[Edric's POV]
After the battle, a portion of the remaining wildlings had sought sanctuary. I decided to ride out and meet them. At their head was a man of average height with a broad chest and massive belly. His arms were quite bulky too, and they were accessorised by golden bands with what looked like runes.
He had the look of a man of importance.
"Thunder caller, let us fight for you!"
His voice was louder than most.
"..." I could almost smile. "Do you not fear me killing you instead?"
"Aye." The man laughed heartily. "I fear you like no other and I am a man who once feared nothing. Even so, it's you or them. We have a chance at living here, more than those shadows would ever give us. I'm a man who enjoys the joys o' life such as ale, mead and women… and I'd like to keep living. What say you?"
"What is your name, wildling?"
"Tormund Giantsbane."
'Shorter than I imagined.' I thought to myself.
"And I am King Edric 'Storm' of the House Baratheon."
"The King south of the Wall?" Tormund questioned. "You could get us past all those crows."
"Not without you all kneeling and swearing fealty to me."
My tone was harsh and cold, leaving no room for debate on that front. Tormund acknowledged my stern look, looking back to his men and nodding. He knelt first, and the rest followed in a wave of bent kees.
"There isn't no man a thousandth as strong!" Tormund's roar bellowed. "I do not kneel to a man or king. I kneel to a God! The caller of thunder, wielder of lightning and master of the winds! An army of one, slayer of Others - our sacred guardian!"
The rest roared in agreement, sealing the deal.
"Very well." I nodded. "You may all rise, reborn as my subjects. Do not forget yourselves or I'll personally put you all in the snow."
…
Due to the wildlings being without horses, it took much longer to return to Castle Black. Nine days, to be exact, after the six days of rest after the battle. The winds were originally quite turbulent but I calmed them down to the note of still water. It was a rather draining action in my state, however.
I was welcomed by what seemed to be the entire castle upon my appearance. Robb seemed quite relieved to see me. I noticed some of the black brothers looking at me with strange, disapproving expressions - no doubt concerning my recent decisions.
"Why do we share our walls with wildlings?" An old man with a round red face questioned, eyeing me. "Our food-"
"If I recall, they had their own rations. If anything, we're more likely to be eating their food." I countered, raising an eyebrow. "Nevermind that, who are you?"
"Bowen Marsh, Lord Steward and the Castellan of Castle Black."
"Well, Lord Steward. You should be good with numbers, yes? While the wars against the Lannisters and Ironborn were short-lived, thousands of men died on both sides. The Night's Watch has nineteen castles, only three of which have active garrisons. Winter is coming and, with it, countless of wights and likely a greater number of white walkers."
I looked at each disgruntled northman.
"They are a greater foe than any other, a foe that threatens the survival of every living man, woman and child in the world. They do not care if you are a free folk, kneeler, or whatever other differences we might have. It's all the same to them… the Others will not rest until we all perish."
I turned back to Bowen Marsh.
"Would it be better to keep our petty grudges and waste thousands more, or have peace and a greater chance of survival by working together as one? Tell me, Bowen Marsh."
"You trust them too much." Bowen Marsh shook his head. "They would never accept our ways. They are wildlings."
"If I am wrong, I'll personally hunt down each wildling who has broken their oath and taken my kindness for granted. You can rest assured of that."
"You are too young and inexperienced to make such decisions. By trusting them, you will have doomed too many of us. Your father wouldn't have let a single one of them pass the gate."
"It is always the old who are stuck in their ways." I sighed, shaking my head. "My father fought against half the Realm, the Crownlands, the Reach, Dorne and loyalist houses across the land… how many lords were pardoned? How do you think we had peace and prosperity for all those years? If old grudges were kept, they'd all be fighting till this day."
"... It is not the same. They were noble houses and these are-"
I had grown weary of the aged argument.
BANG.
Lightning struck the earth between him and I, startling Bowen Marsh along with most men present. It was not something that affected me in the slightest, however. My eyes were frozen on him while the suddenly violent wind blew my hair left. I stepped forward, feeling his sense of unease.
"Stay counting coins, Lord Steward. You have a better mind for it."
His voice seemed to be stuck in his throat, for he did not speak another word. Nothing intelligible, at least. I should have been more caring. An old man like that might catch a heart attack. Perhaps, he did…
"Let me remind you that the people you call wildlings are my subjects, same as you. Breaking the King's Peace is treason, lest you've forgotten. Be mindful of your words."
"... Yes… Your Grace."
He seemed to struggle with that, the words all mumbles. Unfortunately, too few men bother to look at the bigger picture. They only see what's in front of them…
"Good."
I smiled, patting his shoulder, before facing Robb.
"You seem weary from your journey, Your Grace." He remarked, observing the stitching at my cheek. "Was there a great battle?"
