Chapter 148: Decision to Strike
Since the day the Envoy returned from beyond the Wall, rumors had spread through Castle Black:
He was preparing to take the initiative—march north and hunt the Others.
The reaction was immediate.
Whether northern soldiers or members of the Night's Watch, everyone suddenly found urgent reasons to stay far, far away from the King's Tower. No one wanted to be noticed if the Envoy began selecting volunteers.
"Lord Commander Mormont wouldn't actually agree to something like that… would he?"
"We've got a perfectly good Wall. Why go outside it?"
"If an Other kills me, will the Envoy resurrect me faster—or will I turn into a wight faster?"
…
Black brothers muttered under their breath, pushing food around their plates, appetite gone.
The mere possibility of such a fate filled them with resistance.
But several days passed.
No formal order came down from the command.
Instead, a different group arrived.
They docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, having sailed from Dragonstone after "defecting," and made their way to Castle Black—soldiers, nobles, even a queen—led by the red priestess Melisandre.
Most of the Watch, now bolstered by new manpower, were indifferent.
A few grew even more pessimistic.
"Another one," someone muttered darkly.
---
Melisandre wasted no time.
Upon arriving at Castle Black, she hurried straight to Charles's quarters.
She clearly had something urgent to say—
But the moment she saw him, her stern composure shattered.
"You—"
The red-haired woman froze in place.
Her wine-dark eyes widened dramatically.
Excitement flickered across her face—then suspicion—then hostility—then confusion.
At last, she drew in a shaky breath.
"You… no… who are you?"
"I am exactly who I've always been," Charles replied calmly from his chair by the window.
He found her reaction odd—but after a moment's thought, he suspected it had something to do with one of his rather troublesome talents.
He had no intention of explaining.
Instead, he smoothly changed the subject.
"I hear you betrayed Stannis?" he asked with mild curiosity.
At the mention of that name, the chaotic expressions on Melisandre's face gradually settled.
She studied him for a long moment before answering.
"King Stannis has allowed worldly power to cloud his sight. He no longer beholds the greatness of the Lord of Light."
Her voice carried a faint distraction, as though she were still trying to reconcile what she saw before her.
"So you abandoned him?"
"The Lord of Light reveals truth through flame," she said in a low voice. "But His followers sometimes interpret those flames incorrectly."
She paused.
"His chosen path is not limited to Azor Ahai reborn."
Charles blinked.
Then, as he studied the old sorceress who had rushed to find him the moment she arrived, a thought suddenly struck him.
"You don't happen to see me as one of those options, do you?"
Melisandre had, in fact, considered precisely that possibility.
But upon seeing him now, doubt had crept in.
In the end, she merely shook her head.
"The Lord of Light has His own designs for every change. I simply listen… and follow His will."
After uttering those mystic platitudes—perhaps to reassure herself—she exhaled softly and shifted the conversation.
"I've heard you intend to take the fight north."
"I've considered it," Charles replied. "But I haven't made a final decision. What do you think?"
"The wildlings have all passed through the Wall. The Other God has lost its primary source of replenishment," she said, avoiding a direct answer.
"For now, our best course is to hold the Wall."
Charles frowned.
"And hope that once the enemy realizes it cannot win, it simply retreats?"
"In time, they will withdraw to their lair," Melisandre said confidently—then, unexpectedly, she shook her head.
"But if you march north, I will go with you."
"Why?" Charles asked.
Melisandre hesitated before answering.
"The Great Lord of Light may… favor that course."
Charles found that curious. But seeing the uncertainty in her expression, he chose not to press further. Instead, he shifted to a more practical question.
"You mean you'll go? Or your followers will?"
"The servants of R'hllor do not fear the Long Night," she replied evenly. "When the time comes, they will choose correctly."
Charles thought privately: A group that thoroughly brainwashed would probably eat dirt if you told them to.
Still, she was one of the very few openly supporting his proposal. Courtesy cost nothing.
He nodded.
"Do you truly understand our enemy?" he asked. "Its methods, for instance?"
"The methods of the Other God?"
