A/N: Know why disaster flicks are a thing? Because nothing tests character like trying to pick up the pieces after a disaster. Ladies and gentlemen, I present you Brienne of Tarth.

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Taste of Ash

Septa Ghondra despaired of making Lord Selwyn's awkward child a lady. Brienne knew she drove the elderly woman beside herself with her tomboyish ways. She had as many fisticuffs among the castle staff as Lord Selwyn himself did as a youth.

The only time she would ever sit still was when the Septa told her stories. The stories usually had a religious tone to them, and were taken from the Seven-Pointed Star. Brienne never cared for the psalms from the Book of the Maiden. Rather, she loved to listen to the stories from the Book of the Warrior-of the stories of Ungar Three-Finger, the most righteous and powerful of the forty-four sons of Hugar of the Hill, the first king of the Andals to be crowned by the Father himself.

She thought of his story in particular because of his trek to ancient Valyria, before the rise of the dragonlords. He'd travelled through a distant desert for seven days, and on the seventh night a great storm of sand fell upon him to test his faith in the gods and his strength as a warrior.

Of course, Ungar Three-Finger prevailed, found his wife, and slayed the demons in the fiery desert all in the name of the gods. But the thought came to Brienne because of the dust that hung like one of those great storms out of the Seven-Pointed Star.

She was no Unger Three-Finger. It was not a Valyrian maiden she sought to bed. Rather, she was looking for some way to help.

She'd been in the Red Keep when the Sept of Baelor exploded. She'd been at a desk in her generous quarters writing a missive to Lady Stark and ran to the window to see what happened.

For the longest time, what she saw made no sense. What devilry could destroy such a large building? And devilry it was, judging by the wicked green fire that blasted up from below Visenya's Hill. She saw huge pieces of masonry flying through the surrounding neighborhoods, followed by a billowing wall of green fire.

As she stood watching in the distance, she saw how one tiny section of the fire somehow stopped and billowed up, as if somehow it struck a barrier it could not pass. But the devastation outside of it was beyond measure.

"Gods," she whispered in horror.

She armored herself, strapped on the sword that Ser Jaime gave her before the city came under attack, and rushed out to see what she could do. The castle was at half-staff for the day's celebration once the queen left, and so she had a hard time finding a stable boy to saddle her horse.

She left on foot. As she ran, she saw a steadily increasing stream of injured. Men, women and children moved from the destruction, clinging to each other desperately. She saw a father carrying an unmoving child in his hands, his face stricken with horror. He was just one of many.

Then the dust cloud fell, obscuring her vision just like she imagined Ungar Three-Fingers. Still, she pressed on until she bumped up against one of the new queen's foreign soldiers. The man spun on her, his lower face hidden by his helm but his eyes wide. He shouted at her in Valyrian, which she did not speak at all.

"I'm Brienne of Tarth," she said, shouting over the constant drone of screams and cries. "Is Her Grace alive?"

"Aeksiae?" he asked.

That's what they called her. "Yes! Aeksiae!"

The man grabbed her arm and pulled her further into the rubble. They bounced off people running to and fro like a lawn bowling ball. After several minutes of walking, she heard a hoarse, angry voice shouting.

"Where the fuck are the damned goldcloaks?"

The answer was lost in the haze, until Brienne found herself in the company of the new queen. The tall, lithe woman had ripped away her ornate coronation cape and robe. In her brief meeting, Brienne remembered thinking the woman was as calm and cold as Tywin Lannister. Now, though, she saw tear tracks down the woman's dust-stained cheeks and a snarl of rage on her lips.

She sent a couple of faceless Unsullied off when she turned to see Brienne. "What are you still doing here?"

Brienne opened her mouth, stalled a moment, and then pushed through. "Your grace, how can I help you?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard for a moment, but she shook it off. "Cersei rigged wild fire all over the city," the queen said. Her voice rasped from the dust and screams. "I need you to find any gold cloaks you can and evacuate the city out to the tourney grounds until we've managed to make sure the city's safe. My Unsullied don't have the Common tongue."

Brienne's stomach clenched as if she'd been struck. "I'll do it, your grace!" She turned and ran from the dust, knowing she'd never find anyone in the worst of it.

