Chapter 285

It wasn’t just Aegor and Melisandre exhausting themselves over the election of the new Lord Commander. In the Long Spear Tower, temporary quarters for the Shadow Tower delegation, Ser Denys Mallister had barely dismissed a few aides and begun his quiet contemplation when he too received an uninvited guest—or rather, two.

“Cotter Pyke. Lord Royce.” The old knight’s polite smile did little to mask his disdain as he watched his longtime rival and Yohn Royce push through the door uninvited. “I sincerely hope you’re not here to plead for my vote again. If you really want to put aside grudges and ensure the Gift remains free of wildlings permanently, you’d both do well to throw all your votes my way right now.”

Cotter Pyke scowled. “You always pride yourself on being the sensible one. Why aren’t you the one handing your votes over to me?”

“Because I’d make a far more qualified Lord Commander!” Denys snapped without hesitation. But the moment the words left his mouth, all three men were reminded of Aegor’s sharp critique of the word "qualified" earlier that day. An awkward silence followed.

“More qualified? Ha!” Cotter Pyke sneered but didn’t press the issue further. “If that’s so, the voting numbers certainly didn’t reflect it. Eastwatch has fewer men than the Shadow Tower, which means fewer votes in my hand. But take that out of the equation, and the brothers here at Castle Black recognize my merits just as much as yours!”

“Do you still think that?” Denys chuckled, shaking his head as if talking to a naive child. “Let me spell it out for you. Being Lord Commander isn’t just about swinging a sword. You lack sensitivity, Cotter. Haven’t you noticed how most of the Castle Black brothers who initially supported you have shifted their votes to Warner Buckwell since we both stepped back from the running?”

“How would you know? The vote’s anonymous.”

“Anonymous, yes, but such things are impossible to keep entirely secret. Observation and persuasion go a long way.” Denys’ tone was scornful. “I’ve long suspected something was off—how your vote count always seemed to trail mine so closely. Looking back, it’s clear this was orchestrated by our dear Chief Logistics Officer. Aegor played his hand masterfully: keeping us deadlocked while sowing the seeds for a narrative of our incompetence. And he’s succeeded. Robb Stark is furious with both of us, blaming us for wasting two critical months on petty squabbles while the North faces threats from the wildlings and the Others. Worse still, I can’t even argue with him. This battle of wits? I’ve lost. I’m forced to admit the boy’s cunning.”

Denys sighed. “What’s laughable is that you, Cotter, still haven’t realized you’ve been played. At your age, you should know better. You’ve got a lot to learn about what it means to be a true commander.”

Manipulation and political intrigue were not Cotter Pyke’s strengths, something he readily admitted. He scrunched his nose in distaste. “Tch… all the scheming in the world won’t help against the Others!”

“Perhaps not,” Denys conceded. “But the man we’re talking about has personally killed an Other. In that regard, we’re in no position to question his qualifications.” He turned his gaze to Yohn Royce, his tone pointed. “You might disdain such tactics, but you should at least recognize them when they’re used against you. Our true enemies are intelligent, magical beings. If you can’t even spot human schemes, what hope do you have against them? That’s why, Cotter, I would never vote for you. All you know how to do is charge in headfirst.”
----


Few things are more infuriating than having one’s shortcomings laid bare. Cotter’s face flushed red with anger as he remembered how, during the earlier voting session, he had been moments away from challenging Aegor to a duel—stopped only by Arya Stark, her brother Robb, and his own subordinates. Denys’ words only stoked his frustration further.

Watching this exchange, Yohn Royce silently cursed both men. These two old fools, stuck in their endless rivalry, couldn’t see the bigger picture. If they had reconciled earlier, Aegor would never have had the opportunity to rise.

Yohn cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, please, let’s stay focused. Our priority should be to deal with our shared enemy and prevent Aegor West from misleading the brothers of Castle Black and gaining the upper hand.”

Denys chuckled at that. “Aegor West, a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch and Chief Logistics Officer, is now your enemy? I see him as a rival—an upstart with methods I don’t entirely agree with but worthy of admiration nonetheless.”

