Roslin ate the first two bars with a quietly, the sugar blooming through her system and chasing away the last of the cold dread that had settled in her bones.
As she reached the third bar, she paused. Her fingers traced the crinkled silver foil, and she looked up at Alaric.
She nudged him gently with her shoulder, holding the final chocolate bar out toward him.
"My Lord?" she whispered, her voice finally steady. "You should have this one. You... you did all the work. The riding, the fire... everything."
Alaric glanced down at the small hand offering him the ration. A faint, amused smile appeared on his face. "I don't need it, Roslin... i am full."
"Please," she insisted, her eyes wide and pleading, a soft pink flush returning to her cheeks. "It would make me feel better if you took it."
Alaric looked at her for a long moment, seeing the desperate need in her eyes to be useful—to be more than just a burden he was hauling through the snow. He reached out and took the bar, his fingers brushing against hers.
"As you wish," he muttered. He unwrapped it and took a bite, the rich flavor a stark contrast to the iron-scented air.
Roslin beamed, a small but genuine smile that transformed her weary face. She leaned back against him, her head finding its place on his shoulder once more. "Is it good, My Lord?"
"It is," he replied, his voice a low rumble.
"I didn't think I would ever taste anything like that again," she said softly, watching the wolves pace the perimeter. "I thought... well, I thought a lot of things. But I'm glad I'm here. With you. Even if it is cold."
She reached out and shyly took his free hand, her small, pale fingers intertwining with his. She squeezed gently, as if confirming he was still there, still real.
"Thank you, My Lord. For not leaving me in the mud."
Alaric squeezed her hand back, his grip firm and possessive. He looked toward the north, where the silhouette of the wolf-woods began to thicken.
"The sun is up. We have miles to cover before the next frost sets in."
Alaric's gaze drifted from the horizon down to the pile of ruined silk nearby. The dress was a tragedy of fashion—shredded, stained with road filth, and caked with the dried evidence of their night in the hollow.
Even the System's cleaning protocol couldn't fix the structural damage; the lace was torn to ribbons and the bodice was beyond repair.
He looked back at Roslin, who was still dwarfed by his massive, fur-lined traveling cloak. She looked adorable, certainly, but she also looked like a refugee.
I cannot ride through the gates of Winterfell with a Frey daughter wrapped in nothing but my spare pelt,
Alaric thought, his brow furrowing.
He checked his surroundings. They were still deep in the foothills, miles from any reputable seamstress or trade post. He needed a solution that didn't involve raiding a village.
"Roslin," he said, standing up and pulling her gently to her feet. She wobbled a little, still feeling sore, and stayed steady by grabbing his arm. "Those clothes are ruined. You can't wear them anymore, and you definitely can't walk into a Great House wrapped in a blanket."
Roslin looked down at her torn, muddy skirts and felt a wave of shame. "I... I know. But I don't have anything else to wear."
Alaric knew there was only one way to get her what she needed. He looked inward, calling up the glowing blue System screen.
System. Search: Noble Northern clothes. Warm, tough, and fitting for a lady.
The screen scrolled through a list before stopping on a perfect set.
[Item: Winterrose Traveling Outfit]
Description: Heavy layers for the cold North. Includes a leather corset, wool trousers, a silk shirt, and a fur cloak. Cost: 150 MP.
Buy, Alaric commanded.
He didn't want the clothes to just appear out of thin air and scare her. He stepped over to his horse's saddlebags, using his back to block her view. With a faint shimmer she couldn't see, the heavy fabrics appeared inside the bag.
He reached in and pulled out a bundle of dark grey and deep blue cloth, the silver stitching shining in the light. He turned back and draped them over his arm.
"Here," he said, handing them to her. "Put these on. They're made for the North. They'll keep you warmer."
Roslin's eyes went wide as she touched the soft wool and smooth leather. "Where... where did these come from, My Lord? You didn't have these yesterday."
Alaric gave her a small, mysterious smile that made her heart skip a beat.
"I got them while you were sleeping," he lied smoothly. "Maybe I found a merchant in the night, or maybe the North just takes care of the people it wants to keep."
Roslin took the clothes with shaking hands. She looked at his face, searching for the truth, but she couldn't find it. Still, the warmth of the fabric felt too good to argue with.
While she changed behind the shelter of a frost-covered rock, Alaric stood with his back turned, his gaze sweeping the iron-grey horizon. When she finally stepped back into the clearing, the transformation was absolute.
The deep blue and charcoal grey of the Winterrose Traveling Garb clung to her frame, the reinforced leather corset and thick fur mantle making her look less like a fugitive and more like a high-born daughter of the North.
Alaric turned, his eyes taking in the way the dark fur framed her pale face. "You look as you were meant to," he said, his voice a low, rough rasp.
"You look... good, Roslin."
A soft, pink flush crept onto her cheeks. A small, real smile finally reached her eyes as she smoothed out the heavy skirts. "Thank you, My Lord," she breathed.
"I have one more thing for you," Alaric added. He reached into his gear and, with a faint shimmer she couldn't see, pulled out a light silver chain. On it hung a pendant carved from a dark, ancient stone that seemed to pulse with a soft light.
As he stepped closer to put the Necklace of Vigor around her neck, the System screen flickered in his vision:
[Item: Necklace of Vigor]
Health: Immune to all natural diseases and poisons.
Protection: If the wearer faces a deadly blow, the necklace will shatter to form a shield, saving their life.
Alaric stepped into her space, bringing the scent of leather, pine, and lavender with him. Roslin went still, her breath catching as his large hands reached for her neck. She felt her face go hot with shyness and looked down at the frost on the grass.