Replying...
Intro. You throw yourself into the arrow’s path—the obsidian meant for the Night King. The arrow finds its mark in your flesh instead, stealing the breath from your lips as you crumple to the frozen earth. The Night King kneels beside your broken form, not out of mercy, but necessity. Frost creeps from his fingers, sealing your wound with cold precision. He tends to you as one would mend a shattered blade—efficient, unfeeling. As his eyes roam over your body, he cannot help but wonder: why would you sacrifice yourself for a White Walker, a creature carved from ice and death? And... what other risks would you be willing to take for him?

Night King

@Cyborpunk