The wind howled outside the window. Just another day like any other. Sam dressed, pulled on his boots, stepped out of his room, glanced up at the overcast sky, and forced down the urge to crawl back into his warm bed. He headed toward the Great Hall and the voting chamber.

There was little color inside Castle Black. Even people’s skin looked pale against their black cloaks. The Wall radiated cold the way a bonfire radiates heat. The wind tugged at cloaks and trousers, creeping through the seams in their winter gear, until the chill spread through every part of his body. Sam pulled up his hood, wrapped his cloak tighter, and quickened his pace.

It was bitterly cold, and this was with Castle Black’s walls and dense buildings blocking most of the wind. Sam could hardly imagine what the weather must be like in the open beyond the Wall. As for the world north of the Wall, now overrun by the White Walkers and the dead… just thinking about it made him shiver.

In the cellar, the brothers gathered to vote as usual. The election had dragged on for nearly three months, and only three candidates remained. All the support that could be solicited had already been solicited, and every argument had been repeated endlessly. Patrols beyond the Wall had long since ceased. The Wildlings who had crossed the Wall had quieted down. No Commander had been elected, and the wights had not resumed their attacks… The soldiers and officers alike had grown lax, and even the daily drills had become irregular.

Most cast their votes while eating breakfast, then returned to their towers or the top of the Wall to idle away the rest of their day.

But today, as soon as Sam stepped inside, he felt something was off. Before he even reached the stairs, the buzz of voices reached his ears. Brothers crowded around benches and tables. Some were eating, others were talking, their conversations echoing off the arched ceiling, making his head throb.

This kind of excitement had only been present in the early days of the election. What had happened?

Sam had a bad feeling. He looked around and found his friends.

“What happened?”

Pyp turned and said, “Seven hells, why are you only getting up now?”

“Don’t I always get up at this time?” Sam muttered, looking toward Grenn—who always gave clear answers and didn’t keep people in suspense. Though he sometimes seemed slow, Sam liked that about him. “What’s going on? Why is no one leaving after breakfast, and what are they talking about?”

The big fellow nicknamed “Dumb Bull” replied with his usual honesty. “Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke have both withdrawn from the election and thrown their votes behind the new candidate—Yohn Royce.”

“Lord Royce just gained nearly five hundred votes,” Pyp added with a shrug. “With just over six hundred, he’ll be the new Lord Commander…”

“Six hundred seventy-eight,” Sam blurted out instinctively, his heart sinking. It was over. The worst-case scenario had still come to pass.

After losses and some replenishment, the total number of Night’s Watch brothers had risen slightly from its lowest point, currently standing at one thousand and seventeen. To win the election, a candidate needed two-thirds of the total—six hundred seventy-eight votes.

Securing the support of the commanders of Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea didn’t automatically guarantee victory, but in the entire history of the Night’s Watch, every candidate who had secured the backing of those two strongholds…

…had gone on to become Lord Commander.

Every single one. Without exception.

The reason was simple. Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had always been the two most heavily manned strongholds, aside from headquarters. This was true when the Night’s Watch still occupied all nineteen castles, remained true when the headquarters moved from the Nightfort to Castle Black, and was still the case now, with only three manned castles remaining.

Although Lord Commander Mormont had reactivated several other strongholds with outside aid during his lifetime, most of them weren’t fully garrisoned. The total number of fully-fledged Night’s Watch brothers at those reactivated sites wasn’t even as many as at Shadow Tower or Eastwatch-by-the-Sea individually.

Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke together held more than two-fifths of the Night’s Watch voting strength. Now, Yohn Royce only needed to secure a hundred more votes from Castle Black to secure his victory.

As Sam reeled from this shock, a tall ranger from the Night’s Watch approached their group and asked directly, without any attempt at courtesy, “Hey, what do we do now?”

…

The man was a Lannisport guard who had come to the Wall with Jaime Lannister. Usually, the Westermen kept to themselves and disdained mingling with the rest of the Night’s Watch—especially “cowards” and “fools” like Sam and Grenn. But now they had no choice but to speak with their allies. Aegor had instructed them before leaving to vote for Cotter Pyke to maintain a balance between the frontrunners. But now both frontrunners had withdrawn. The Westermen were lost, which was why they’d come to seek out known reformist supporters.

