyanna's advice not to vouch for her father.
Queen Rhaella declares it's the West's turn, and Jaime stands up. "I vote for Rickard Stark, Warden of the North," he states and explains, slowly, why he thinks the wolf lord is the best choice…
Only to have his bannermen vouch for him. At this point, Brienne can't take her eyes away from him, and he looks more tense by each vote in his favor.
It goes on. Men from the rebel kingdoms all praise Jaime's leadership during the way, along with the mercy he's shown on his enemies. Hoster Tully reveals he wanted to deal with Rhaegar, his sister's kidnapper, with diplomacy instead of bloodshed, and that he only killed the prince because his ally Ned Stark was in danger.
As Lyanna predicted, the North chose Jaime instead of their overlord. Only the Reach and the Ironborn don't pick him at least by half of the table; the Dornish follow Princess Elia and vouch for him as well.
By now, Jaime looks frightened. "Lord Jaime," Queen Rhaella calls, "do you have anything to speak of yourself."
"I don't think I'm a good idea," he says immediately. "I'm young—"
"Better than a one-year old!" Someone shouts, obviously referring to Aegon.
Jaime clears his throat. "I've only been Lord of Casterly Rock during war, and my lack of Targaryen blood may make the realm unstable in the future. The dragons are the ones who united the realm."
"That's easily solved," Princess Elia replies. "Marry a woman with Targaryen blood and make her your Queen. Your children will be part-Targaryen, and the dragon dynasty can go on."
"Who would I marry?" He asks, exasperated. "Your infant daughter, Princess? Yourself, who reportedly nearly died giving birth to your son? Queen Rhaella, who has gone through more pregnancies and miscarriages a woman should handle?"
If Princess Elia is offended, she doesn't show. "You forget one woman," she replies instead. "The woman you knighted at Harrenhal."
Jaime turns to her so abruptly, for a moment she fears his neck will snap. His gaze is fixed on her, eyes wide and scared—scared of what? Then, he swallows hard and turns back to the princess. "If I'm who the realm wants, I'll take the crown," he says, chin trembling—hands trembling too, "but I won't take Ser Brienne as wife like this." He turns to her. "May we speak privately?"
She nods, and the entire room is silent as they leave.
Their walk to the godswood is silent, but Jaime has to rest his hand against one of the trees and breathe deeply to calm down. She has had plenty of time to think on their way here, and she knows what to say to him.
No matter what they want for themselves, the two of them as king and queen is the best option if the Long Night is to be taken into consideration. No one else has the advantage of hindsight, which means there is always the risk of the king not believing the Night's Watch. Hells, Jaime may even find a way to act in advance in order to sooner reveal the White Walkers' existence to the realm.
Lyanna's words come to memory, and Brienne finds herself thinking that, if more girls are trained to be warriors, following her example, they can deal better with the undead when the time comes. While it's true that the final battle took only a few hours, many died during it, and several others perished in the years before. A stronger realm can hold them down with fewer losses.
And, last but not least… No matter how much he hurt her in the end, Jaime is the best option for husband Brienne can think of. He knows her better than anyone else, and he's the only one who understands her as whole—and will forever be the only one, since she now has two lives to remember. They are the only ones able to understand each other. And she loves him, despite everything. She'd rather wed Jaime than any other man.
She doesn't say that last argument, obviously, but, when he calms down, she goes to recite the first two. "I know you don't want the crown—"
"Brienne," he says, sounding about to cry, "you know what that damned throne did to my family in the other realm. It destroyed us, and—I've run away from this kind of power my whole life."
"But Westeros wants you there," she replies gently. "And, Jaime, you are the best option. Just—hear me out," she adds hurriedly when he opens his mouth to protest. "Only we know the Long Night is coming. Nobody else will believe the stories when the Night's Watch begins to encounter the White Walkers."
She pauses and waits for his reaction. He deflates. "You're right," he says quietly. "But I don't want you to marry me because of this."
You don't want to marry me at all, she wants to say. "It's my duty too," she replies instead. "And I think that… Lady Lyanna told me young girls are being trained in the stormlands thanks to my example. Imagine how larger our armies will be in twenty years if we have men and women as soldiers?"
He blinks. "I had not considered that," he says, seemingly to himself. Then he grabs her shoulder. "Are you sure you want to do this? A marriage is forever, Brienne. I know you don't want—"
"This isn't about our wants, Jaime," she cuts him off. "This is about our duty. Preparing the realm for the Long Night is our shared duty, not yours or mine alone. We shall carry it together."
His eyes shine, but he doesn't smile. "Alright," he says eventually. "Then we must go back to the meeting and announce our engagement." He takes a sharp breath. "King of Westeros," he mumbles. "What better punishment, huh."
For what, he doesn't say; she doesn't ask, for she fears his answer.