She didn't have long to search. A pair of men in rent mail with tattered gold cloaks over their shoulders leaned tiredly against one of the buildings, coughing. One had blood running down his face from a cut near his eye. Neither looked injured, just overwhelmed.

Both noticed her marching right toward them and gripped their spears. "I'm Brienne of Tarth. I've just come from the queen with news and orders. She's commanded me to lead the gold cloaks in evacuating the city."

"The fuck she wanna do that for?" one of the men said.

Brienne pointed back at the remnants of Visenya's hill. "Cersei did that. And the Queen believes that wildfire wasn't the only batch. Cersei may have spread wildfire throughout the whole city! Where are the rest of you? We need to get moving, now!"

Whether they had any interest in following her or not, the threat of more wildfire was too much to ignore. They fell in together, moving back toward the keep, until she found dozens more cloaks standing in the square near the keep. They stood watching the injured pace by without doing anything.

She marched right up to them. "Where's your commander?"

"Ain't got one," one of the men said. "Last one died when the city fell."

Brienne fought back an angry word. "Then listen to me! I'm Brienne of Tarth, and Queen Rhaenys has ordered me to command the gold cloaks in evacuating the city. She believes Cersei Lannister spread wildfire throughout the city! It's time for you to earn your cloaks!'

"Who the fuck do you think you are to order us around?" the first man said. "You're just some stupid cunt with a…"

Two steps and a gauntlet to the chin had the man on the ground. "The next man who opens his fucking mouth instead of doing what he's told gets a sword, not a fist! You, take fifty men and evacuate the south east corner of the city. You there-no, the pisspot with the mole. Yes, you! Take another fifty and clean out Fleabottom. Tell the people the truth-that Cersei plans to kill them all. Take them all to the Tourney Grounds. You, with the missing teeth. Take fifty men to the north west. And you...the pretty boy. Yes, you. Take another fifty for the north east. The rest of you, pair up and patrol for looting. Spread the word to everyone you see to make for the tourney grounds."

She stopped talking, but no one moved. She pulled her sword. "Move!"

They moved.

The man she struck moaned and started to move. She grabbed him by the mail and hefted him to his knees. "Are you ready to do your duty?"

"You don't hit like a woman!"

"I don't look like one, either," Brienne snarled back. "On your feet. You're with me!"

They marched around the city for hours, ordering any citizens they found to the tourney grounds. When Fleabottom erupted in a blossom of green fire that Brienne could see from the Cobbler's Square, the people they'd been yelling at for hours finally understood. Only then did they really get moving.

What followed was four hours of hunting down and killing looters, or sending stragglers on their way. On four separate occasions she and Bendamen, the gold cloak who accompanied her, came under concerted attack by looters who were not willing to be hunted down. On each occasion, her sword and armor made the difference between life and death.

The sun was sinking low on the horizon and her body ached in a way she'd not experienced since her earliest training when a horseman came riding toward them. She saw it was not an Unsullied, but rather one of their officers, also a foreigner.

"Big woman in armor," the man said in heavily accented Common. "You are the one called Brienne of Tarth?"

"I am."

The man touched his forehead in respect and tossed her a skin. She drank without hesitation-well-watered wine. She handed the skin over to Bendamen, knowing he'd not had any more to drink than she had.

"I am Reghir mo Alzhaeq, commander of the Queen's Unsullied in King's Landing. We have found the last of the wildfire caches. The Aeksiae herself killed those who set them off. You may spread word to the people that it is safe to return to their homes. She asks that you and the wounded remain in the tourney grounds to be treated. I've heard of you, Brienne of Tarth. I hear you did good work today. And so the Queen has heard. There is much left to do."

She handed the skin back, but he waved it away. "Keep it."

Brienne and Ben made their tired way south toward the Tourney Ground. She found many of the gold cloaks there, trying to keep the angry, frightened people under control. Unsullied looked rattled, the communication barrier causing friction that wasn't necessary.

