Face The Darkness | GoT x Night King Reader

Chapter 4

The living soldiers watch in horror, their screams lost in the wind. Yet, their fear fuels me, their warmth a stark reminder of the feast that awaits. I raise my arms, and with a howl that shakes the very foundations of the world, I command my undying legion to march forth. The wall of ice behind us shatters, revealing the true might of the Army of the Dead. Their numbers stretch to the horizon, an unstoppable tide of bone and decay.

The clash of steel on steel fills the air, a cacophony of despair and futility. The living fight with all their might, their swords and spears flashing like stars against the inky black sky. Yet, each strike is met with the cold embrace of death. My soldiers, the once-mighty heroes of Westeros, now twisted into monstrous forms, tear through the enemy ranks with ease. Limbs fly, blood turns to ice crystals in the cold, and the air is thick with the stench of fear and defeat.

Amidst the chaos, a shadow flits through the trees, a creature that does not belong in this realm of eternal night. The Three-Eyed Raven, a being of ancient magic, regards me with eyes that have seen the birth and death of countless ages. His gaze pierces my very soul, and for the first time in an eternity, I feel a flicker of doubt. His messages, delivered through whispers on the wind, have haunted my dreams, hinting at a truth that I had buried beneath the ice of my existence.

The raven lands on a frost-covered branch, his eyes boring into mine. His words are not spoken but felt, resonating within the very fabric of my being. "The night is dark and full of terrors," he croaks, his voice a harbinger of fate. "But so too is the light, full of warmth and hope. The balance is skewed, and the wheel must turn."

For a moment, the cacophony of the battlefield fades away, and I am alone with the whispers of the past. Memories long forgotten surface, a tumult of love and loss that had been buried beneath the ice. The face of a woman, her eyes a warm brown, her touch a gentle caress against my frozen skin. A warmth that once thawed the cold within me, a warmth that has been lost to time. The Three-Eyed Raven has pierced the very core of my existence, shaking the foundations of the monster I have become.

The raven takes flight, disappearing into the swirling snowstorm that has gathered around us. His message lingers, echoing through the chambers of my icy heart. The humanity I had discarded so long ago, now a shard of light in the darkest of nights. I look upon my army, once a bastion of hope, now a horde of the damned, and feel a pang of something akin to regret. Could it be that the living have something to offer beyond their fleeting warmth?

The battle rages on, the living throwing themselves against my unyielding tide, their fires of defiance flickering in the face of the cold. Yet, as the whispers of the past swirl within me, I find myself hesitant. The raven's words have planted a seed of doubt, a spark of curiosity about the world that existed before the Long Night fell. I watch as a young squire, not yet a man, stands his ground before one of my wights, his sword trembling in his hand.