The first Death Knight

(Thanks to Simo1784 for the monthly ticket.)

(Thanks to goktrn for the two monthly tickets.)

"Let him in, Lancel."

Watching the girl's retreating figure thoughtfully, Arthas revealed an amused smile. Clearly, he had also developed some interest in this rose from Highgarden.

If I could turn her into a banshee...

He shook his head, suppressing the rather impolite thought.

For one thing, his still-immature magic was nowhere near capable of it. For another, she bore him no grudge, nor he her. Having lived a second life, Arthas had not become so deranged that he would arbitrarily strip a little girl of her soul for no reason.

But...

Led by Lancel, Daven slowly entered the room. His steps faltered, and his lips remained bloodless. Clearly, his injuries during the day had cost him too much blood.

"Lord Arthas!"

Walking up to Arthas, he dropped to one knee. This proud lion, once so arrogant, finally bowed his head before the lion king.

"Is your wound any better?"

Arthas did not rise. Sitting squarely in his chair, legs spread, he readily accepted Daven's submission.

He knew that submission under overwhelming martial superiority generally did not lead to betrayal.

"The maester treated it, my lord."

Utterly won over by Arthas's prowess and bearing, Daven kept his head lowered, displaying great respect.

"Maester Willen said your swordsmanship was the very pinnacle of mastery. Under such demanding conditions, you managed not to damage a single organ or bone!"

"I merely lost some extra blood. A few days' rest will see me fully recovered."

At that, Daven raised his head, gazing at him with boundless fervor and worship.

Arthas knew that look all too well. When he first obtained Frostmourne and effortlessly wiped out the Scourge's insignificant undead, his soldiers had looked at him exactly as Daven did now.

It was worship of and yearning for the strong!

"Lancel, step outside for a moment. I have something important to tell Daven."

Seeing Daven's gaze, Arthas knew his plan had all but succeeded. For the sake of secrecy, he first sent away that bigmouth Lancel.

Although he did not know what Arthas intended, ever since watching him effortlessly defeat ten knights in the arena without a scratch, Lancel had obeyed his every word.

Without a single question, he obediently left the room, thoughtfully closing the door behind him and standing guard outside like a sentry.

"Daven."

Only after Lancel left did Arthas slowly rise. Looking down at Daven kneeling on the floor, he asked with seeming nonchalance:

"What do you think of my strength?"

"You're very strong!"

Daven pressed one hand to his chest, touching his still-aching wound. His mind was filled with the invincible figure on horseback from earlier that day.

"Lord Arthas, you are the bravest warrior I have ever seen!"

"With nothing but a longsword, you defeated ten charging elite Lannister knights without suffering a scratch."

"Such a feat would not be unworthy of a 'god'!"

"Hahaha!"

At Daven's fervent reply, Arthas's hearty laughter echoed through the room.

After a long while, he walked to the corner, picked up Frostmourne in one hand, and approached Daven, gently resting the sharp blade on his shoulder.

"Then do you long to become as powerful as I am?"

"Really?"

Daven looked up in astonishment. Seeing Arthas's solemn expression, which showed no sign of jest, uncertainty filled his eyes, and he hurriedly asked:

"Can I truly become as powerful as you?"

"Of course, Daven."

Faced with his doubts, Arthas answered as though it were only natural:

"As long as you wish it, I can grant you boundless power!"

"Then, Lord Arthas..."

With the chance to grow stronger right before him, Daven's gaze became even more fervent. He looked at the precious sword on his shoulder, the weapon that had effortlessly defeated all ten of them. An eerie blue light seemed to flash along its blade.

"What is the price?"

"Your soul!"

Arthas looked with satisfaction at the valiant knight before him, so desperately hungry for power. His performance in the arena had earned the Lich King's approval.

This single opportunity, purchased with magic accumulated over so many years, had originally been intended for Barristan, that aging tiger. But Daven's appearance had changed his plans.

To Arthas, an utterly loyal Lannister knight was harder to come by than an exceptionally skilled Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"My soul?"

Hearing this rather uncommon word, Daven's eyes filled with confusion.

But he did not remain silent for long, instead eagerly declaring his loyalty to Arthas:

"Lord Arthas."

"I, Daven Lannister, have long intended to pledge myself to you. Both my flesh and my soul will be at your command at any time..."

"You haven't understood me, Daven."

Before he could finish, Arthas cut him off brusquely.

He withdrew Frostmourne from Daven's shoulder and held it upright before himself, concealing his handsome face.

"It is not your allegiance that I require."

Daven stared blankly at Frostmourne in Arthas's hand, astonished to discover that a dazzling blue light had actually appeared on its broad blade!

