The air in the room went still. Roslin's body tensed for a second. She spoke in a whisper so quiet it barely carried over the sound of the fire. "Who is it?"
"Sansa Stark," Alaric said.
He expected her to flinch or pull away. Instead, Roslin let out a short, tired breath. She closed her eyes and let her full weight sink onto him, pressing her face into his neck.
"My lord... you are so cute," she murmured. He could hear a small giggle in her voice. "Are you really telling me this now? Right before a war?"
She shifted and rested her chin on his chest so she could look at him. "I grew up at the Twins. I lost count of how many stepmothers and half-siblings I have years ago. My father treats women like animals, and my brothers treat them like trophies. I've seen enough of that to last three lifetimes."
She reached up and traced his jaw with her finger.
"Thank you for telling me. Most men would have kept it a secret until I found a letter or a ribbon," she said. Her face looked calm and practical. "Actually, I was already thinking about this. You are a lot to handle, Alaric. Especially at night. I was wondering how I'd keep up with you once we settled down."
A mischievous look flashed in her eyes. "And now I find out I have a 'sister' to help. When she is tired, I can take over. When I am tired, she can handle you. I won't be mad. I know you love me. In this world, having someone who actually cares about me is enough."
Alaric didn't say anything. He pulled her up and kissed her again. This kiss was deeper and longer than the last, sealing their new agreement. When they finally stopped to breathe, Roslin let out a long sigh. She tucked her head back onto his chest and closed her eyes.
...
The heavy iron gates of Winterfell groaned as they swung open. Twelve thousand men began to move. The sound of boots and horse hooves echoed off the stone walls. The dawn sky was a pale, bruised purple. It was so cold that the breath of men and horses turned into thick white mist.
Alaric stood on a wooden platform near the main gate. His hand rested on the handle of his sword, The Red Eclipse. Beside him, Roslin Frey held her head high against the biting Northern wind, showing no traces of the broken girl who had fled the Twins. She was elegantly clad in the Noble Lady's Winter Set.
Bran Stark stood near them on his own two legs. He watched the soldiers move with a quiet, sharp intensity.
Maester Luwin, his chain clinking as he wrung his hands, his face etched with the worry of a man who had seen too many wars.
Ser Rodrik Cassel, his great white whiskers stiff with frost, standing as a pillar of grim duty.
Alaric looked over the sea of steel. He turned toward the shadows beneath the gatehouse where Dae stood. The demon looked like a simple servant, but Alaric knew the truth.
"The castle is yours, Dae," Alaric said. "Watch the minds of every servant. If anyone even whispers about betrayal, make sure they never wake up again."
"As you command, Master," Dae replied. His dark eyes caught the morning light for a second before he stepped back into the shadows.
Alaric stepped to the edge of the platform. He raised his voice so it carried across the entire courtyard.
"They think we are a pack of leaderless dogs!" Alaric roared. He pointed a metal-gloved hand toward the south. "They arrested Lord Eddard and they tried to break Robb Stark. They thought the North would crumble! But look around you! The Lannisters sent a letter asking us to surrender, and we are answering with twelve thousand blades!"
He scanned the faces of the men. "We march for the Neck! We march for the Riverlands! If they do not give us back our Lord, we will burn their city until only ash remains!"
The soldiers let out a deafening roar. "THE NORTH! ALARIC! THE NORTH!"
Alaric climbed down from the platform and walked to his warhorse. Since Roslin wasn't used to the rough riding style of the North, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the saddle first. He climbed up behind her, using his body to block the freezing wind.
Roslin leaned back against his chest. She gripped the front of the saddle as he wrapped his heavy, fur-lined cloak around both of them.
"Comfortable, Rose?" he whispered in her ear.
she nodded silently as she leaned into him.
Alaric signaled the front of the line. The long column of men began to move. A river of grey and steel flowed out of the gates and onto the Kingsroad. Behind them, Winterfell turned into a dark shape against the rising sun.
The Kingsroad was a mess of mud and packed snow under the weight of twelve thousand soldiers. The air was sharp and bit at any bare skin, but inside Alaric's heavy fur cloak, it stayed warm.
Roslin shifted against his chest. Her small hands gripped the leather reins just above his own gloved hands. The steady swaying of the horse had put her into a light sleep, her head tucked firmly under his chin.
Alaric kept his eyes on the horizon, but his mind was moving through the blue, glowing screens of the System.
He scrolled past the [Unit Management] tab, ignoring the army's supplies for a moment, and opened the [Mission Log]. A entry pulsed with a faint gold light.
[Optional Sub-Mission: The Matriarch's Submission]
Objective: Secure a night of intimacy with Catelyn Stark.
Difficulty: High (Requires breaking years of honor and grief).
Reward: +2,000 Monarch Points (MP).
Status: Active.
Alaric stared at the text floating against the grey sky.
The prompt was clear. He knew Catelyn was waiting for the army at Moat Cailin. She was a woman driven by her love for her children and her fear for her husband—powerful levers that he could pull.
He looked down at the sleeping Roslin, then back at the golden text. Two thousand points was a massive reward. It was enough to buy high-tier skills or more Blood Knights.
The System didn't care about the morality of the North or the vows of a Lady. It only cared about power and dominance.