Chapter 278: Delay is Victory
The wind howled outside the window, another day just like any other. Sam dressed and pulled on his boots before stepping out of his room. He looked up at the overcast, leaden sky and suppressed the urge to crawl back into his warm bed for a few more hours of sleep. Instead, he made his way toward the Great Hall—the site of the election.
Castle Black was a place devoid of color; even human skin seemed pale against the backdrop of black wool. The ice of the Wall radiated cold as surely as a hearth radiated heat. The freezing wind tugged at his hem and trouser legs, seeping through the gaps in his winter gear. Shivering as the chill bit into every inch of his body, Sam pulled up his hood, wrapped his cloak tight, and hurried toward his destination.
It was deathly cold. This was despite the fact that within the walls of Castle Black, the cluster of buildings broke the wind's full force. It was difficult to imagine how wretched the climate would be in the open fields beyond the perimeter. As for the world north of the Wall—a world now completely occupied by the Others and the dead—Sam couldn't even think of it without his body trembling.
Inside the cellar, the brothers had gathered to vote just as they had every day. The election had been dragging on for nearly three months. Only three candidates remained, every possible vote had been lobbied for, and every debate had been exhausted. Patrols beyond the Wall had ceased, and the wildlings passing through had quieted down. With the Lord Commander still unchosen and the wights having paused their attacks, the soldiers and officers had fallen into a state of profound slackness. Even daily drills had become intermittent.
The general routine was to cast a perfunctory vote during breakfast and then return to the towers or the top of the Wall to idle the day away.
But today, Sam sensed an anomaly the moment he entered. Before he even reached the bottom of the stairs, a buzzing sound of discussion reached his ears. The brothers were crowded around benches and tables; some were eating breakfast, while others were looking about and questioning their companions. Their voices echoed off the vaulted ceiling, creating a din that made one's head throb.
This level of excitement had only been seen during the first few days of the election. What had happened?
A sense of foreboding gripped Sam. He looked around and found his friends.
"What's happened?"
Pyp turned around. "Bloody hell, why are you just getting up now!"
"I get up at this time every day," Sam mumbled in reply. He looked toward Grenn—the big man always gave a straight answer without playing games or joking. Though he often seemed slow, Sam liked him. "What happened? Why is everyone still here after breakfast? What are they discussing?"
The big man, nicknamed "Aurochs," answered honestly as always. "Ser Denys Mallister and Lord Cotter Pyke have withdrawn from the election. They've both thrown their support behind a new candidate—Yohn Royce."
"Lord Royce immediately secured nearly five hundred votes," Pyp added, filling in the details with a shrug. "He only needs six hundred-odd to be the new Lord Commander..."
"Six hundred and seventy-eight," Sam blurted out the exact figure instinctively. His heart sank. It was over. The worst-case scenario had finally occurred.
After successive losses and reinforcements, the total number of the Night's Watch had recovered slightly to 1,017 members. A candidate needed 678 votes—two-thirds of the total strength—to win the election and become the next Lord Commander.
Gaining the support of the commanders of the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch didn't mean an automatic victory, but throughout the recorded history of the Night's Watch, every candidate who secured the support of both commanders...
Had eventually been elected Lord Commander.
Yes, every single one, without exception.
The reason was simple: the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch were at opposite ends of the Wall and had historically been the two fortresses with the most soldiers outside of headquarters. This was true when the Watch manned nineteen forts, and it hadn't changed after the headquarters was moved from the Nightfort to Castle Black, nor when they were reduced to five... and it certainly held true in the century since they were down to only three.
Although Commander Mormont had reactivated many forts along the Wall with external support before his death, the other sixteen forts weren't fully garrisoned by the Watch. The authentic sworn brothers with voting rights in those sixteen combined didn't equal the number in either the Shadow Tower or Eastwatch alone.
Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke controlled the votes of over two-fifths of the entire Night's Watch. Now, Yohn Royce only needed to win over a hundred or so votes from the brothers at Castle Black to secure his victory.
As Sam's large frame shook from the shock of this news, a tall ranger approached the trio. He spoke without preamble, his tone demanding: "Well? What do we do now?"
