CHARLES’S MOTHER AND MICAH
Charles's reckless decision. Why it contradicts his own principles. Killing Micah as a way to end a years-long inner war.
We clearly see Charles trying to stop the Indians from going to war with the army in Chapter 6 — an army that will destroy what's left of Wapiti and their land either way.
We see his pacifist nature. And not just pacifism — we see a man who believes that if there’s a house full of people, and someone wants to take that house — it's better to save the people than protect the walls where no one will be left alive.
He’s thoughtful. He’s wise. He makes balanced decisions.
That’s the Charles we know in Chapter 6.
But suddenly, eight years later — when it comes to John, his family, and Micah — we see a completely different Charles.
He’s not just going to kill Micah. He’s pulling John into it.
There’s a moment when he tells him:
"We gotta do this."
If Sadie finds Micah — there’s no choice. You have to come too.
John objects:
"Abigail ain’t gonna like this."
But Charles insists:
"It’s the only way."
This is complete recklessness. And in this case? I’m completely on Abigail’s side.
Revenge is one thing. But now you have the life you fought for. Arthur gave his life so John could have a chance at something better — a quiet life with his family, away from all of this.
And even Sadie — the one obsessed with revenge — tells John:
"Your family comes first. I ain’t forcing you."
She’s reasonable, despite being the one who started the whole hunt for Micah. She’s the instigator, but she doesn’t pressure John.
But Charles does.
"It’s the only way."
So why does Charles act like this? Why does he lose his head?
He was always calm. He could restrain himself. He always chose the path of least destruction.
So why, fully aware of the risks, does he still insist on killing Micah? Without hesitation. Without doubt.
We know Charles as a balanced man. But inside him — there’s a storm. Especially when it comes to loss and personal pain.
Think of the mission with the bison. He kills a man instantly. No hesitation. Just reaction.
If you spare the second poacher — he’s angry with Arthur.
Charles is a deeply emotional person. He remembers everything. The kind to remember a kind word — or a cruel one — for decades.
I’m sure he’s the type to notice every detail, and possibly even hold grudges.
But this goes deeper.
We know Charles lost his mother at a young age. He doesn’t know what happened to her. Her fate is completely unknown.
And as players — we don’t know what happened to his father either.
Charles's voice actor — Noshir Dalal — once suggested:
"Maybe Charles killed his own father."
Maybe he knows more than we do — from scripts or background notes. But as someone who reads character psychology?
I don’t buy it.
Yes, Charles has killed. He has shown brutality. But killing his own father? That doesn’t track.
Example: Arthur brings one of the legendary animals back to camp. Charles smiles and says:
"My father said those used to be around, but he never saw one this big."
He says it smiling.
A man who killed his own father wouldn’t talk like that. Not without bitterness. Not with detachment.
He remembers his father warmly — you can tell. And that happened more than once.
Let’s be honest: A man who killed his father wouldn’t casually bring him up in a warm, friendly conversation.
We don’t learn a lot about him. But we learn enough — Charles still remembers his father with lightness, warmth, a sense of memory.
But when it comes to his mother — it’s a different story.
She vanished. He knows nothing about what happened.
I’m sure he tried to find her. Did everything he could. But he was a child. He couldn’t do anything.
Maybe he left his father and tried to search. Maybe the father didn’t help — maybe he was drunk, cruel, uncaring. Whatever happened — he was left with a wound that never healed.
A sense of loss. Powerlessness to change the past.
He would want to know who took her. He would want to get revenge. He would want any information. A clue.
But all he got was silence. Emptiness.
That’s why he’s always doing something. He’s always busy. He can’t rest.
If he’s not doing something useful —
he feels like he’s failing.
It’s not about work ethic. It’s atonement. It’s how he tries to balance the scales.
Later, he finds a kind of family in the Van der Linde gang. He sees those people as close. Arthur — a friend. John — almost a brother.
But it all falls apart.
And he suffers. For eight years. He tells Uncle he’s been drifting — and thinking.
Thinking about everything that happened.
When he came back — it was too late. Arthur was gone. The gang was gone.
He missed it all. He couldn’t change anything.
And suddenly he learns: It was all Micah’s fault.
Now he has a choice: Leave it be — or get revenge.
But it’s not just about Micah. Not just about Arthur. Not even just about John.
It’s about everything.
His mother. The emptiness. The helplessness. The years of unresolved grief.
For the first time — he knows who’s to blame. For the first time — he can fight back. He can END IT.
Yes — he puts John and Abigail’s peaceful life at risk. He risks everything they’ve built together. He risks John’s life —
That Jack loses his father, That Abigail loses her husband, That they lose everything they tried to build together.
It’s wrong. I don’t defend it.
But I understand why he did it.
Charles avenged his mother. As absurd as it may sound — deep inside, I truly believe that’s what it felt like to him.
He struck back at the silence, the loss, the endless unknown.
He finally got to direct all that pain toward something real.
Call it trauma logic — but sometimes, one wound gets pushed out by another. Sometimes, pain finds closure in the most unexpected way.