Winter's (GOT) Nothing on Me #86

Entering the tent erected at the heart of the newly established camp, Gale acknowledged the assembled faces. Qhorin, Benjen, and Edd from the Night's Watch stood alongside Val, Tormund, Ryk, and Harma 

representing the wildlings. 

The absence of Threay loomed heavily, casting a shadow over the gathering, prompting an internal sigh from Gale. However, there were pressing matters at hand, dispelling any lingering thoughts of loss.

"Alright... let's hear it. How did things go on each of your ends?" Gale inquired, his hands finding rest on the weathered wooden table at the center of the tent.

"As well as it could go..." Benjen began, his tone weighed down by the recent events. "The riders from Castle Black had little to contend with... not much action on our end," he added, glancing briefly at Qhorin, who nodded in agreement.

"Aye, the wildlings did most of the heavy lifting," Qhorin confirmed, his weathered face etched with the marks of recent skirmishes. "We had to track down a couple of escapees from the caves, but it was mostly contained," he explained, his eyes meeting Harma's as she prepared to speak.

"Your plan proved effective once more," Harma chimed in, her voice bearing a hint of admiration for Gale's strategies. "Casualties were minimal, fewer than fifty in total. That includes the crows who ventured with Tormund," she added, a somber note creeping into her recounting. 

Benjen and Qhorin's expressions darkened at the mention of the fallen rangers, but they held their silence, refraining from dwelling further on the subject.

Gale absorbed the reports, his mind already formulating the next steps. The blend of Night's Watch and wildling efforts had proven fruitful, minimizing the loss of life, yet the absence of Threay, a stark reminder of his biggest failure, lingered as an unspoken ache.

"Good work," Gale commended, nodding appreciatively. "The plan was laid, but it was your execution that made it a success. With the cave dwellers and the Weeper dealt with, distractions this side of the Wall are no more."

"Now," Gale continued, leaning forward with purpose, "we return to our original missions: locating and capturing a wight." He paused, his gaze hardened with resolve. "The northern lords, stubborn and harboring ancient grudges against the Wildlings, won't budge. And King Robert..." 

Gale's voice dipped as he sighed, "A fat drunkard more interested in the bottom of a bottle or a whore's bed than ruling his own kingdom. Nothing short of Death itself staring them in the eyes can convince the lot of them...."

Edd's snicker at Gale's depiction of King Robert was swiftly subdued by a sharp glare from Qhorin. "Let's stay focused," Qhorin interjected sternly. "I've been working with Harma to find a wight. We've managed to find a suitable target, I think."

Harma Dogshead chuckled at being addressed as a lady, a term foreign to her rough existence. Nonetheless, she nodded in agreement. "Aye, we've spotted a horde of the dead fuckers wandering near the Haunted Forest," she confirmed. "I can send a scout to guide you when you're prepared to depart."

Gale inclined his head toward Harma, his eyes fixed on her as he posed his query. "Are these wights possibly under the command of a White Walker?" he asked, a note of concern coloring his tone. Harma shook her head in response, her expression solemn.

"No, They've been meandering in that vicinity for several weeks, as far as we can tell," she replied with certainty. "No sign of a White Walker guiding them. Their aimless wandering suggests they're leaderless, but I can dispatch scouts for further investigation if needed."

"You do that then..." Gale calmly instructed. "You'll need to be careful of the white walkers, since I'll sit this one out..." He added, his words causing everyone to pause in shock and confusion. 

Gale's decision to abstain from the mission elicited startled expressions from those gathered. It was an uncommon choice for him to step back from a plan he had devised and taken an active role in executing. 

However, he disregarded their surprise, maintaining his calm demeanor.

"My ankle hasn't fully recovered," Gale explained, his voice steady despite the raised eyebrows. "Participating would only slow everyone down, and we can't afford any more delays.." 

He noticed their incredulous gazes and offered a reassuring chuckle. "Besides... I need this break to clear my mind and contemplate the future. I have much to reconsider...."