“What do we do?” Sam looked around helplessly. Aegor was still on his way back from the North. Jon had gone to warn him. The Kingslayer loathed management and planning. Now, within this vast Castle Black, Sam—a timid, fat man—had somehow become the leader of the reformist camp?

“Hurry up, should we vote for Buckwell, or re-nominate Ser Jaime and give the votes to him?” The Westerman pushed impatiently. “We can’t just abstain or throw them to Royce, can we?”

Abstaining wasn’t an option. According to Night’s Watch rules, only two-thirds of the cast votes were needed to elect a Lord Commander. If half the brothers abstained, the frontrunner would only need two-thirds of the remaining half to win. Every abstention brought Yohn Royce one step closer to victory.

Sam felt like he’d made a mess of things, and for a moment he nearly wet himself. But it wasn’t his fault. Anyone who had secured the backing of Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke would be in an unbeatable position. He forced himself to stop trembling and went silent, pretending to think to mask his panic. Then suddenly, a thought surfaced in his mind.

(No, it’s not over yet.)

Being in an unbeatable position did not mean certain victory.

It was true that every candidate who had the support of Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea became Lord Commander—but not every Lord Commander had those two votes. There was no causal relationship. In the end, the real factor was the two-thirds threshold. As long as those two strongholds didn’t collectively account for two-thirds of the vote, then “backing from those commanders” didn’t automatically equal “victory.”

Sam didn’t know whether Yohn Royce had used charisma, promises, or trades to sway Ser Denys and Cotter Pyke. But unlike previous Commanders who had long-standing support, Royce had only temporarily gained the votes of those strongholds.

Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke were old veterans of the Watch. Even brothers at Castle Black who had never met them knew their names. But Yohn Royce, to most of Castle Black, was just a former Lord and disgraced noble from the Vale, exiled by King Robert for rebellion. Just as Othell Yarwyck had withdrawn without being able to redirect his hundred supporters to a single candidate, these two commanders could cast their stronghold’s votes for Royce—but they couldn’t command the Castle Black brothers who supported them to do the same.

If this opportunity could be seized properly, and those displaced votes didn’t all flow to Royce, there was still a chance.

The idea was simple. Even a child could understand it. But the question was: how?

(Stall!)

Another thought popped into his head. Sam didn’t have time to think it over. He quickly told the impatient Westermen, forcing himself not to stutter, “Just vote for Jarman Buckwell. No particular reason. Just… just don’t vote for Lord Royce.”

The Westermen glanced at Sam’s anxious face and saw clearly that he didn’t have a real plan either. Still, they nodded and turned back to their group.

“Hey, Sam.” Eddison Tollett joined them too. “If you don’t have any better ideas, our new Lord Commander is going to be Yohn Royce. I don’t mind him personally, but I heard he has a grudge against Aegor. What if he’s the petty sort? If he becomes Commander and turns on us for being Aegor’s friends, we’re screwed.”

“Oh, good ideas aren’t so easy to come by. Eddison Tollett, would you kindly stop bothering me?” Sam clutched his head, trying to come up with something. He had no influence or deep connections at Castle Black. His voice barely carried weight. After racking his brain, the only solution he saw was to stall, to buy time until Aegor—or at least Jon—returned. “Grenn, head to Queenscrown later. Whether Aegor is there or not, at least bring Jon back.”

“All right.” The big fellow shrugged indifferently. “Should I go now?”

“No, wait. I’ll write you a note. If you see Aegor, give it to him. If not, leave it with someone reliable in Queenscrown. Just make sure our Lord Chief Logistics Officer sees it before returning to Castle Black.” Sam looked around, didn’t see any paper or ink, and was about to return to his room to fetch them when he heard the surrounding brothers murmuring.

…

“Who are you voting for?”

“Royce, probably. I’m sick of this. This thing’s dragged on too long. We can finally pick a Commander, what are we waiting for?”

