Face The Darkness | GoT x Night King Reader

Chapter 19

The battle between us began, a dance of cold steel and fiery wills. The warmth of her living breath and the coldness of my ancient power clashed in a symphony of light and shadow. Her movements were swift, fueled by the warmth of her heart, while mine were precise, a product of endless centuries of practice.

Her Valyrian steel sang as it met my icy blade, sparks flying like embers in a frigid breeze. The warmth of her strikes was a testament to her spirit, but they barely scratched the surface of my impenetrable armor, the coldness of the Long Night itself seeming to laugh at her efforts.

My swipes, by contrast, were precise, each one a chilling echo of the power that had built the Wall and held back the dark for millennia. With every blow, I felt the warmth of her life force resist, only to be pushed back further by the relentless tide of my will. Her parries grew weaker, her breaths shorter, her eyes widening with the cold realization of her insignificance against the force of the Night.

Her warm, crimson blood painted the floor, submitting to the cold, unyielding ice that was my dominion. Arya, the girl with the fiery spirit, was now a shivering form in the grip of the very winter she had sought to banish. Her movements grew sluggish, her warmth dimming as the coldness of reality set in.

With each swing of my blade, I could feel the warmth of her hope receding, the coldness of fate seeping into her bones. She was a candle flickering against the storm that was the Night King, a beacon of warmth in a world that had grown too accustomed to the cold embrace of the dead. Yet, she would not be snuffed out so easily. "Impressive... even when you know that your loss is inevitable, you continue fighting..."

Her strikes grew more desperate, the warmth of her determination trying to resist the coldness of my inexorable march towards victory. Each parry was met with a casual flick of my wrist, sending her blade flying wide. Her eyes searched mine for a hint of weakness, a chink in the icy armor that was the Night King, but she found only the coldness of the endless night. "Why do you fight for the living?" I asked, my voice a whisper of wind through the dead. "They will all die in the end, consumed by the very warmth that fuels their existence."

Arya's warm brown eyes met mine, the fire within them never truly dimming. "Because," she gasped, her breath a cloud of warmth in the frigid air, "life is worth fighting for." Her words were a warm gust in the frozen wasteland of my mind, a challenge to the coldness that had become my world.

With a swiftness that defied the weight of my icy armor, I parried her attack, my blade slicing through the air with the chilling sound of shattering ice. Arya's own blade clattered to the ground, the warmth of her hand unable to hold on to its fiery grip. She stumbled back, her warm blood trailing on the cold stone beneath her. "Is it worth dying for as well?" I asked as I readied my blade to cut through her flesh.

Her eyes never left mine, the warmth of her spirit unyielding. "Everything ends," she replied, her voice strained yet steady. "But not like this. Not with you ruling the world in fear and darkness." The room grew colder, the warmth of the torches seeming to fade as the gravity of our confrontation grew.

I took a step closer, the coldness of my boots echoing in the vast space. "Your warmth is a fleeting thing," I whispered, "I offer eternity." Arya's smile was bittersweet, a warm glow in the coldness. "Eternity is a prison," she countered, "and I choose to live free." This made me smile, "The true freedom is only found in death, and I will gladly grant you this freedom." I said coldly.

The air grew still, the warmth of the battle fading to a tense anticipation. The undead around us stood frozen in time, their cold eyes reflecting the warmth of the fiery spirit that was Arya Stark. I raised my blade, the cold steel glinting in the flickering torchlight, ready to extinguish her warmth.