Face The Darkness | GoT x Night King Reader

Chapter 9

The dragons weave and dodge, their agility a slippery contrast to Viserion's lumbering grace. Yet, the power of the Night is not to be underestimated. He roars, his breath a blizzard that engulfs the living dragons, seeking to freeze their fiery hearts. The dragonriders are skilled, though, and they evade the icy embrace, their beasts' wings beating a frenetic rhythm to stay aloft in the frozen sky. The heat of their breath meets the cold of mine, the resulting steam obscuring the battle from the ground below.

One of the living dragons, a creature of fiery will and valor, takes a daring dive, its rider aiming straight for my undying legions. The dragon's jaws open wide, and a torrent of flames is unleashed, a river of fire that crashes into the sea of the dead. The screams of the burning wights are a cacophony of agony and rage, their frozen forms shattering into ash and ice. The smell of char fills the air, a warm scent that pierces the cold like a hot knife. The heat is intense, even from my vantage point, a stark reminder of the warmth that I once knew, the warmth that has been replaced by the endless night.

In that moment of chaos, I feel a surge of anger, a primal instinct to protect what is mine, to silence the roar of the flaming beasts that dare to challenge my dominion. With a snarl, I raise my hand and conjure a spear of pure ice. The shard forms in the air, its tip sharp as a needle, the length of it a shimmering testament to my power. With a flick of my wrist, I hurl it towards the dragon, a silent, frozen missile cutting through the air with a speed that defies the very fabric of the world.

The weapon finds its mark, piercing the creature's skull with a wet crunch. The dragon's fiery eyes widen in surprise, its fiery breath extinguished as it plummets to the earth below, a scream of rage and pain trailing in its wake. The ground trembles upon impact, a thunderous boom that sends shockwaves through the very bones of the living. The creature's rider, a young girl with hair as fiery as the beast she had ridden, is thrown clear, her body a limp ragdoll in the face of the relentless cold.

I approach her, the warmth of her lifeblood spilling onto the frozen earth like a crimson river. She is unarmed now, her dagger lost in the tangle of her fall. Her eyes, filled with the defiance of the living, meet mine, and in them, I see a reflection of the warmth I have not felt in millennia. The girl, no more than a child in the grand scheme of things, stands before me, her breath coming in ragged gasps, a testament to the fragility of life.

She tries to run, but the warmth of fear is no match for the coldness of my command. A gust of ice wind surges from my hand, catching her in its frigid embrace. Her legs buckle beneath her, and she falls to the ground with a soft thud, her fiery hair fanning out around her like a fiery halo against the snow. The wind dies down, leaving her trembling in its wake, her eyes wide with terror and pain.