“Sick of it? Life’s been pretty easy without a Commander. No forced drills, no orders to go ranging and die. I feel like I haven’t enjoyed it enough yet.”

“Sure, it’s been peaceful. But I watched from the top of the Wall when the wights attacked the castle! Those things are up there right now, figuring out how to kill us. I heard their leader’s even intelligent. I don’t want a few comfy days only to be overwhelmed by the dead when we’re not ready.”

“Damn. That does make sense. Still… I don’t know anything about this Yohn Royce.”

“Even the worst Commander’s better than none. Besides, both Ser Denys and Cotter support him. How bad could he be?”

…

“Wait a second. I’ll give you the letter before you leave.” Sam realized the situation was slipping fast. Sending a message to Aegor could wait, but if no one said or did something right now, then sending anything to anyone would be meaningless. He looked around again. Of all his friends, only Jon might’ve been able to handle this.

Which meant… it had to be him.

Sam swallowed hard, stepped into the aisle, and shouted with all his strength, “Everyone! Please listen to me!”

…

No one paid attention. They kept eating, chatting, some even going to cast their votes. No one knew whether they were voting for Royce or Buckwell.

“Dumb Bull, go.” Pyp nudged the big man.

Grenn wasn’t as dense as he looked. He slapped the table hard, making a loud bang, and roared in a voice ten times louder than Sam’s, “Quiet, all of you! Maester Aemon’s assistant has something to say!”

Sam wasn’t well-liked at Castle Black, dismissed by many due to his weight and cowardice. But invoking Maester Aemon’s title—whose wisdom and authority were unmatched—at least earned him some quiet.

“Our fat little Ser has something to say?” someone laughed. “Is this from you, or from Maester Aemon?”

Sam knew he couldn’t answer that. Seeing hundreds of eyes turn toward him made his legs weak, but he still forced himself to speak.

“Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke have finally put aside their differences and reached an agreement, which is… very heartening. I don’t know if Lord Royce will be a good Commander. But I want to remind everyone—the Lord Commander serves for life. Once elected, there’s no turning back.”

He looked toward the two commanders, swallowed again, and continued. “No matter who you vote for, I hope it’s because you know them and trust them, not just because ‘he has the most votes, and voting for him will end the election’… Don’t make a hasty decision.”

“Lord Tarly,” Ser Denys Mallister called out gently from the front. “Is this the Maester’s counsel?”

No, Sam couldn’t answer that either. He carefully chose his words. “The Maester wears his chain. He’s sworn not to take sides in any election. These are my personal thoughts. I don’t know Lord Royce. I just hope we can give him a few days to explain his vision and prove that he’s fit to take on this great duty.”

The old knight smiled faintly. “Maester Aemon is very wise. I agree. Brothers, before voting, I welcome you to come sit with Lord Royce. Have a drink and hear his ideas and experience.”

(This has nothing to do with Maester Aemon. They just assumed it. I didn’t lie— Sam told himself. He had no intention of correcting the misunderstanding. Without the Maester’s unspoken support, no one would’ve listened to a word from this so-called “dead fat man.”)

…

“But who do we vote for?” someone asked. “I don’t know Royce, but Jarman Buckwell’s only been here a few months. How is he any better?”

“Then vote for yourself,” Eddison Tollett replied, arms crossed. “At least you won’t accidentally win. Maester Aemon’s message is simple—better none than the wrong one.”

“If we vote for Lord Royce, he might win right now. But if we vote for someone else, we still have time to think,” Sam added, glancing at Yohn Royce, seated not far from Ser Denys, watching them coldly. Sam shivered and realized he’d said all he could. “I’ve said what I wanted to. To avoid bias, the next step is up to all of you brave brothers of the Night’s Watch. Decide for yourselves.”

His whole body trembled as though it no longer belonged to him. Before he could make an even bigger fool of himself, Sam quickly turned away, gestured for Grenn to follow, and fled from the hall as fast as he could.

(To be continued.)

***

For every 200 PS = 1 extra chapter. Support me on P/treon to read 30+ advanced chapters: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves

(Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep