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Chapter 278
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 23:13:48 +0000 UTCThe wind howled outside the window, another day just like any other. Samwell Tarly got dressed, pulled on his boots, and stepped out of his room. He glanced up at the gray, overcast sky, thick with clouds, suppressing the urge to crawl back into his warm bed for just a bit more sleep. Instead, he forced himself toward the hall where the election was taking place.
Castle Black was devoid of color; even the faces of its brothers appeared pale, the black of their uniforms washing out any warmth in their skin. The cold seeped into every corner, emanating from the Wall itself like a hearth radiates heat, only in reverse. Bitter winds tugged at his cloak and slipped into the gaps of his winter clothing, sending a biting chill across his body. Pulling his hood tight and wrapping his cloak closer, Sam quickened his steps.
It was deadly cold, even within the sheltered confines of Castle Black, where walls and buildings blocked much of the wind. He shuddered to think how much worse it must be out in the open wilderness beyond the Wall, where the cold was unrelenting. And further north, in the land overrun by the Others and their dead... The mere thought made Sam’s body tremble uncontrollably.
The cellar was already crowded, as it was every morning with brothers coming to cast their votes. The election had dragged on for nearly three months, and only three candidates remained. The campaigning was long over, as were any meaningful debates. All patrols beyond the Wall had been suspended, the wildlings had quieted, and the Others had not launched further attacks. Soldiers and officers alike were growing complacent, with even routine training becoming sporadic.
Most brothers would simply cast their vote while eating breakfast and then return to idling away their time atop the Wall or in their towers.
But today was different. As Sam descended the stairs, he heard a loud hum of conversation. The air buzzed with tension. Men crowded around benches and tables, some still eating breakfast, others glancing around anxiously, bombarding their neighbors with questions. The vaulted ceiling amplified the cacophony, making it feel as if the very walls were alive with the noise.
This kind of excitement hadn’t been seen since the earliest days of the election. Something had happened.
Sam’s stomach dropped with a sense of foreboding as he scanned the room for familiar faces. He spotted Pyp and hurried over.
"What’s going on?" he asked.
Pyp turned, scowling. "Where the hell have you been? You’re late!"
"I get up at the same time every day," Sam muttered defensively. He turned to Grenn, who was always straightforward and never one to keep secrets or make jokes. Grenn might not be the brightest, but Sam appreciated his honesty. "What happened? Why is everyone still here instead of leaving after breakfast? What’s all the fuss about?"
The large man, nicknamed "the big ox," answered in his usual earnest manner. "Ser Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke have both withdrawn from the election, and they threw their votes behind Yohn Royce."
"Royce now has nearly five hundred votes," Pyp added with a shrug. "He only needs six hundred and seventy-eight to win."
Sam’s heart sank. "Six hundred and seventy-eight," he repeated automatically, the precise number escaping his lips. His stomach turned cold. It was happening—the worst-case scenario was unfolding.
The Night’s Watch had a total of 1,017 sworn brothers at the moment, their numbers slightly rebounding after years of decline. To win the election, a candidate needed two-thirds of the votes, a number that had remained constant across centuries: six hundred and seventy-eight.
Gaining the backing of both the commanders of Eastwatch and Shadow Tower didn’t guarantee victory, but in the recorded history of the Night’s Watch, every candidate who had secured support from those two strongholds had gone on to become Lord Commander.
Every single one.
The reason was simple: Eastwatch and Shadow Tower, stationed at the two far ends of the Wall, had always been the largest garrisons outside of Castle Black itself. Even back when the Watch manned all nineteen fortresses, these two held the majority of men. After the Watch consolidated to just three castles, their influence became even more pronounced.
During Lord Commander Mormont’s tenure, attempts to reopen other fortresses had met limited success. These outposts were sparsely manned, and their voting members combined still didn’t rival the numbers of Eastwatch or Shadow Tower.
Together, Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke controlled over two-fifths of the Watch’s votes. With their backing, Yohn Royce needed only to sway about a hundred votes from Castle Black to secure victory.
