Turk
When his hand wrapped around the old root, he felt nothing except the coldness of the dead tree. He didn't know when, or how, he'd come to be standing outside of a massive stone archway surrounded by lush greenery and warm, humid air. As if trying to recall a dream, he simply accepted that he was no longer in Westeros. He felt the familiar eastern heat on his skin and exhaled slowly, calming his frazzled nerves. He glanced around and saw that the stone archway was one of many in a straight line. He looked up and saw that it was an aqueduct. As he stared up at it, a dragon flew overhead, crying a terrifying sound that echoed through the air. He followed it with his eyes as it flew beyond the aqueduct and into the city built of gray stones. It was then that he noticed the young man standing before him, wrapped in a black cloak made of feathers.
"Welcome, old friend," the young man greeted him in a familiar voice. Turk couldn't stop himself from smiling.
"You're back," he mused gratefully. "I had thought you would not come." The Raven stared him down, his face a neutral expression. He looked somewhere between extremely focused and entirely lost in thought.
"Do you know where this is?" the Raven asked. Turk shook his head. "Valyria." Turk looked back on the road they stood on, lined with lush vegetation. He took a few steps on the cobblestones, peering away from the city and towards the snow-capped hills where the road wound away and out of view. A dark line of clouds hung over the horizon, blocking any further view. Turk felt the road vibrating and turned around to see a line of infantry marching towards them, armored in shining metal with shields and spears held high. Their feet stomped in unison, one after the next. Hundreds of them. Above, the dragon flew ahead, leading them onward. Atop the dragon, a silver-haired woman with a spear in her hand, gleaming in the sun, lead the troops.
"When is this?" Turk asked, realizing he had stepped back in time.
"Ten thousand years ago," the Raven answered calmly. "Long before the Doom overtook this land. Before the people here fled to Westeros," he explained. He raised one of his arms, his finger outstretched towards the bend in the road. "You must go with them and see," he urged. Turk grimaced and began walking ahead of the approaching army.
As he walked down the road, he felt himself suddenly cool off – as if winter were waiting just beyond the hill. He looked back for the Raven but saw that his mystical companion had vanished – only the soldiers marched behind him. He frowned and kept walking. The rise next to him was covered in trees and bushes, blocking his view beyond. Before he could approach to see, the dragon landed ahead, roaring loudly. The woman on top was focused on something just out of his view.
When he finally rounded the corner, he saw the wall of undead standing perfectly still. They blocked the road and filled out into the trees and forests, now covered in frost. A cold burst of wind hit him as he gasped. This army was massive – far larger than the force he'd witnessed at Dragonstone. It stretched in every direction, over the hills and through the frozen trees – their leaves still green under the ice as if flash-frozen. The woman dismounted from her dragon and approached them slowly, her dragon watching with apprehension. She stopped mere inches before the definite line in the world where the frost abruptly ended. The undead made no motion. She planted the butt of her spear into the stones at her feet, never taking her gaze from them.
Turk watched as the crowd of dead slowly parted down the center and he approached from atop his horse. His gaze was icy blue, with matching skin. His complexion was smooth and his armor simple – no more than frozen leather strips molded to his frame. A blade of ice hung from the horse as he cleared his troops and came to the front to meet the woman face to face. Turk gulped as he felt fear rise from within. The horse stopped, and Turk could see that the animal was itself a corpse. As the leader approached the woman, she waved off the dragon, sending it flying through the air. The Night King didn't seem to notice or care. He simply stared her down, stopping inches away from where the frost ended.
"This is the pivotal moment," the Raven's voice suddenly came from directly next to him. Turk flinched as he realized that he'd returned. As he looked on, his heart racing, the living army approached, passing the two of them by as if they weren't there. They lined up behind the woman and presented their spears in a defensive stance. The two armies stood in silence, their leaders' eyes transfixed on one another. The Raven stepped forward, walking to the front of the line of soldiers. Turk slowly followed. As they approached, the Night King turned his head and looked directly at them.
"He sees us," Turk whispered. The Raven ignored him and stopped a few feet away. The Night King's empty expression slowly turned into the most subtle of smiles before he turned back to the woman. She drew an elegant dagger from her side and plunged it into the Night King without warning, turning his body into tiny pieces of ice that drifted away in the wind. The corpses dropped instantly – every last one. The woman stepped forward into the small pile of ice, bending down and retrieving the small, black object left behind. As she examined it, the clouds in the distance seemed to disperse and the cold winds vanished, leaving behind only the warmth of the sun radiating off of his face.