Hollow Crown ↬ Daenerys Targaryen

31

A frustrated shout escapes Percy's dry and bloody lips as he thrusts his spear down again, the weapon narrowly missing impact as the Night King dodges his assult. The creature, for some odd reason, has been entirely defensive the entire fight.

Maneuvering in a way that makes it impossible for him to get a hit in, without the proper time to calculate his next move.

Percy knows it's likely to tire him out, but his mind and body run solely on adrenaline and rage, not bothering to slow down and wait for the Undead King to attack him.

The cold blue orbs stare at him as he moves, almost mocking the way his frustration grows each time his attack misses. Only fueling the Lannister's anger.

"Fight back!"

Only feet away, Theon struggles to provoke one of the White Walkers, failing much the same, as they seem intent on staying out of it.

Percy stumbles after another failed strike, and despite his anger encouraging him to try again, he stays in place. Theon falls towards him a moment later, and he catches him before the man hits the ground.

"Why aren't they attacking?"

"I don't know. They're waiting for something, they have to be. But what?"

A cold feeling of dread, the same one that's been nestled in his gut for hours, spikes with his adrenaline. Snippets of the cave flash across his vision - the manner in which the Night King held himself patiently, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Exactly as he's doing now. Despite his anger, he forces himself to push down some of his emotions, a distraction unacceptable in his current position.

He releases a calming breath - which escapes in the form of shaky pants - willing his mind to ignore the adrenaline pumping through his blood. His eyes narrow as he stands still, zeroing first onto the undead general and analyzing his stoic stance, before surveying over the white walkers.

A minor detail, something he would have missed had he not focused, catches his eye as he does so. Contrasting the Night King's almost careless carriage, his right-hand minions seem much more alert. Their weapons are all clutched in their hands firmly, eyes twitching every few seconds as they closely watch the two men...almost as if waiting-

His eyes widen, breath hitching entirely as his heart begins hammering against his chest. Panic floods his body in one fell swoop, adrenaline being heightened by the hysteria that accompanies his realization. They're not waiting for their orders, they already have them.

He doesn't get the chance to open his mouth to warn Theon before a spear is flying in their direction, Percy just barely maneuvering out of the way as the weapon grazes past the Greyjoy's body with deadly intent.

Almost as if a switch had been flipped in the creature's mind, the Night King turns his head the slightest bit in the direction of the White Walkers. In a second, Percy watches as all six of them unsheathe their weapons, his eyes widening in alarm as they approach at once.

Neither man has time to think before they're dodging the first onslaught of attacks from the White Walkers. Blades swing left and right, steel clashing with ice, the living battling the dead. Fate being tested with each collision of their blades.

The piercing sapphire of the undead minion's eyes never seem to break contact with their own. Percy's not even sure if it's tactic or subconscious, if the white walkers are intentionally attempting to throw him off his game. Or if their soulless selves are merely staring into oblivion as they're controlled.