As he draped the silver chain around her, his knuckles brushed the back of her neck. The touch sent a jolt through her, making her toes curl inside her new boots. She stood paralyzed, her heart drumming against her ribs, as she felt the cool, pulsing weight of the stone settle against her chest.
"There," Alaric murmured, his voice so close to her ear that it made her shiver.
Roslin didn't move for a long time. Finally, she looked up, her face a bright crimson. "Thank you... My Lord," she whispered. She touched the Necklace with trembling fingers. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. But..."
She bit her lip, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Is it... is it very expensive?"
Alaric looked down at her, a ghost of a smirk on his face. He traced her jaw with his thumb once before letting go. "Expensive?" he repeated with a rough, amused huff.
Roslin nodded. "My father always talked about the cost of things. He said jewelry was just gold moved from a vault to a neck. I wouldn't want to lose something that cost you a lot of gold."
Alaric let out a short, dry sound that was almost a laugh. He leaned down, his gaze locking onto hers. "for the cost? That necklace is worth enough to buy the Twins a hundred times over."
Roslin's mouth fell open. "A hundred... a hundred Twins?" she gasped, her head spinning. To her, the Twins were the center of the power. "My Lord, I—I can't wear this! If I lost it, or if someone saw—"
"You won't lose it," Alaric interrupted, his voice turning into an iron command. He walked toward the horse, ending the talk. "And no one will take it. It belongs to you now. You are with me."
He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her easily onto the horse before jumping up behind her. His chest pressed against her back, acting like a wall of heat against the freezing air.
"Hold on," he muttered.
With a sharp kick, the horse surged forward. Ahead of them, the two massive wolves bounded into the woods, their black fur disappearing among the trees like ghosts. They were deep in the North now. The air was getting thinner, the trees taller.
Current MP: 7,374
The horse's hooves drummed against the frozen ground as they rode deeper into the woods. Roslin sat tucked against Alaric's chest. Her fingers traced the cool stone of the necklace he had given her. It was worth more than her father's entire castle, and the thought made her head spin.
For days, she had kept her questions hidden. But now, she couldn't stay silent.
"My Lord?" she asked softly.
"Speak," Alaric replied. His eyes never stopped moving, watching the trees where the black wolves ran like shadows.
"Why are we going to Winterfell?" she asked, looking up at his sharp jaw. "You ride with such purpose. What is there for a man like you with the Starks?"
Alaric didn't look down. "I have a message to deliver. Orders from Lord Eddard in the South. His son needs to see them immediately."
Roslin went quiet, but her mind was racing. A message? She looked at the giant wolves that obeyed his every thought. She looked at her own clothes, which were finer than anything a Queen would wear. She felt the strange, magical heat of the necklace.
A man who can pull silver from the air does not ride through the snow just to deliver a letter, she thought.
She began to imagine him riding through the gates of Winterfell—not as a messenger, but as a king. She saw him walking into the Great Hall while his wolves tore through the guards. Was he going there to help the Starks, or to take the North for himself?
"You're thinking too much, Roslin," Alaric's voice rumbled against her back. "I can feel your heart racing."
Roslin jumped, her face turning red. "I... I was only wondering."
The horse slowed to a walk as they passed a frozen lake. The ice looked like a jagged silver mirror. Roslin looked toward the shore and saw something small.
A single, bright blue flower was blooming near the frozen rocks. It was delicate and beautiful, standing all alone in the bitter cold. Roslin let out a tiny sigh, but she didn't say anything. She didn't want to slow him down.
Suddenly, the horse stopped.
"My Lord?" Roslin asked, her heart jumping. "Is something wrong?"
Alaric didn't answer. He followed her gaze to the blue flower. "Do you want it?" he asked.
Roslin looked at her hands. "It's beautiful. But we shouldn't stop. If you pick it, the cold will kill it. It will die in my hand before we even set up camp."
"It will not die for you," Alaric said.
He hopped down from the horse. He walked to the water's edge and knelt. As he reached out, a faint shimmer came from his fingers, though Roslin couldn't see it. He asked system to freeze the flower in time so it would never wither which surprisingly only costed 10 MP.
He picked it and walked back, handing it up to her. The petals felt warm and full of life.
"Is it beautiful?" he asked, looking up at her.
Roslin took it with shaking fingers. The flower stayed bright and fresh, even in the freezing wind. "It is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, My Lord."
Alaric climbed back into the saddle. He wrapped his arms around her to grab the reins, pulling her close to his warmth again. He leaned in near her ear.
"Not more than you," he said quietly.
The words were simple, but they hit Roslin hard. Her face turned bright red. She buried her face in her furs, clutching the flower to her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she felt a deep, new love for the man who held her.
"Thank you," she whispered.
...
Alaric turned his attention back to the snowy horizon. The towering, grey stone walls of Winterfell were finally coming into view, looming like a jagged crown against the pale sky.
His wolves had been haunting the treeline and clearing the path—sensed his gaze. With a simple mental command, Alaric initiated their transformation.
As they ran, their massive, terrifying frames began to ripple and fold inward. The dark fur seemed to pull tight, and their bones shifted with audible, wet snaps that defied the laws of nature. Within seconds, the two monstrous shadows had shrunk, their bulk vanishing until they were the size of ordinary, albeit exceptionally lean, timber wolves.
Roslin, who had been watching them from the safety of Alaric's arms, let out a soft gasp. Her eyes widened, darting from the now-modest wolves back up to Alaric's calm face. She shifted, her breath hitching as she parted her lips to let out a barrage of questions.
"How..."
Before she could finish, Alaric leaned forward. He pressed a gloved finger gently against her lips.
"Later," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "We are almost at the entrance. For now, they are just loyal hounds. Nothing more."
Roslin swallowed hard, nodding slowly against his hand. She looked toward the Great Gate of Winterfell, where the Stark banners flickered in the wind.