Melisandre answered instinctively, "In the histories of the Long Night, it brought darkness and cold. It raised the dead. That is all that is recorded."
She shook her head.
"Even during its first appearance in the Age of Heroes, it showed only those abilities. But those alone were enough."
After a pause, she added, "Ordinary steel cannot kill its servants."
"And its origin?" Charles pressed. "Do you know that?"
"Origin…" She hesitated. "Ancient texts say the Other God arose in the Dawn Age—more than ten thousand years ago. I…"
"You don't know either."
"No." She inclined her head faintly. "But it belongs to darkness. To evil. It is the eternal enemy of the Lord of Light, R'hllor, and of all living beings. Of that I am certain."
That part at least rang true. Anything that destroyed body and soul alike and twisted the dead into wights was naturally opposed to life.
Still, Charles was unsatisfied.
"Nothing else? Think carefully."
Melisandre fell silent for a long while before speaking again.
"In Yi Ti, there exists a cult called the Church of the Starry Wisdom. They worship a fallen star—some meteor from the heavens. I believe that stone may be connected to the ancient Other God."
Even as she said it, doubt colored her voice.
"Wonderful," Charles muttered dryly.
If even Melisandre—who claimed to stand at the forefront against the Others—didn't truly understand the enemy she preached against, then where exactly was he supposed to find answers?
"The Old Gods?" he thought.
Aloud, he asked, "And what do you know of the Old Gods of the North?"
At once, hostility flickered across her face.
"The flames show only darkness when I seek them. The so-called Old Gods of the First Men are nothing but false deities—perhaps even aligned with the ancient Other God."
She sounded utterly convinced.
Charles was not.
Aligned? The Three-Eyed Crow is practically being hunted to extinction, and that's your idea of alliance?
Of course, perhaps she was right and the old greenseer had lied—but based on his own memories and experience, Charles doubted he'd been deceived.
"So everything you know of the Old Gods comes from your flames? Nothing more?" he asked.
"Nothing more."
"Can you locate them?"
She hesitated.
"I can try. I make no promises."
---
Aside from transporting dragonglass and bringing reinforcements, Melisandre seemed to have no pressing purpose at Castle Black. Thinking back to how urgently she had sought him out, Charles found it faintly puzzling.
But he did not dwell on it.
After she departed, he turned inward to consider his next move.
From a local perspective, defensive strategy made perfect sense.
From his perspective, it did not.
If he simply waited, would the so-called truth of this world ever come to him?
The real question was timing—strike now, or wait for a better opportunity?
After weighing everything that had happened in recent weeks, Charles reached a decision.
He would strike first.
For now, the enemy's abilities seemed manageable. But if the Old Gods were truly destroyed, who knew what new horrors might evolve from the Others?
Delay could mean disaster.
The next day, at council, he formally proposed the expedition.
Objections erupted immediately. Voices overlapped in protest.
But a smaller faction—more aggressive, even eager—voiced strong support.
Charles did not coerce the dissenters. He himself could not guarantee success. With his gateway ability, he could retreat to his original world if things went badly.
These men could not.
Besides, the frozen lands beyond the Wall were ill-suited to massive armies. Too many soldiers would only slow them down.
In the end, Charles assembled:
Five hundred Bolton household soldiers.
Three hundred newly "acquired" retainers.
Over two hundred wildlings who volunteered eagerly.
A dozen or so Night's Watch rangers.
Melisandre brought nearly a thousand soldiers of her own—men who once fought for Stannis, and who now followed her with unwavering conviction.
At dawn, the force gathered before the gates of Castle Black.
As the massive gate began to rise slowly, a noble knight spurred his horse forward and roared:
"Move out!"
---
In a chamber of Castle Black, Melisandre performed her final spell before departure.
She stared into the brazier.
The flames burned steadily.
Silently.
No visions. No whispers. No divine guidance.
Through the window, she watched the long column of soldiers passing beneath the Wall's shadow.
Her brows knit together.
"What are you?" she murmured softly.
"Why has the Lord of Light given no answer… not even once?"