Seated upon a fallen tree trunk, I observed the bustling activity of the Wildlings within the camp, their purposeful movements, and the hum of their tasks enveloping me. Retrieving the curious crystal from my pocket, I toyed with it absentmindedly, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the turbulence of my thoughts.

As the crystal danced in my hand, memories of Threya's final moments surfaced unbidden. Despite our strained relationship, her passing stirred an unexpected sorrow within me. Our interactions had been marked by conflict, yet we'd fought together, broke bread, and embarked on daring escapades together. 

I suppose it's only natural to form an attachment to someone with whom I'd shared so much now that I think about it, even if our interactions had been characterized by antagonism and exasperation.

The weight of responsibility settled upon me as I contemplated my inadvertent role in her demise. My careless actions likely contributed to her tragic fate, casting a shadow of remorse over my conscience. 

The entire ordeal served as a harsh awakening, a slap to my complacency.

Since awakening in this unfamiliar world, my grievances and complaints have been incessant. And why wouldn't they? I still can't accept the disparity between this realm and the civilized world I once knew, where a single death could garner widespread attention. 

Here, survival was precarious, where a single encounter with a bear in the snowy wastes had awakened me to a reality where entire towns could vanish without a trace, unnoticed by the wider world.

It had been an eternity since my arrival in this world, a landscape fraught with peril and strife. Initially, my resolve burned bright—I aimed to leverage my knowledge and abilities to thwart the Night King's relentless advance, minimize the toll of death, and carve out a promising future for myself. 

In my mind, I believed I had acclimated to the ceaseless bloodshed and imminent dangers that defined this realm. Yet, a startling realization dawned upon me only now—everything, until this point, had been naught but a mere game, a facade.

Reflecting on my experiences, I realized that I hadn't truly encountered genuine peril or grappled with genuine struggle, save for one close encounter. 

My fingers drifted unconsciously to the scar over my eyes, a stark reminder of the frenzied Thenn who had attempted to gouge out my eye shortly after my arrival into this world. 

Beyond that, smooth waters had characterized my journey.

A mere display of my powers coupled with the rudimentary knowledge from my former life had effortlessly swayed the leaders of the Night's Watch to my favor. 

Winning their allegiance hadn't posed a challenge, though it took some time. 

Then came the Wildlings—a desperate people teetering on the brink of survival. Convincing them to collaborate with the Night's Watch had proven as easy as dispatching a White Walker and returning with its ice blade.

Though it may sound ludicrous, killing that specific white walker was far from a struggle, though the journey to the Lands of Always Winter wasn't what I'd call pleasant. 

Immersed in my own aspirations and selfish pursuits, I had overlooked a fundamental truth—I was ensnared in my own elaborate games, my vision fixated on a distant, idyllic future I sought for myself. In my self-absorption, I had forgotten a stark reality: this wasn't a game for the people of this world. 

Unlike me, the majority were ordinary humans, barely equipped to face one or two wights before succumbing to overwhelming odds. They grappled with the dire necessity of fighting, struggling, and risking their lives just to grasp at a fragile chance of survival.

In contrast, I wielded formidable power, capable of easily dismantling entire hordes of wights without a second thought. Moreover, I had no tangible ties binding me to Westeros—no family, no genuine attachments. 

Should circumstances turn perilous, I could simply board a boat and depart these lands, seeking refuge in Essos or any distant land across the eastern seas. 

Threya's tragic demise served as a jolting awakening, a stark reminder of the simple truths I had foolishly overlooked or perhaps deliberately chosen to disregard.

The realization struck me—the distinction between my reality and theirs. I couldn't discern whether it was a case of a simple oversight or selective ignorance.

However, one thing became unequivocally clear—I couldn't allow such a tragedy to unfold again, regardless of the cost. I pledged to employ every ounce of my strength and capabilities to prevent such a scenario from ever repeating itself. 

This was a vow I knew, without a doubt, I would honor at any price.