Chapter 153 – Establishing Camp
Killing the Great Other and saving the medieval masses from an age of ice and despair certainly sounded heroic.
Actually pulling it off was another matter entirely.
Leaving aside everything else, the Three-Eyed Raven's explanation alone was enough to make Charles reconsider. The Great Other wasn't just some rogue god—it was intertwined with the very fabric of this world.
Charles' only real advantage, if he had one, was that he didn't belong to this world. And that he possessed the Gate.
But experience had already taught him something important. When he once tried to bring the Scepter of Authority back to his original world, it had failed completely. Anything deeply bound to this realm simply could not pass through.
That left only one option:
Use the powers of his original world—spells, artifacts, something beyond this world's system—to eliminate the enemy.
Unfortunately, that wasn't something he could accomplish overnight.
"Even if this world's magical system is primitive, and its so-called gods are flimsy as paper," Charles muttered to himself, "their essence still exists. For some minor mage with a few half-baked tricks to take down something that nearly destroyed the world…"
He shook his head.
Not impossible.
Just highly improbable.
"What are you mumbling about?"
At the foot of the mountain, standing near the edge of the massive abyss encircling them, the red priestess turned to glance at him.
"Nothing," Charles replied. "Just wondering how an earthworm might go about eating an elephant."
"Earthworms have neither teeth nor jaws," she said coolly. Then she added, "Perhaps you should concern yourself with what we're going to do next."
Without waiting for his answer, she continued.
"We brought three months' worth of provisions. Half a month was consumed during the march. When the supplies run out, everyone here will starve."
Charles paused.
He had absorbed too much information in a short time. Practical logistics hadn't yet crossed his mind.
"Well," he said lightly, "maybe you could ask your Lord of Light."
"I can no longer commune with my god," the red priestess replied with visible frustration. "This place is shrouded in darkness. It has severed my connection to R'hllor."
"What a pity," Charles said dryly, rolling his eyes. Then a thought occurred to him.
"By the way—your Lord of Light. Is it male or female?"
The question was deliberately impolite.
She frowned immediately. "The true god cannot be confined by mortal notions such as gender."
"Really? Because if I heard correctly, several tens of thousands of years ago your 'true god' and someone else…"
Before he could finish, she shot him an irritated look and turned away, striding off without another word.
Charles shrugged and finished the sentence to himself.
"…had children."
"…So how exactly does a lion and a goddess have a child?" Charles muttered to himself. "Or are their titles just symbolic?"
"And R'hllor… that name sounds distinctly male. So this so-called true god just switches genders whenever convenient?"
His thoughts wandered in a slightly inappropriate direction before he gradually forced himself back to focus.
Standing at the edge of the massive blockade, he gazed down into the deep blue—almost pitch-black—abyss below, sinking into contemplation.
It would be extremely difficult for the army to cross this chasm on its own.
But Charles wasn't overly concerned.
Just as the Three-Eyed Raven had said—the Horn was in his possession. Sooner or later, the White Walkers would come to him.
"When that happens… what then?"
He pondered the question, then dismissed it. Too early to decide.
His conversation with the Three-Eyed Raven hadn't lasted long. Once Charles understood what he was truly facing, he had few further questions.
Instead, he proposed something else—he wanted to see the Seal. And the so-called indestructible meteorite beneath it.
The Raven had assumed this was simple curiosity. Or perhaps disbelief—some stubborn refusal to accept that the Great Other truly could not be destroyed.
He seemed resigned but did not refuse.
But in truth, he had misunderstood Charles' intent.
No matter how indestructible or eternal the enemy was, that wasn't Charles' core concern.
He wasn't here to slay some primordial evil god or cosmic invader.
He was here to uncover the truth of this world.
"Is it Light and Dark? Fire and Ice? Or neither?"
Murmuring to himself, Charles found himself anticipating the place he would visit tonight.
---
"The body of the Great Other is sealed beneath this mountain. If you truly wish to see it, the barrier can only be breached for a fleeting moment when night fully descends."
The Raven's voice seemed to echo in his ears.
The corpse-like being fused into the weirwood throne did not appear particularly protective of the Seal—despite it being the original and most sacred duty of the Children.
"Once our ancestors released the will of the Great Other, the so-called Seal became a mockery," he had said. Beneath his calm tone lingered exhaustion—self-mockery for his people's past actions, and quiet resignation toward fate.
He was the warden of the Seal.
But he was also a prisoner.
Fused with the weirwood, the Three-Eyed Raven could observe the world through beasts and trees, yet could not move a single inch himself.
It reminded Charles of his astral projection. He could drift across all of Westeros, yet could not touch gold, taste delicacies, or interact physically with the world.
The difference was that Charles, empowered by magic from beyond this world, could still do things in that state.
The Raven could not.
He could only observe.
Observe the lands under the weirwoods. Observe the past, the present, and faint ripples of the future.
In Charles' words—he was nothing more than a voyeur.
A cosmic one, perhaps. But still just a watcher.
"Though watching history unfold is pretty fascinating," Charles mused, stroking his chin.
For a fleeting moment, a thought surfaced—
If he killed the Raven… could he inherit that power?
The idea barely formed before he dismissed it.
His principle was simple: repay kindness with kindness, enmity with enmity.
The Raven was neither enemy nor obstacle. He was, at worst, a flawed ally.
Charles had no habit of murdering people simply to seize their abilities.
Though, he admitted to himself, real life sometimes complicated such ideals.
Still—if unnecessary, he would not break that rule.
---
"My lord," his guard captain Steelshanks asked from beside him, "should we attempt to construct a bridge here?"
"Of course," Charles replied. "But be careful. If you fall in, I won't be able to rescue you."
Steelshanks nodded immediately.
"And one more thing," Charles added after a moment's thought. "Clear the snow near the cave entrance and establish camp. If crossing proves impossible, conserve timber. Worst case, we may need to remain here for several months."
"Several months?" Steelshanks blinked. "The White Walkers will just allow us to stay?"
"I'm not certain," Charles replied, leaving part of his thought unsaid. "But if our ally inside is reliable… then yes."
Steelshanks wisely refrained from commenting on mysterious, god-related matters. Instead, he sighed.
"We should have brought more supplies."
"Three months is already substantial," Charles said calmly. "If the enemy is efficient, that should be more than enough time."
"For what?" Steelshanks asked, confused.
"For them to act," Charles answered.
Then something occurred to him.
"Oh, right. I'll be spending the night inside the cave."
He paused, expression thoughtful.
"If I haven't come out by this time tomorrow, storm the entrance and kill everyone inside."
Steelshanks, a seasoned and cold-blooded soldier, didn't ask why.
He asked something far more practical.
"But… we can't enter."
"No," Charles agreed. "You can't. But you can start a fire."
He glanced toward the cave entrance.
"I tested it. People can't pass through. Smoke can."
Steelshanks nodded immediately.
Understood.