Fffc April Little Special (Focus) - Minor setbacks

[m_findlow]

Title: Minor setbacks
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Ser Alliser Thorne, Janos Slynt  
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M
Length: 756 words
Content notes: I don't own them. They belong to George R R Martin.
Author notes: Written for April Little Special s48 (Focus) at fffc
Summary: Ser Alliser's plans have gone awry, at least temporarily.

Ser Alliser caught the grimace on Janos Slynt's face as the sound of empty ale horns began to rap the long wooden table tops. Rap, rap, rap. The sound was one of agreement and unity.

How had it come to this, he wondered. How had all these idiots, his brothers, been so easily duped into thinking some boy with a wolf was fit to lead the Night's Watch? He'd rather have suffered Bowen Marsh and his pious ideals. At least the man had seen battle. Not some summertime lad who wouldn't last five minutes against a hedge knight.

This was all Maester Aemon's doing, he was sure. You couldn't trust any of those Targaryens. That insipid Tarly boy had been his pawn in this game. He'd been set to put that stupid raven in the kettle. Snow. He wanted to laugh at that again, watching his brothers cower at the bird's word. All those bloody ravens had been taught to say that one word. No one could prove it was old Mormont's bird declaring its own vote for Lord Commander.

He should have been more forceful in insisting that Snow was nothing but a Wildling traitor. For all they knew, he might have orchestrated Mormont's murder by those traitor brothers he'd left behind. What better way to declare his innocence and remove his competition all at the same time.

He looked across at Slynt again. The man looked pale and waxen there in the dimly lit hall. He looked as if he'd not just lost a vote, but a battle in which he was likely to now be beheaded for fighting on the wrong side. Another mistake, Alliser thought. He'd backed the wrong man. His status as a former Gold Cloak had been too badly tarnished by the Lannisters who'd stripped him of it and sent him packing for the Wall. He wasn't ruthless enough, more of a simpering lapdog, cowed by the tiniest amount of pressure. Alliser had thought he could use that to his advantage, using Slynt's natural ability to smooth talk people. Now he knew he should have reversed their positions.

He should have put forth his own name for Lord Commander and let Slynt win him votes. He knew he was unpopular with his brothers. He'd belted more than half of them in the training yard. You could hate a man for being a cruel taskmaster, but it was that same hard son of a bitch you'd rather have at your side when the enemy were coming at you full force. He'd been a natural first pick to take over command of Castle Black. The Old Bear had been tough, but he was tougher.

He should never have chosen Snow as his steward. Perhaps Mormont had thought that by doing so he'd be winning over favour with the North. Too little, too late, since Stark had lost his head only a few short months later. Perhaps he expected the Northmen would bring him  more men to sure up the Wall against Wildlings. Instead they turned their hatred  South, taking on Lannisters and Freys in equal measure. No one gave a fuck about them up here. That's why they were sending gutless shits like Slynt from King's Landing. Good men were retained, sellswords crimes overlooked provided the right amount for coin could be found to keep them fighting in red and gold.

Alliser scowled as men forced Jon Snow to the front of the hall, chanting his name over and over in time with the rapping of their horns. He didn't even have the guts to look smug about it. The 998th Lord Commander was nothing more that a steward errand boy, supplanting the honor of the Night's Watch with Targaryen politics and and gutless boys. What a disgrace.

'What do we do now?' Janos hissed in his ear. Apparently having Snow paraded in front of him had riled up some small fragment of revile in him. He could sense all power and influence slipping through his fingers like fine grains of sand. This had been Slynt's last shot a glory, Alliser realised. After falling from grace in the capital, this was all he had left. He didn't want to die up here. He wanted to sit comfortably behind a desk and let other men die for him. Weak cunt.

'Don't worry,' Alliser said to him. 'The Wall is a dangerous place. Even Lord Commanders aren't safe. Lots of Wildlings around who might lodge a blade in your back if you're not careful.'