She climbed the king's stands to look across the vast field of frightened, hungry people. "People!" she screamed. "I bring news of the city! Queen Rhaenys has found the last of the wildfire and killed those responsible. Those who are well may return to their homes! If you are injured and need assistance, stay here on the tourney grounds!"

Word spread across the field like its own wildfire. Brienne climbed down to stand with some of the gold cloaks.

"I know you're all tired," she said. "I need to piss so bad it hurts. But the people need you. Break off in pairs and escort them into the city. Keep the peace as best you can. Ben, I want at least fifty men to stay out here with the wounded. The rest, get these people back to their homes and then report to your barracks in shifts for sleep."

No one questioned her orders this time. Slowly, the tired, scared people of King's Landing began to move back into the city. Every few hundred, a pair of Gold Cloaks would peel off from their fellows and just join the line in.

Well after the remaining city bells rang the hour of the bat, a line of horse-drawn carts made their way into the tourney grounds where hundreds of injured huddled. Most of those in the carts were not Unsullied, but Volantines. In fact, all appeared to be freed slaves from the tattoos on their checks. They climbed down from their carts and started setting up large canvas tents, using the carts themselves as one side.

A hand pressed down on Brienne's shoulder. She bit back a yelp as black-gold eyes stared back at her. The queen was actually even taller than Brienne, who stood taller than most men. The difference was that where Brienne was ugly and ungainly, the queen stood strong, confident and beautiful.

That beauty, though, was marred by a terrible grief that hung about her eyes.

"Lady Brienne," the queen said. "You've done a remarkable job. Thank you. Please have your people help move the injured, and then return to the Red Keep for food and rest."

"Your grace, I am an ordained knight," she said. "I've skipped meals and slept in the open. Work remains, and we can help."

Beside her, the exhausted Ben blinked his eyes but nodded. He had a healthy bruise forming on his chin. "Your grace...beggin' yer pardon, but you got 'em?"

Rather than dismiss being spoken to by a mere small folk, the queen nodded as somberly to him as she might Brienne herself. "Three former kingsguard, a disgraced Maester, and five warlocks of Qarth to obscure my vision."

"Qyburn?" Brienne guessed. At the queen's look, Brienne added, "He treated Ser Jaime's arm at Harrenhal. He was one of Bolton's men, I suppose."

"Not anymore." The queen's voice caught. "Very well, get people to the tents. That's where I'll be, healing. Break the men that remain into shifts so we can get some sleep and get some food."

"Yes, your grace."

It took a long time to move people into the tents, or even to help the Volantine volunteers to set the tents up in the first place. Soon, she smelled food being prepared. Huge bowls of brown-simple, filling porridges with bits of meat were handed out to any who were hungry. Brienne grabbed a bowl for herself after breaking the fifty remaining gold cloaks into shifts to finish out the night.

After the city bells rang the hour of the eel, Brienne stumbled drunk with exhaustion into one of the tents to find a place to sleep. She stumbled just inside when she saw the queen, wearing rugged, loose woolen pants, a linen blouse and a leather vest, kneeling down beside a child with a horribly mangled leg.

The child's mother was weeping, but not with anguish.

Brienne's knees failed her. Others watched as well, many making the sign of the Seven, as the queen's hands glowed with the power of the gods themselves and caused the child's leg to become whole.

"And thus The Mother laid her hand on Ungar, Son of Hugar, beloved of the Seven, and made him whole and strong." The quote came from Brienne's lips before she was even aware of it. Several of the citizens watching glanced at her, before again making the sign of the Seven over their heads and hearts.

The queen almost fell backward, though, when finished. Brienne was closest and caught her. Rather than take offense, Rhaenys just shook. "I think I'm done for the night," she said. "I need to sleep if I'm to be of any use tomorrow."

"Shall I have your people fetch a horse?"

"I'm not an ordained knight, Lady Brienne, but I've been a soldier. I can sleep under a tent as easily as I can in a palace."

And so she did, falling into a bare blanket next to Brienne herself.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

"Aeksiae, are you well?"

Brienne opened her eyes but did not move as she saw the queen's Shadowbinder kneeling over her. Only then did she become aware of the fact that the queen was also awake, and was quietly weeping.