"When I say your soul, I mean it literally-offer your soul to me!"

The moment he finished speaking, an endless chill swept over Daven.

Unlike the murderous cold in the arena, this chill was nothing but pure cold, without the slightest impurity!

Frostmourne, glowing blue, slowly lowered, gradually revealing Arthas's concealed face.

Before Daven's utterly shocked eyes, the long golden hair behind the blade, once warm and sunny, had somehow turned almost entirely pure white.

Even his blazing golden eyes, like his hair, had become almost completely snow-white, with a faint hint of the same blue light that shone on Frostmourne's blade!

"A... Arthas!"

The eerie sight instantly filled Daven's heart with boundless terror, even more deeply searing than the fear of facing death in the arena!

Watching Daven tremble uncontrollably, a trace of disappointment flashed through Arthas's eyes. He lowered Frostmourne and lightly patted Daven's shoulder, his softened tone making him seem once more like that sunny, gentle youth.

"You may leave."

With a soft sigh, Arthas turned away, dismissing him with some disappointment.

It seemed the Lich King's power was still far too terrifying... except to that utterly fanatical fellow Pike.

"No!"

A firm refusal rang out behind him. Arthas, who had expected him to leave obediently, turned in surprise, only to meet Daven's burning gaze.

He clenched his right fist and pressed it firmly against his chest, feeling the powerful beating of his heart.

"Lord Arthas, I am willing to offer you my soul!"

Daven, who had believed in the Seven since childhood, had finally witnessed godlike might today. How could he pass up this chance to serve a god in person?

"Though I do not know where you came from, from this day forward, you shall be my one true god!"

"As long as I can become stronger, I will not hesitate even to offer up my soul!"

These heartfelt words did not move Arthas. He merely continued forward, returning to his chair and slowly sitting down.

Just as Daven's heart filled with disappointment, thinking Arthas was about to abandon him, and he prepared to rise from the floor and leave, a piercing whistle cut through the air.

By the time he came to his senses, Frostmourne, blue all over, stood embedded upright in the floor before him.

"Take hold of it."

The Lich King's voice came without a trace of emotion. At the command, Daven hurriedly grasped Frostmourne's hilt in one hand, as though he had obtained a priceless treasure.

Boom!

The same pure chill as before instantly flooded his entire body. Intense pain struck, forcing even the iron-willed Daven to close his eyes and cry out.

After an unknown length of time, the icy chill vanished, followed by a powerful suction, as though something deeply important inside his body was being drawn into the blade.

It's my soul!

After another unknown span of time, Daven slowly opened his eyes, only to find that Frostmourne had somehow returned to Arthas's hand.

The blue glow on it flickered continuously, as though it were very pleased with Daven's soul.

"The pact is sealed..."

"Rise, Death Knight!"

As the words left Arthas's mouth, Daven's body involuntarily obeyed his command and rose from the floor.

"This is the consequence of offering your soul to me."

Seeing Daven's puzzled expression, Arthas explained:

"You will never be able to defy any command that comes from me!"

Only then did Daven realize what he had lost, but he felt no regret. He admired his now-powerful body with satisfaction, feeling the boundless strength within him, and knelt on one knee before the Lich King once more.

"Honored Lord Arthas."

"Your guidance shall be the direction in which I advance!"

Standing guard outside the door, Lancel listened fearfully to the sounds from within. He could not hide the worry in his eyes.

Although he knew Arthas probably would not do anything to Daven, he always felt a heart-clenching dread whenever he faced Arthas, a fear that came from the depths of his soul.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a tall figure emerged.

"Daven, how are you..."

He was just about to approach and ask after him, but upon seeing Daven's head of white hair, Lancel forcibly swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue. Nothing but shock remained in his eyes.

"I'm very well, Lancel."

"I've never felt better."

Daven turned toward Lancel with a broad grin. His eyes were still brown, but his skin, already pale from blood loss, looked even paler.

For some reason, looking into Daven's eyes, Lancel suddenly felt an urge to kneel before him immediately.

It was a primal instinct that humans displayed only when facing a creature of a higher order than themselves.

"Hey, Daven, where are you going?"

Seeing that his steps were heavy and powerful, nothing like the unsteady gait with which he had entered, Lancel felt reassured, but did not dare ask what had happened to his hair.

He merely called loudly after the receding figure.

Daven did not look back. His crisp footfalls sounded like death's knocking in the silent corridor, as though every step carried away the life around him.

The fragile land of Westeros had finally welcomed its first Death Knight.

Just as Daven's figure was about to disappear around the corner, a faint whisper sounded beside Lancel's ear:

"The North."

"Beyond the Wall!"