"We fought seven Others and slew them all, but not without losses… Ser Arys, Ser Mandon and Ser Lyn, good knights all, gave their lives for my own. Without them, I would not be here. This wound… is a reminder that I alone cannot fight the battles to come." I touched the wound, shaking my head. "That is why I am so determined to unite us all against them. I know, better than anyone else, what they are capable of. Only by fighting side by side will we live to see another spring."
It seemed like my words had a great sway over those who were against the idea originally. Still, I couldn't move south… not now - as much as I'd prefer to. The unrest was as plain as a pile of shit on a marble floor. I'd need to micromanage these people and ensure the peace before moving on. It will not be easy, but I chose this path and will see it completed.
…
I'd eat my fill and retire to a bedchamber, still weary from my most recent battle. I had pushed myself to get to Castle Black as quickly as I did, leading to a lack of energy. For a time, I could not rest and found myself staring at the ceiling. As the cold permeated through the air, I felt a sense of doubt, fear, and discontent… among a hundred other things.
Being weak now was the worst time of all, I knew. I had to be strong - or, at least, have the image of being strong. With most of the Night's Watch in one place, the election of the next Lord Commander would begin without delay. Someone unfitting would be disastrous… and only get in the way of my plans. It could only be one person—someone who saw the same picture that I did.
My unrest would lead me to slip out of bed and seek out Jon Snow, who I found training with other members of the Night's Watch and freefolk. Jaime Lannister was down there as well, displaying martial prowess that awed many. But he wasn't just beating them; he was teaching them to be better, which was definitely something new. Tyrion was above him, watching over the yard.
As I drew closer, a great many eyes seemed to turn to me.
"If I had no prior knowledge, I'd think you came here of your free will." I returned Jaime's glare, smiling. "You're doing rather well for yourself."
He retained hold of his sword, and, for a moment, I wondered if he'd try to take a swing. Alas… he did not.
"Better than rotting away." Jaime shrugged. "If I can recall, I do owe you a session."
"A bit busy at the moment." I turned to Jon, gesturing for him to come with me.
"... Hmph."
I took him to the Lord Commander's quarters, which had remained empty. Jon Snow looked perplexed by the choice of setting. I sat down at the main seat of the small table, curiously flipping over the documents.
"What do you need of me, Your Grace?"
"You're the only man in the Night's Watch who sees these matters like I do." I looked at him with a serious expression. "To achieve my goals, I will need a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch who works with me - and not against me. You're the only one I can entrust this duty."
"There are several black brothers more favoured than I-"
"That matters very little. I will not allow another to take that mantle, especially not the likes of Bowen Marsh… and if it does happen, it will be short-lived. Though, I hope it does not come to that."
"You mean…"
"I mean to have you win. The question is, will you accept the honour?"
"..." There was a brief pause, where his hesitation all but faded. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Let us speak of the future, then."
~
The only way a man could win the election was by having two-thirds of the Black Brothers vote for him or more. For those still garrisoned in Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower, their commanders would vote for them. The election is repeated the next day if no candidate achieves the two-thirds majority. There was once a choosing that lasted seven hundred days… and, well, Edric didn't have that kind of time.
On the first day, Bowen Marsh, Denys Mallister, and Cotter Pyke were some of the more obvious picks as leading officers. Jaime Lannister rose to contention thanks to the surplus of Lannister men and his recent showing at the Bridge of Skulls. Jon Snow was supported by a group of black brothers as well. There was Janos Slynt, who somehow managed to curry favour and gather support through his old role as Lord Commander of the City Watch. With the votes being split six ways, no one could have hoped to win the required two thirds majority.
In the next couple days, Bowen Marsh would keep losing votes and shift his support in favour of Janos Slynt - giving him a decent lead over all the others.
Seeing this, Edric would establish his hold over the voting by stating that he would personally choose the next Lord Commander if they took more than a week. While this was technically forbidden, he certainly had the power to make such a claim. Though, forcing the issue would make the chosen Lord Commander's position less… legitimate and stable.
There was a higher purpose behind this threat.
…
"Thank you for having me, Your Grace." Janos Slynt eagerly bent his head. "I am a changed man, I promise-'
"Of course," Edric spoke earnestly, nodding. "Between you and me, I don't like any of these candidates. Despite our past, I would have to favour you the most. What other options are there, after all? Bowen Marsh is a fool, Cotter Pyke is Ironborn and foul-mouthed, Denys Mallister is old, Jon Snow is too young and Ser Jaime… where to begin with him."
"I see your reasoning, Your Grace." Janos Slynt sounded eager, practically fawning. "You are wise beyond your years to understand such matters."
"Indeed… that is why I would choose you. You have my support in this election. You need to keep getting closer to winning, and I will stand by you."
After some more chatting, Edric had Janos Slynt on board with his 'plan'. As the ex-Lord Commander of the City Watch left the study room, the King's lips turned into a devious grin. Before long, he laughed at the matter.
'How gullible…'