As this grim realization hit Sam like a blow to the chest, a tall ranger from the Westerman contingent approached the trio, cutting straight to the point. "So, what now?"
...
The ranger was one of Jaime Lannister’s men who had come to the Wall. Normally, the Westerlanders kept to themselves, disdainful of interacting with the other brothers—especially those like Sam or Grenn, whom they considered cowards and fools. But now they had no choice but to consult their allies. Aegor had instructed them to vote for Cotter Pyke to maintain the balance of power, but with both major candidates out of the race, they were at a loss.
"What now?" Sam thought desperately, his heart pounding. With Aegor still on the road back from the North, Jon away delivering warnings, and Jaime uninterested in anything requiring effort or thought, the reformists had been left without leadership. Somehow, Sam—timid, nervous, and utterly unprepared—had become the de facto figurehead.
"Should we vote for Buckwell? Or nominate Jaime and throw our votes to him? We can’t just abstain or let Royce take the lead, can we?" the Westerlander pressed, his tone growing impatient.
Abstaining was not an option. According to the Night’s Watch charter, the Lord Commander needed two-thirds of the cast votes, not the total number of brothers. Every abstention lowered the threshold required for victory, making it easier for Royce to win outright.
Sam felt like he was about to wet himself. This wasn’t his fault—anyone who secured the votes of both Mallister and Pyke would be virtually unbeatable. He resisted the urge to tremble visibly, pretending to deliberate to mask his panic. Deep down, however, a small voice whispered:
It’s not over yet.
"Unbeatable" didn’t mean "victorious."
It was true that every candidate with the support of Eastwatch and Shadow Tower had become Lord Commander, but not every Lord Commander had needed their support. The key was the two-thirds majority. As long as the votes from Eastwatch and Shadow Tower didn’t make up two-thirds of the total, Royce’s victory wasn’t guaranteed.
Sam didn’t know what Royce had done to win over Mallister and Pyke—whether it was charm, promises, or some other bargain. But Royce was different from the past Commanders who had been elected with the support of those two strongholds. He didn’t yet command the loyalty of Castle Black’s brothers.
Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke were longstanding leaders, their names known to every brother of the Watch. Royce, by contrast, was a former Vale lord exiled for rebellion—a stranger to most of the Watch. While Mallister and Pyke could pledge their own men’s votes to Royce, they couldn’t command the brothers of Castle Black to do the same.
The path forward was clear: delay.
"Vote for Buckwell," Sam said quickly, his voice quivering but decisive. "It doesn’t matter why—just don’t let Royce secure those votes."
The Westerlander eyed Sam skeptically, clearly unimpressed with the excuse. But seeing no better option, he nodded and walked away.
...
Sam’s hands shook as he glanced around the hall, listening to snippets of conversation. Brothers debated who to vote for, with many leaning toward Royce simply to end the election. Sam realized he had no choice but to intervene.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the center of the room and shouted, "Brothers! Hear me!"
No one paid attention.
"Quiet!" Grenn bellowed, slamming his massive hands on a table. "The Maester’s assistant has something to say!"
Sam’s stomach churned as every eye in the hall turned to him. Summoning every ounce of courage, he spoke: "The Lord Commander’s position is for life. Once elected, there’s no going back. I beg you, before you cast your vote, ask yourselves if you truly know and trust your choice. Don’t vote simply to end the election. Make sure you believe in the man you’re choosing."
He faltered, his voice trembling. "I’m not saying Royce isn’t a good candidate. But before we commit, shouldn’t we hear his plans? Shouldn’t he prove he’s capable?"
For a moment, the hall was silent. Then Denys Mallister, seated nearby, turned and smiled gently. "Wise words, Maester’s assistant. Let us not rush. Brothers, take the time to speak with Lord Royce and learn his intentions before making your decision."
Sam exhaled shakily, knowing he had bought precious time. It wasn’t much, but it was something. As the room began to buzz with renewed discussion, Sam quietly slipped away, his heart still pounding.
The battle wasn’t over yet.