He paused, his tone growing serious. “Yohn—permit me to call you that—there’s no evidence to suggest Aegor killed your son. The fact that he didn’t return from the expedition with Waymar Royce proves nothing. I trust Commander Mormont and Benjen Stark’s judgment on the matter. As for his role in securing the Blood Gate for Robert Baratheon, that’s long been settled by the King himself, with Robb Stark executing the plan. If I were you, I’d stop dredging up old grievances.”

Denys leaned back. “Instead of plotting against him, I’ve been spending my time thinking of how best to respond to his public accusations of my incompetence. And to be frank, I’ve come up empty-handed. Even now, I can’t think of a better counter.”
----


Yohn frowned. “Denys, your advice is sound, but you’re obsessing over the wrong things. The boy overturned the entire table during the voting session, and here you are, sifting through the dust to figure out why you lost. We’re dealing with someone who doesn’t play by the rules. If we want to fight back, we need to use unconventional means. Forget the table. If he throws it, we throw a punch.”

Denys considered Yohn’s words and, begrudgingly, nodded. “You have a point. I only hope that you mean ‘punch,’ metaphorically. We’ve taken the black, sworn oaths. I won’t be part of any plan that harms a brother of the Watch.”

“Of course, it’s a metaphor,” Yohn assured him. “But I’ve reflected on today’s events. Why did Aegor’s criticism win him so much support? The answer lies in forgetfulness. When Commander Mormont was killed, Aegor took swift action to deal with the culprits and then conveniently left Castle Black for two months. That gap was just long enough for the brothers to forget the wildlings’ crimes and grow weary of endless voting. Meanwhile, they’ve continued to benefit from the logistics corps’ provisions—clothing, bedding, and supplies. It’s this contrast that allowed him to flip the narrative.”

Denys nodded reluctantly. “So what do you propose?”

“There’s only one way to bring him down: remind the brothers of Castle Black who the true enemy is—the wildlings.”
----


Denys raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose to do that?”

Yohn leaned in, lowering his voice. “Mance Rayder and his family are under guard in the tower next to us. If something were to happen to him, the Gift’s wildlings would see it as a sign that the Watch intends to betray them. All it would take is one tribe—or even a single wildling—to overreact: to riot, attack a ranger, or disrupt a fort. That would give us all the justification we need to discredit Aegor entirely.”

Denys’ expression darkened as the implications of Yohn’s plan sank in. “That’s absurd!”

“Whether the wildlings are cowed or genuinely reformed is irrelevant. For now, they’re quiet. Why provoke them into rebellion? The Wall is guarded by barely a thousand brothers and seven thousand clansfolk—many of whom are elderly or children. Stirring conflict with thirty thousand wildlings would make defending against the Others impossible. And with Robb Stark here to witness the chaos? Aegor might fall, but do you think we’d emerge unscathed?”

Cotter Pyke scowled. “You’d rather be humiliated than fight back?”

“Humiliated?” Denys snapped, rising from his chair. “Aegor’s accusations may have been harsh, but they were not illegal or immoral. What you’re suggesting crosses every line of decency and honor. I won’t stoop to such madness—even if he were my sworn enemy, I’d never use prisoners or innocents to bring him down.”

Pointing to the door, he declared, “Now leave my quarters. This conversation never happened. And if you try anything reckless, I won’t forgive it.”
----


Chastened but fuming, Cotter Pyke muttered curses as he stomped out. Yohn Royce followed, his expression grim.

Back in his room, Denys sat down and summoned his trusted aide.

“I’m leaving for the Shadow Tower tomorrow. You’ll stay behind and hold the delegation’s votes. Cast them for me and no one else.”

“But, my lord—if you leave now, won’t it seem like you’re running away?”

Denys sighed. “Let them think what they will. My decision is final. Don’t intervene, don’t engage. Just cast our votes and wait for the results.”
----


Left alone, Denys reflected on the events of the day. He’d come to an unsettling conclusion: Aegor would likely win. And while logic urged him to support the inevitable victor, his pride would not let him. If Aegor won despite his refusal to yield, then perhaps the young man truly deserved the title.

And when that happened, Denys would return to the Shadow Tower and serve faithfully until the end of his days. What else could he do?