Face The Darkness | GoT x Night King Reader

Chapter 6

In the solitude of the frozen woods, I feel the first stirrings of doubt, a crack in the ice of my certainty. The warmth of humanity, so fleeting and yet so fierce, it burns brighter than the fires of a thousand dragons. And within me, the whispers of a name long lost to the annals of history: Targaryen. A lineage of kings and queens who once ruled with fire and blood, whose reign was marked by both glory and infamy. The realization hits me like a hammer blow to the chest. I am not just the Night King, I am somehow connected to Aegon, the last of his line, born of ice and shadow, compelled by a prophecy that has guided me for centuries. I felt him reaching out to me, gently whispers, calling me to him.

In the quiet of the night, as the cold seeps into my very being, I am struck by the memory of a warm embrace, a mother's love that had been lost to me. The warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair, and the gentle lilt of her voice as she whispered, "You will be the prince that was promised." A promise that had been buried under layers of anger and cold, a truth that had been obscured by the relentless march of the endless night. The prophecy spoke of a hero, a savior, not a monster that feasts on the lifeblood of the living. Yet here I stand, a creature of ice and darkness, a harbinger of doom.

The whispers of the Three-Eyed Raven echo in my mind, and I am no longer alone in the frozen wasteland. A figure emerges from the shadows, a man with hair of silver and eyes like molten gold. Aegon Targaryen, the last hope of his line, stands before me, his visage a warm opposite of the cold, lifeless world that I command.

"The time has come," he says, his voice resonating with the authority of kings long dead. "The wheel must turn, the cycle of life and death must be balanced. Together, we can fulfill the prophecy."

The words hang in the air, a warm breath in the cold night. Aegon's eyes, filled with a fiery determination, bore into mine, seeking a spark of the humanity that I had long ago abandoned. "But I am the Night King," I reply, the chill in my voice the exact opposite of the warmth that radiates from him.

"You are more than that," he insists, his voice as gentle as a summer breeze in a world of endless winter. "You are the bridge between the living and the dead, the embodiment of the eternal cycle. Grant me your help, Night King. Together we can bring balance to this twisted world."

The weight of his words hangs in the frigid air, a pleasant break to the relentless march of the undead. I look into the eyes of Aegon Targaryen, the warmth of his soul a stark reminder of the light I once knew. "What would you have me do?" I ask, the ice in my voice beginning to melt.

"The throne," he pleads, his eyes alight with the fiery resolve of his ancestors. "Help me conquer the iron throne, the throne that belongs to my lineage and then, we can finally restore the balance."

I am silent, the wind whipping around us, carrying the whispers of the dead. The warmth of his words clashes with the coldness of my heart, but the memory of that gentle embrace is a warmth that refuses to die. "Your throne?" I question, the very concept foreign to me now.

"Yes," Aegon's eyes never waver, "With your power and my rightful claim, we can end the wars, the suffering, and bring peace to the realm. The Night's Watch can stand down, the Wildlings can live in harmony with the Seven Kingdoms, and the dead will finally find rest. The prophecy would finally be fulfilled."

I stand there, my icy gaze meeting his fiery one, the warmth of his words seeping into the cold recesses of my soul. The whispers of the dead are a cacophony in my mind, a symphony of anger and despair that has been my only companion for eons. Yet, the melody of his plea is a sweet intermission in the endless dirge.