Game of Thrones: Fanfic: Making the tough decisions

[m_findlow]

Title: Making the tough decisions
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Jon Snow, OCs
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 865 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for juliet316's prompt "Any, a new rule nobody likes" at fic_promptly
Summary: There's nothing pleasant about being Lord Commander

He could already hear the murmurs of discontent rumbling amongst the men seated at the tables below the dais. They could sense something coming. Maybe it was the way he'd held himself when he'd walked in, or maybe it was just that he'd walked in at all. He'd spent so many nights cooped up in his own quarters, writing letters, making arrangements, that his presence at meals was almost nonexistent. Perhaps they'd forgotten he existed.

They were few and growing fewer by the day. Each ranging that went north returned with half as many men, and each complement he sent south and east to treat with northern lords for more men reduced their numbers further. That he had less mouths to feed as a result, with their supplies of food running low was poor consolation. He'd already instructed Hobb not to hold better food in reserve for their Lord Commander. They were brothers and equals, and Jon would eat the same as his men and no more. Most days he struggled to find energy or desire for food in any case. Sitting here now he wasn't sure which announcement his men would dislike more: that he'd have to start watering down their remaining ale, or his plans for rebuilding their numbers.

'Brothers,' he began, though the murmurs continued. Dolorous Edd rapped his horn of ale on the table several times to garner their attention. Kill the boy, Jon Snow, Maester Aemon's words rung in his head.

'Brothers,' he began again. 'The Night's Watch has stood for over a thousand years. We've been charged with the duty of protecting the realms of men from the enemies of the north. Three days hence from now, we honour that pledge by opening our gates and letting the Free Folk through the Wall.' Another round of mutters rang through the hall.

'The Wildlings,' he grimaced, disliking using the term, 'have been our enemy for an long as anyone can remember. But they are not our enemy. What they will become if we do not let them through our gates will be our enemy. Some of you have seen them, so you know what we face. But their army relies on the dead, and we shall not give them numbers to swell their ranks.'

'Every one of the Free Folk that passes through our gates will be given the option to take the Black.' The murmurings grew, like the buzz of a wasps nest. And now he was going to break it open with a stick.

'Each man who chooses to take the Black will be assigned to a sworn Brother. He'll shadow his brother, learn his trade, train with him, share meals and quarters with him,'

'Kill us while we sleep, more like,' Hairy Hal called out.

'Until such time as he is ready to speak the Oaths,' Jon continued, ignoring the interruption. 'Until then, his Brother will be responsible for him. Any misdemeanors of his shadow will be his own.'

The ruckus exploded around the room, just as he'd anticipated. No one wanted to be punished for the deeds of another man. Jon took a sip of ale, enjoying the taste of it at full strength, knowing it would be the last time, before delivering the fatal blow.

'Any Brother who refuses his duty, shall be hung.'

He expected something of a rebellion. He'd even feared he might meet the same end as his Lord Commander before him, cut down by his own Brothers. Instead, the room fell silent. The memory of Janos Slynt and his own refusal was still sufficiently recent to quell any anger. See, Maester, he thought, the boy is dead. A man with a sword is all that is left now.

'There's no way of knowing how many Free Folk will choose to take the Black,' he said. 'Some Brothers may be asked to keep two or more shadows. If we have less,' and he prayed they didn't. They were fifty men only now. Surely of the five thousand Wildlings Tormund was bringing, more than fifty would stand and fight with them. 'If we have less, I would be pleased by any Brother volunteering for the task. We need fighters, but we also need smiths, armourers, builders, men who can care for animals, cooks...'

'Hear that, Hobb?' Tim Stone called out. 'Commander Snow is relieving you of cooking duties!'

'More relief for the rest of us,' Bearded Ben replied, and the room erupted in laughter. Jon was grateful for the moment of levity. Ten minutes from now they'd go back to disliking their Lord Commander and his new rules, but for now the distraction was much needed.

'We need men,' Jon said, once the noise had died down, 'and I'd rather trust to my own Brothers to teach the Free Folk that we're allies, than rely on any Lords of Westeros to come and save us in our hour of need. We may be the only thing that stands between them. If we don't stop what's coming, none of us will live long enough to worry about who are allies are.'

They didn't have to like his rules, but they did have to follow them.