The speaker was a Lannisport guard who had followed Jaime Lannister to the Wall. Usually, the Westermen kept to their own small circle, neither caring nor deigning to interact with other black brothers—especially cowards and fools like Sam and Grenn. But now, they had to coordinate with their allies. Before leaving, Egger had instructed them to vote for Cotter Pyke to close the gap between the top two and maintain a stalemate. Now that both frontrunners had suddenly withdrawn, the Westermen were at a loss, which was why they had approached the overt supporters of the Reformist faction.
"What do we do?" I don't know, Sam thought, looking around in a panic. Egger was on his way back from the North, Jon had gone to urge him along and warn him, and the Kingslayer loathed administrative work and thinking... in this vast Castle Black, had he, a cowardly fat boy, actually become the person in charge for the Reformists?
"Quickly now. Do we vote for Buckwell, or do we nominate Ser Jaime and give him our votes?" the Westerman pressed irritably. "We can't just abstain or throw our votes to Royce, can we?"
Abstaining was not an option. According to the laws of the Night's Watch, to ensure a Lord Commander could be chosen, a winner only needed two-thirds of the actual votes cast. Even if half the men abstained, the winner would only need two-thirds of the remaining half... every person who abstained only brought the frontrunner one step closer to victory.
I've messed everything up, Sam felt like he was about to wet himself. But this wasn't his fault. Anyone who secured the votes of Ser Denys and Cotter Pyke was essentially in an unassailable position. He forced himself not to tremble and remained silent for a moment, pretending to think to hide his panic. But deep down, a voice suddenly surfaced.
(No. It's not over yet.)
Being in an unassailable position wasn't the same thing as victory.
It was true that every candidate supported by both the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch had become Lord Commander, but it wasn't true that every candidate who became Lord Commander was supported by both. There was no necessary causal link between the two. Ultimately, the key was still the two-thirds threshold. As long as the combined strength of those two forts didn't exceed two-thirds of the total population, securing the support of those two commanders was not equal to becoming Lord Commander.
Sam didn't know if Yohn Royce had used personal charisma, a trade of interests, or some other means to convince Mallister and Pyke... but his situation was different from the hundred-plus commanders before him who won with their support: for now, he only had the votes of those two fortresses.
Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke were veterans who had worn the black for decades. Even if the soldiers at Castle Black didn't know them personally, they knew their names well. But Yohn Royce, to most of the brothers here, was just a former lord and disgraced noble from the distant Vale, sent here by King Robert for rebellion. Just as Othell Yarwyck's withdrawal couldn't force his hundred-plus supporters to vote for a specific person, the commanders of the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch could give the four hundred votes they represented to Royce... but they couldn't command the brothers at Castle Black who previously supported them to do the same!
If they utilized this opportunity and ensured that the votes bleeding away from the two commanders didn't all pool under Yohn Royce's name, there was still a chance!
The logic was simple enough for a child to understand, but what should be done?
(Delay!)
Another word popped into his mind. Sam didn't have time to overthink it. Fighting back his stutter, he quickly gave instructions to the impatient Westerman: "Vote for Warner Buckwell. No particular reason, just... just do it anyway. Just don't vote for Lord Royce."
The Westerman glanced at the obviously frantic Sam and realized the boy probably didn't have a plan either. He nodded and turned back toward his group.
"Hey, Sam," Dolorous Edd walked over. "If you don't come up with a good idea soon, our new Lord Commander is going to be Yohn Royce. Not that I have anything against the man, but I heard he has a grudge against Egger. If he's a petty sort, and we're friends of Jon, and Jon is a friend of Egger... well, if he becomes Commander and decides to give us the hard life, that would be very unfortunate indeed!"
"Oh, good ideas aren't that easy to come by. Edd, please don't add to the trouble, all right?" Sam held his head as he agonized over a strategy. He had no influence and few friends at Castle Black; his voice carried little weight, making it very difficult to stop the momentum. Thinking it over, he could only hope to stall for time until Egger or at least Jon returned. "Grenn, please go to Queenscrown at once. Regardless of whether Egger has arrived, at least bring Jon back."
"Alright," the big man shrugged indifferently. "Do I leave now?"
"No, wait. I'll write a note for you. If you see Egger, give it to him. If not, give it to a reliable person in Queenscrown to ensure the Chief Logistics Officer sees it before he returns to Castle Black." Sam looked around but didn't see paper or ink. He was about to go to his room to fetch them when he heard the discussions of the other brothers waiting to vote.
"Who are you voting for?"
"Who cares? I'm going with Royce. This business has dragged on long enough. I'm sick of it. We finally have a chance to elect a Commander, why wait?"
