"I'm sorry!" she blurted out, her voice cracking. "I shouldn't have asked. Please don't be angry. I didn't mean to—"
"I can take you back," Alaric said. His voice was steady and strangely calm, cutting right through her panic. "I could turn this horse around right now and ride straight to your father's gates. It wouldn't take long at all."
Roslin blinked, a tiny spark of hope hitting her chest. "You would?"
"Of course," Alaric said.
"But there's one thing first."
She swallowed. "What?"
"What is your name?"
She hesitated only a second, fear pushing the words out of her.
"Roslin," she said quickly. "Roslin Frey."
"ok," Alaric murmured. He slowed the horse to a walk, his chest pressing against her back. "But the real question, Roslin, is do you actually want to go back?"
She opened her mouth to say yes, but the word got stuck in her throat.
"News travels fast," Alaric continued, his voice dropping into that smooth, dangerous crawl. "I hear things. Rumors about a deal. People say Lord Walder is tired of waiting. He's looking to trade his prettiest daughter to get what he wants. I heard he's already picked a husband for you—some cousin with no teeth or a minor lord with a rotting castle and a mean temper. Someone who needs your father's money just to keep his roof from falling in."
He felt her go still. Every girl at the Twins lived in fear of being traded away, and Alaric knew exactly how to make her worry.
"You go back now, and you're just a damaged prize," he said, sounding bored. "He'll marry you off within two weeks just to make sure he doesn't lose his investment. You'll spend the rest of your life in some damp castle, having babies for a man who smells like bad beer and counts your father's silver while he sleeps."
Roslin's head slumped. She knew her father. She knew he didn't look at his daughters as children, but as animals to be sold.
"I'm going North," Alaric said, loosening his grip on her waist just a bit. "To Winterfell. It's a long ride and the air is freezing, but there are no cages there. I'll give you a choice, little Frey. Stay with me for a while. Be my guest—or my prisoner, if that makes you feel better. When I eventually head back south, if you still want to sit in your father's drafty hall and wait for a husband, I won't stop you."
He leaned down, his eyes catching the moonlight. "But for once in your life, wouldn't you like to see the world without a Frey guard telling you where to look?"
Roslin looked at the road ahead, then back toward her home. The North seemed big and scary, but Alaric's words made the Twins seem worse—a place of stone walls and forced marriages.
"Winterfell?" she whispered.
"The edge of the world," Alaric replied with a small, ghost of a smile. "What do you say, Roslin? The bridge or the road?"
"The road," Roslin whispered, her voice so soft it almost blew away in the wind. "I want the road."
Alaric didn't say anything kind. He just gripped the reins and pushed the horse forward.
An hour later, they pulled off the main path. They pushed through some thick pine trees into a hidden spot under a jagged rock cliff.
It was a good place to hide, out of the wind and away from the road. Alaric hopped down, his boots hitting the ground with a thud, and reached up to catch Roslin as she slid off. Her legs felt like jelly; she stumbled into him, her small hands grabbing his leather armor just to stay standing.
"Stay by the stone," Alaric ordered, pointing to a flat rock in the middle of the clearing.
He didn't build a fire. Instead, he stood in the center, watching the dark trees.
From the bushes, a Blood Scout stepped into the dim light. He didn't make a sound. He wore dark gear covered in dirt from the trail. He didn't just stand there; he dropped to one knee and bowed his head low.
"My Lord," the Scout said, his voice a dry rasp. "The area is safe. I've checked everywhere. No Lannisters, no Frey dogs. The trail is clean. No one is following us."
Roslin froze. She sat on the cold stone, her fingers digging into her skirt. She had heard how men spoke to her father—usually with fake smiles and hidden hate. She had heard how guards spoke to lords—stiff and formal.
But this was different. This was how a man spoke to someone who owned his soul. My Lord. Your Excellency. The titles sounded heavy and powerful. It made Alaric's earlier claim about being a simple traveler feel like a total lie.
Alaric gave a short nod. "Keep watch. If anything bigger than a rabbit comes within a mile, I want to know."
"By your will, Great One," the Scout replied. He stood up and stepped back into the shadows, vanishing instantly.
Roslin stayed silent, her eyes wide as she looked at Alaric. He wasn't just the man who had killed her guards. He was a leader of monsters. The silence between them grew thick, broken only by the steady breathing of the two giant wolves resting at the edge of the camp.
Alaric looked at the shivering girl on the stone, her silk dress now a mess of mud.
"Do you know how to cook?" he asked, his voice cutting through the cold. "Or did the servants at the Twins never even let you touch a spoon?"
Roslin looked up, blinking through her tired eyes. "I... I can bake honey cakes. And I know how to cook quail if there's a kitchen. But here?" She looked around at the dark, empty ground.
"There is nothing here but dirt and cold."
Alaric didn't answer right away. A thought had just flashed through his mind as he looked at this pathetic high-born lady starving in the mud.
System, he thought, the blue light of the screen reflecting in his eyes. Open the shop. Can I get modern weapons? Guns? Rifles?
[Notice: Firearms and explosives are not available.]
Alaric felt a spark of anger. A single rifle could have ended this whole war before it even started. Fine, he thought. What about food? Can I use MP for something that doesn't taste like dirt and salt?
[Search Complete: Food and Drink is OPEN.]
[Available: High-energy rations, sweets, modern drinks.]
[Cost: 50 MP per item.]
Do it, Alaric ordered. Give me something...
He reached into his cloak. With a faint shimmer that she didn't see in the dark, he "pulled out" a heavy bar wrapped in silver foil and a clear plastic bottle of water. The water looked much cleaner than the muddy river nearby.
He stepped toward Roslin, and the crunch of his boots made her jump.
"You're lucky," he said, tossing the silver package into her lap. "I don't want you starving to death before we reach the North."
Roslin stared at the object with wide, confused eyes. She picked it up with shaking fingers, feeling the strange, crinkling wrapper. It was smoother than silk and shinier than her father's best silver. The writing on it looked like a language... she cannot understand?.
"What... what is this?" she whispered, looking at him in awe.
"Food from further away than you can imagine," Alaric replied. He sat down across from her, leaning his back against a thick tree root. "Open it. Eat."
She fumbled with the wrapper until it tore. A smell hit her that nearly took her breath away. It was the scent of deep chocolate and rich sugar—smells that didn't exist in the Seven Kingdoms. She took a small, nervous bite.
Her eyes almost rolled back in her head. The sugar hit her tired body like a powerful drug. It was better than any feast her father had ever thrown; it was the best thing she had ever tasted in her life.
"It's... it's like magic," she breathed, holding the wrapper like it was a treasure.
Alaric watched her, his face cold and bored. "Magic is just a word people use for things they don't understand. Drink the water. It's cleaner than anything you'll find in these lands."
He watched her eat. Slowly, her fear was being replaced by a dazed, sleepy feeling from the sugar.