Agree to the union

It will be no small feat to get enough men and supplies together for a long trek to fight in the frigid north, but the rewards justify the risks. The beautiful, blonde rewards. "Very well, Lady Helga. Your offer is fair and just. If you so desire, I would take you as my legal wife." Helga rolls her crystal-blue eyes again. "Thank you, your grace. I would be happy to accompany you to the southlands for our marriage." She gets up and walks over to you. She suddenly grabs your head firmly and plants a fierce kiss on your lips. Her own are soft, yet have the same cold that seems to be the very essence of her existence. You pull back at first, but stop resisting soon after; it is a strange sensation, but pleasant nonetheless. A few more moments, and she has broken her ****-grip of your skull. "Sealed with a kiss, as is custom. Do not dishonor our pact" she say, again slipping into a most formidable demeanor. You nod weakly in response, still overwhelmed by the surprise, fear, and pleasure of the event. "So, when will you be ready to leave?" She looks thoughtful for a moment. "As soon as you are, I would imagine. My dispossession has left me with little but the support of relatives like my great-uncle. I have little to bring but my claim." You nod your understanding and take your leave.

"Sho, what do you make of her?" the little great-uncle asks. He was waiting not far from the door. "Well, she is a very special girl" you say. He winces at the way you say "special". "So special, in fact, that we have agreed upon the match." The little old man's head jerks up at hearing your words. "A match? A match?! Wonderful!" he cries, ecstatic. He does a little half-dance of joy before running up to shake your hand. "Yesh, you two will be very happy. Very happy, far away from here!" he says, still emphatically shaking your hand. You pull your hand free and wipe it on your robe before walking away from the eccentric little man. It must run in the family.

It takes as little tiem as Helga said for her belongings to be loaded into your baggage train. She doesn't even have one personal servant of her own, quite an indignity for a noble lady. In spite of the cold, your party is energetic, happy enough to be leaving the arctic cold to not feel it's harshest effects.