Face The Darkness | GoT x Night King Reader

Chapter 13

Arya nods, the warmth of her determination a heavy contrast to the icy air. She raises her hand, and a strange hush falls over the battlefield. The living warriors, their eyes drawn to the girl with the fiery hair, slowly lower their weapons, their breaths a collective sigh of relief. The undead, ever obedient to my will, cease their advance, their lifeless eyes watching the girl with an eerie stillness.

With a final, fiery look, Arya turns and hobbles back to her own lines, her legs stiff with the cold that clings to her. The warmth of the living's gazes follows her, along with the coldness of my own stare. She speaks in hushed tones to her comrades, their expressions a mix of confusion and hope. They know not what deal she has struck with the monster that stands before them, but they trust her. Their warmth, their belief, it is a powerful weapon.

As the silence deepens, Aegon, the self-proclaimed conqueror, strides through the battlefield, his armor gleaming in the light of the dying sun. He approaches me, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why have you ceased our attack?" he demands, his voice a warm bellow in the cold.

"To offer your kin a chance at the throne she claims," I reply, my voice a cold whisper. "A duel for the Iron Throne, Arya against you. If she wins, she has proven herself worthy to rule. If not, she joins my ranks."

Aegon's eyes flare with anger, a warmth that briefly pierces the cold armor of my apathy. "You dare to change MY plan?! I want all of them slaughtered! So tell your undead freaks to kill them!" he snaps, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

The words hang in the air, a challenge that echoes through the frozen silence of the battlefield. Arya, standing among her comrades, watches us with a mix of hope and fear. Her warmth, a beacon in the cold, seems to grow dimmer, as if the very essence of life is being drained from her.

Aegon's eyes narrow, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Don't you dare to tell me what to do, corpse!" he spits, the warmth of his anger palpable.

I stare at him, unmoved by his rage. "Your pride is a poor substitute for strategy," I say, my voice a cold whisper. "Your sister offers you a chance to claim the throne without further bloodshed. Will you ignore the opportunity she has provided?"

Aegon's gaze flickers to the living forces, then back to me. His eyes are filled with the warmth of ambition, but also with the cold calculation of a man who sees the bigger picture. "Fine," he says, his voice tight with anger. "Let her come. But if she falls, your head will be the first to adorn the walls of the Red Keep. And stop acting as if this was her idea, I know it was you who came up with it!" He walked towards Arya raising his hands to his sides in a challenging matter, "Let's go then! Let's have a fight, bring me to your arena!"

The warmth of anticipation spreads through the living forces as they watch their young champion step forward, the coldness of their fear giving way to the warmth of hope. "No need for an arena, let's do it right here." she said confidently.

Arya moves with surprising speed, the dagger in her hand a symbol of the warmth she brings to this cold world. Aegon draws his sword, the warm steel glinting in the light, the exact opposite to the icy blade that is my own.