Winterfell's tall stone gates stood just ahead. After weeks on the road, they were finally there. The path was jammed with wagons full of grain, merchants huddled in coats, and trappers hauling piles of fur.
Alaric nudged his horse toward the entrance. His two wolves trotted beside him. People noticed him coming and stepped out of the way, clearing a path through the crowd. Up on the wall, the guards gripped their spears and watched him closely.
A guard named Hullen stepped out to block the way. He was an older man who had seen Alaric grow up. He squinted through the cold air, his breath turning to mist.
"Hold it," Hullen called out. He looked Alaric up and down, confused. "Alaric Thorne? We heard you went south with Lord Stark. Aren't you supposed to be in King's Landing?."
"I didn't like the capital, Hullen," Alaric said.
Hullen looked past Alaric to the woman sitting in front of him on the saddle. Roslin was wrapped tight in a thick fur cloak, her face hidden by a hood. Only her eyes showed, darting nervously between the guards and their armor.
"And who's she?" Hullen asked. "Did Lord Stark send you back with a wife, or did you steal a lady from a stable down south?"
"I saved her from a man on the road," Alaric said. He didn't look like he wanted to be questioned.
"She has nowhere else to go. She's with me now."
Roslin nodded quickly. Her fingers tightened around the silver-wrapped flower hidden under her cloak. The guards barely looked at her; to them, she was just girl Alaric had picked up off the road.
"Why are you back, anyway?" another guard asked, leaning on his spear. "Winterfell is crowded. Lord Robb has enough to deal with without people showing up uninvited."
"I'm here on Lord Eddard's orders," Alaric said, his face going stern. "I have a message for Robb Stark. It's urgent, and it's for his eyes only."
The mood changed the moment he mentioned Lord Eddard. Hullen turned and signaled the men at the gate. "Open the wicket! Let him in."
The heavy gates groaned as they moved. Hullen stepped back to let them pass. "Take him to the Great Hall," he told one of his men. "Lord Robb is with the Master-at-Arms."
Alaric didn't wait. He nudged his horse forward, and its hooves clattered loudly against the stone floor of the courtyard. Rivy and Livy followed silently behind, their golden eyes watching everything.
Roslin shivered, though it wasn't just the cold. The massive grey towers felt like they were leaning over her. "Is this it?" she whispered against Alaric's chest.
"This is the heart of the North," Alaric said.
A young steward stepped up to take the horse's reins. Alaric hopped down and grabbed Roslin by the waist, lifting her easily to the ground. She wobbled on her feet, looking small against the massive stone walls, and stayed right at his side.
"Follow me," the guard said, heading toward the Great Hall. "Lord Robb doesn't like to be kept waiting."
They walked inside. The air in the hall smelled of old wood and roasted meat. Alaric stopped at the heavy oak doors and looked down at Roslin.
"Wait here," he said.
Roslin looked up at the high ceiling. She nodded and sat on a stone bench by the wall, pulling her new fur cloak tight. Alaric turned and walked into the hall alone.
Inside, the room was dim and lit by torches. Robb Stark stood at a table covered in maps. He looked older and more tired than before. Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master-at-Arms, stood next to him. They were talking in low voices.
"Lord Robb," the guard called out. "Alaric Thorne is back from the south. He says he has a message from your father."
Robb's head snapped up. He stared at Alaric, his eyes sharp. He didn't bother with a greeting; seeing Alaric back in Winterfell meant something was wrong.
"Alaric," Robb said, stepping away from the table. His voice was heavy. "If my father sent you all this way instead of a raven, the news must be bad."
Alaric walked forward. He seemed different—harder and more serious than the ward Robb remembered. He reached into his leather vest and pulled out a piece of parchment. The Stark wolf seal was still unbroken. He slid the letter across the map table.
"Ravens can be shot down," Alaric said. "Lord Stark wanted this in your hands. He couldn't risk the Lannisters seeing it."
Robb snapped the wax seal and flattened the paper. His mouth set into a hard, thin line as he read his father's rushed handwriting. Ser Rodrik leaned in close, his white whiskers twitching as he followed the lines.
"He wants the guards doubled at the river," Robb whispered, looking up at Alaric. "He's telling the smiths to start making armor. He writes like war is already here."
Alaric looked at him, deadpan. No kidding, Robb.
In his head, Alaric couldn't believe the Starks were still acting surprised. It was simple: his mother had kidnapped or arrested the Queen's brother. You don't do that and expect a peaceful Sunday. Arresting Tyrion Lannister was like pouring oil on a woodpile and waiting for a match to drop. Of course the war was already here.
"In the capital, it is," Alaric said.
Robb folded the letter. He looked at Alaric's new sword and the way he carried himself. "You did well getting this here so fast. Go find the steward. He'll get you settled in the guest wing."
Alaric nodded and walked out of the hall. He found Roslin exactly where he had left her. She was sitting on the bench, one hand resting on the head of a Rivy.
"Is it finished?" she asked softly.
"For now," Alaric said. He helped her up from the bench. "Let's find a bed."
Roslin reached out and gripped his arm. She kept her head down, her chin tucked into her fur collar as they walked through the cold stone hallways.
A steward led them through the winding corridors. The air got warmer as they moved deeper into the guest wing. Roslin held onto Alaric's arm tightly, glancing nervously at the old tapestries and the stone wolves carved into the walls. The giant fortress seemed to weigh on her, but she stayed close to Alaric.
They reached their room, and the steward left. Alaric shut the heavy oak door, cutting off the draft from the hallway. The room smelled of pine and cedar, heated by a crackling fire in the hearth.
Roslin finally pushed back her hood. Her face was red from the heat of the fire. She stood in the middle of the rug and stared at the massive bed piled high with wool and thick furs. She looked at the bed, then back at Alaric, looking completely exhausted.
Roslin walked to the bed with shaky steps. She reached into her cloak and pulled out the blue flower Alaric had preserved for her. She placed it carefully on the bedside table. The petals looked bright and alive against the grey stone. She sank into the thick furs, her body finally giving in to how tired she was.
But as soon as she felt the warmth of the bed, she bolted upright. Her face turned bright red with embarrassment. She stood up quickly and tried to smooth out her traveling clothes with shaking hands. She walked over to Alaric, keeping her head down.
"Forgive me, My Lord," she whispered. "I didn't even help you get settled. I went straight to the bed like a spoiled child. I should be serving you, not resting while you're still standing."