"I sent Barristan into that inferno," the queen whispered to her counselor. "As soon as I had the vision and realized the danger, I sent him up the steps to evacuate people. Quaithe, if I hadn't sent him up there, he'd still be alive."

"My queen...my dearest friend. We both know that Barristan Selmy would always be the first to run to danger. You did not send him to his death. He ran to it bravely to try and save all he could. That was the man you knew and loved."

The queen sat up. "I know that, Quaithe. My mind knows that. My heart doesn't. He was like a father to me and...Oh. Oh, Quaithe! Jorah."

"Yes."

Brienne tried to imagine Lady Catelyn Stark hugging a friend over a loss. She couldn't. And yet Queen Rhaenys hugged her Shadowbinder as if they were sisters, holding her for the longest time. It was an act of love and grace that was utterly foreign to Brienne's experience.

The hug parted. "I'm going to remain out here to heal as many as I can," the queen told her advisor. "I need to know who's left. Do I even have a government intact? How many houses were lost? What has Varys…?"

"The Whisperer has worked through the night as you did. His heart is true, though it too weighs heavily on him. But it is true, many you knew and trusted were gone. Groleo…"

The queen winced. "I was about to send him back to Pentos with a pension."

"Yes. To see his grandchildren."

"Who else…?"

Brienne tried to sit up, but sleeping in plate armor was a mistake. She moaned a little to force herself upright. Both women turned to stare.

"You were too tired to take your armor off," the queen noted.

"Aye, your grace."

The Shadowbinder stepped across to her. "Stand, Lady Knight. I shall assist you."

It felt odd to have a sorceress and queen's advisor help her remove her armor, but once in her woolen pants and shirt, the relief could not be denied. "Your grace, I did not mean to eavesdrop. But if I may...Lord Tyrion served as an able Hand of the King, I am told. Perhaps he can assist."

"Perhaps," the queen agreed as she studied Brienne. She looked back to Quaithe and in an instant changed from grieving young woman to powerful queen. "Send the imp out. I'd like to talk to Rheghir and Grey Worm as well. Also, can you send a raven to Prince Doran?"

"I shall," Quaithe the Shadowbinder said. "Heal now, my queen. Those you need will come to you."

The day that proceeded was one of miracles Brienne never thought she would see. Those injured who saw the queen did so with tears in their eyes as she used the divine magic to make them whole. Most, though not all.

"I am a servant of...the gods," the queen told the wife of an older man she could not heal. "Those ills and harms done by other men, or by illness from the world without I am granted power to heal. This man has an illness that came from within him. The Stranger's hand rests on his chest and grips his heart. I'm sorry, but I cannot heal him."

"He said he has a mighty hurt," the old woman whispered.

The queen gently placed a hand on the old man's forehead. The old man's rheumy eyes opened, and he moaned. The queen leaned over and spoke to him, too soft for Brienne to hear. The man looked to his wife. A bony, age-spotted hand lifted and she grasped it, weeping as she did. And then, at the queen's touch, the man closed his eyes and went still.

"No pain."

"Thank you, your grace," the woman gasped between her tears.

And just as she did with her own dearest friend, the queen gently reached over the man and hugged his wife. The woman was low born, worn from a hard life of labor. But the queen did not seem to care as she gave the woman a hug.

"Go to your children," the queen said. She fished a silver stag from a pouch somewhere. "This will help, a little, finding a new home."

The woman stared at the coin in shock, likely having never seen silver. "It is so much."

"Today you lost your husband. Yesterday, I lost a man I viewed like a father. I'm giving you silver because my heart aches, and it helps me to help you."

The woman took the coin. "Thank you, your grace. Thank you!"

So, the day went. Twice the queen lost her temper. The first was at the Silent Sisters, who had come late in the day to prepare the dying. "I say who needs you," the queen said to them angrily. "That man will live this day. Those who need your services are outside the tent."

The Silent Sisters bowed and scrambled out. To the Queen's word, the man they tried to take walked out of the tent a few hours later. The second time was far worse. As the queen knelt for yet another heeling, she frowned. "This man is not injured."

Abruptly he sat up with a dirk thrusting right at her neck. In the cramped interior of the tent, there was no room for Brienne's sword, so she drew her dagger instead.