"Sick of it? Life without a Lord Commander is quite comfortable. No one forcing us to drill, and no need to worry about being sent out beyond the Wall to die. I don't feel like I've had enough of it yet."
"Comfortable is all well and good, but I was on top of the Wall the day the wights attacked! Those things are north of the Wall right now, figuring out how to kill us. I heard their leaders are actually intelligent. I don't want to be comfortable for a moment only to be overrun by dead men when I least expect it."
"Seven hells, you have a point. But I know nothing about this Yohn Royce."
"Any Commander is better than none. Besides, Ser Denys and Lord Cotter support him. How bad can he be?"
"Wait a moment, I'll give you the note before you leave." Sam realized things were taking a bad turn. Sending a message to Egger could wait, but if no one stood up to say or do something right now, no amount of messages would matter. But looking around at his friends, he found that aside from Jon, none were suited for such a responsibility.
It seemed he had to be the one to step up.
Sam swallowed hard, walked into the aisle, and shouted with all his might: "Everyone! Please, listen to me!"
No one paid him any attention. Everyone continued their own discussions, and some even went up to vote intermittently—whether for Royce or Buckwell, no one knew.
"Aurochs, go on," Pyp nudged the big man with his shoulder.
Grenn wasn't as slow as he looked. He understood immediately. Bang, bang, bang! He slammed his large palm against a table and roared with a voice ten times louder than Sam's: "Quiet down! Maester Aemon's assistant has something to say!"
Sam was disliked by his father for his obesity and perceived cowardice, and few at Castle Black respected him. Only by invoking his title as Maester Aemon's assistant could he barely get people to settle down and listen.
"Our Ser Piggy has something to say?" someone laughed. "Is it you speaking, or did Maester Aemon ask you to convey his wishes?"
Sam knew he couldn't answer that question directly. Seeing hundreds of eyes turn toward him, his legs felt weak, but he pushed through and spoke: "Ser Denys Mallister and Lord Cotter Pyke have finally put aside their differences to reach an agreement. This is truly... heartening. I don't know if Lord Royce will be a good Commander, but I want to remind everyone: the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is a lifelong position. Once chosen, there is no turning back."
He looked at the two commanders and swallowed again before continuing. "No matter who you vote for, I hope you do so because you know the candidate and support him—not because 'he has the most votes and voting for him will end the election.' Do not make a choice so hastily."
"Lord Tarly." Denys Mallister, sitting at the front table, turned around and looked at Sam with a gentle expression. "Is this the counsel of Maester Aemon?"
It isn't. Sam knew he couldn't reply that way. He chose his words carefully, giving an ambiguous answer: "The Maester wears his chain and swore his vows... he said he would never take a side in the election. This is my personal opinion: I do not know Lord Yohn Royce. I hope that before everyone gives him their votes, we can give him a few days to explain the policies he will adopt as Lord Commander and prove he is capable of this heavy responsibility."
The old knight gave a slight smile. "Maester Aemon is very thorough. I agree with that view. Brothers, before you vote, feel free to sit at Lord Royce's table, have a drink, and listen to his experiences and ideas."
(This has nothing to do with Maester Aemon. They chose to make the association themselves; I didn't lie intentionally.) Sam had no intention of clarifying that he had accidentally borrowed the Maester's authority. Maester Aemon's seniority and prestige were peerless in the Watch. Without that connection, no one would have listened to a word from the fat pig.
"But who else can we vote for?" someone asked immediately. "We don't know Yohn Royce, but Warner Buckwell has only been in the Watch for a few months. How is he any better?"
"Vote for yourself then," Dolorous Edd replied, crossing his arms. "At least you won't accidentally become Lord Commander. Maester Aemon's meaning is clear—better to have none than a poor choice!"
"If you vote for Lord Royce, he might become Lord Commander right now. But if you vote for someone else, we still have time to think and judge carefully." Sam caught sight of Yohn Royce, sitting not far from Ser Denys, watching him coldly. He couldn't help but shudder, realizing he shouldn't say any more. "I've said all I have to say. To avoid showing bias, I'll leave the rest of the brave brothers of the Night's Watch... to decide for themselves."
His entire body was shaking so much it didn't feel like his own. Before he could make a fool of himself, Sam quickly gestured for Grenn to follow him and ran out of the hall as fast as he could.
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