Chapter 47: A GAME OF THRONES: Part 6.1
"Stop," I said, holding up a hand to pause Roberta.
I could feel them—the wights. Moving in large numbers.
Like they were following orders.
My eyes shifted to the mountain ahead.
We'd already hunted toward the west. When we couldn't find any more there, we came east. And yeah, just like we figured, there were plenty. Too many.
"Do you feel like it's snowing more than before?" she asked, glancing around, her breath fogging in the freezing air. The temperature had definitely dropped.
"It is," I replied, my voice steady. "Looks like the Night King's close."
Her eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on Caliburn.
I already told her about that.
I nodded toward the height. "Let's head that way," I said, already moving.
That's where I feel it—most of them. A lot of them.
It took a while to climb, longer than I wanted, especially since she was with me. Roberta was holding her own, but I had to adjust my pace.
When we finally reached the top, I motioned for her to keep quiet, pressing a finger to my lips. She nodded, and we crouched low.
We both looked down.
In the center of an icy clearing, a group of men huddled together. Wights surrounded them, forming a wide, unmoving ring.
"It's Jon Snow's party," I muttered.
Looks like the end is near.
"Why aren't they attacking?" she whispered, her breath fogging in the cold air.
"It's strange," she added, her voice barely audible but clear for me. "Seeing the dead just... waiting."
"Look closer," I said, pointing toward the frozen water.
Her eyes followed my hand. The glint of half-frozen ice and the sound of water beneath it clicked into place.
"They'll drown if they move," I explained.
She nodded slowly, her brows furrowing. "So, they're stuck?"
"For now," I said, my gaze scanning the distance.
The cold seemed heavier, sharper.
The Night King can't be seen but he will be here soon.
"They seem to have captured one," Roberta said, pointing to the wight Jon's group had restrained. The creature thrashed, its movements ceaseless.
"It's a proof"
"Proof?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not everyone believes the dead are marching,"
I continued, "Some still think it's just a fairy tale."
Roberta glanced at the restrained wight, its jerky, unnatural movements. "Hard to ignore something like that."
"People believe what they want," I said, my voice cold. "Seeing is the only way to convince them. That's why they're here, risking everything."
Her eyes shifted back to Jon Snow's group. "They're desperate."
"Desperate times, desperate measures," I replied. "They know what's coming. The question is—will anyone else believe it in time?"
"That's why they need to show the dead to unite the living," I mutters, enough to be heard by her.
"Will you help them?" she asked, her eyes fixed on me, like she was trying to see through me, trying to dig into something deeper.
"Do you think I can?" I asked, my voice calm but edged. "Go through all those wights and take them out?"
She didn't answer.
I continued, my tone sharper. "Or do you think I should? Gamble my life, risk it all? Maybe in seconds, the Night King himself shows up. For someone I barely even know."
"In four months, I'll be gone," I said, my voice flat. "What happens to this world after that—should I even care?"
It wasn't like I was asking her. These questions? They were for me.
Should I save them?
They're important for the plot, sure.
But do I care about it?
Honestly, no.
I repeated the words I always told myself, the ones that kept me grounded, kept me in control.
I'm not a hero. I'm not a villain either. I'm an anti-hero.
Roberta's gaze lingered on me, like she was trying to read something in my face. But I ignored it.
A hero does the right thing—whether it's for the majority or the minority. It depends on the situation, right?
But I'm can't be that person. Not anymore.
The trauma is still there. That month in the lab. The memories. The feelings. They're still buried inside me, no matter how much I try to push them down.
I can't be the good guy. Not the kind who does things for others. Not someone like Spider-Man.
It's the Jason template that keeps me stable.
I didn't just gain skills ,I gained his traits, his willpower.
That's why I'm not broken. That's why I'm still in control.
Otherwise, there would've been a JOKER in Marvel.
That's why I know I'll save them. Not because I care about them, but because if I don't, the majority might suffer
The hero in the anti-hero is not for show.
"Let's save them," I said, surprising her.
"Why the change of heart?" she asked, her brow furrowed as she studied me.
I shrugged, keeping my tone casual. "I just don't want to rely on fate."
On other side
"Do you think we'll make it out alive, Thoros?" Sandor asked, his eyes scanning the growing number of the dead.
Thoros, who had been quietly watching, spoke up then, his voice calm yet firm. "The Lord of Light has his plan for all of us. Whether we live or die, it's not our choice. But he has spared us for a reason."
"Why ask? Afraid of death?" Beric shot back, standing next to Jon, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Yes," Sandor growled, his voice thick with anger. "I still have some fuckers to kill." Vengeance burned in his eyes—he would not leave Gregor alive.
Jon nodded, his jaw tight. "Just hope Gendry gets to the castle safely."
"He should be fine," Tormund chimed in. "He's probably already halfway there."
"Don't you have more of those grenades?" Jorah asked, glancing at Tormund.
He saw how good they are.
"Only ten left," Tormund replied grimly, "in case the water freezes before help arrives." He'd used them to thin the wights before, but now they were running out.
"How did you get those?" The Hound's voice came again . He, like everyone else, was curious.
Tormund looked over at him with a smirk. "Half a month ago, a bitch and a fucker came. Traded 'em for coming here."
"Someone else came here too," Beric said, his voice low as he watched the growing horde.
"Yeah, they were the biggest fools until you all came," Tormund said,
Jon didn't bite at the teasing. "Why did they come?"
"The man said it was for survival," Tormund answered simply, his eyes scanning the dead.
"Surviving with the dead," Sandor muttered darkly, shaking his head. "That's a real fucking choice."
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