There was no need. The queen slapped the man's hand aside with her left hand while at the same time slapping him across the face with her right. The slap echoed through the tent and stunned her attacker. But rather than back away, she actually rolled over the man, spun so fast she actually blurred to Brienne's vision, and slammed her elbow down on the man's chest strongly enough to snap his ribs.

Blood spurted from his lips as she regained her feet just as Brienne reached her side. The queen saw the dagger and held out her hand.

Brienne did not hand it to her—it flew of its own accord from hers to the queen's hand. The man tried to stab her again, but this time she stabbed the dagger through his wrist so hard she shoved the blade into the dirt floor. She then placed her hand over the man's face and pulled.

Brienne staggered as the man's face fell away in her fingers, revealing an entirely different face below.

"Faceless man," the queen said darkly. "A few came after me while I was in Port Royal." She pulled the knife from the wounded man's wrist, and then slammed it home through the side of his head with a powerful blow not many women could have performed. She yanked the blade back and then wiped it clean on the dead assassin's clothes before handing it to Brienne.

"Make sure to have his body burned. I'm not sure what magic they employ, and would rather not take the risk he could come back and hurt someone else."

"I'll see to it, your grace." Brienne didn't hesitate.

For three days, the court of King's Landing functioned from the tents of the tourney field. The queen did not heal all, but she had a hand in the treatment of everyone. She gave orders to all who healed-to wash their hands in clean, boiled water between each patient. To clean all wounds in the Volantine fire water, or the Port Royal sugar wine.

During those days, she held court even as she healed. To Lord Tyrion she gave the orders to gather all the unburned wildfire and the alchemists who made it and remove them from the city proper.

To a man Brienne didn't know named Pate the queen gave orders to begin repairs to the city walls and surveying Flea Bottom and Visenya's hill for repairs or new construction. So it went, healing and running the kingdom, until finally those who would die without her were healed, and the rest in no danger of it.

Only then did she take horse back to the Red Keep, slouching from exhaustion in her saddle even as her Unsullied formed up around her. "Ride with me, Brienne," the queen asked.

Naturally Brienne did as she was told. As they entered the city, citizens called out blessings on the queen in a way Brienne had not heard of since the reign of Baelor the Blessed himself. The queen rode in silence, her eyes distant even as she waved at those calling blessings upon her.

"Ser Jorah Mormont was to be the commander of the city watch," the queen said. "He stood in the sept to see me purified before the gods, and planned to walk back with us. He was a good man trying his best to resolve a sin of his past. He would have made a good commander."

She turned to study Brienne. "You would do far better."

"Your grace?"

"You volunteered, Brienne, even though technically you serve an enemy. I gave you the hardest job of all. I knew the Gold Cloaks lost their commander. They were unorganized and low on morale, and unfortunately, I had to kill about half of them when I took the city. They had no idea who you were or what happened. But you walked right into it and made it work. You got the city mostly evacuated with a minimum of fuss, and the only men you lost were those lost when Flea Bottom burned. At the end, those men were looking at you for direction, and you gave it."

"I've always done my best, your grace."

"Because you're a woman in man's armor fighting in a man's world," the queen said wisely. "Which means it's not enough to be just as good. You have to be better."

The queen's words reverberated in Brienne in a way she'd never felt. It was as if this woman who had known her only a few days suddenly knew the absolute truth of her life.

"When you made your vow to serve Lady Stark, what did you promise her?"

"To return her daughters to her, your grace."

"Her daughters have been returned. I shipped Sansa home right after I took the city. That vow has been fulfilled." The queen looked about the streets of the damaged city. "I won't make you take the position, Brienne. If your honor compels you to return to Lady Stark, then I'll allow it. But I would like very much for you to take over as the commander of the city watch. I have plans for it, once this war is over. I want it to be more than men with spears. I want it to become an actual police force-a force designed to keep the citizens safe, even from themselves. You're perfect, Brienne, because good enough will never be enough for a role like that. Consider it."

Brienne fought back an urge to bow from her saddle. "I will, your grace. Thank you for the offer."