The midday sun streamed through the narrow windows of the Great Hall, casting long beams of golden light over the wooden table where Robb Stark sat waiting. Jocelyn hesitated at the entrance, adjusting the sleeves of her dress before stepping forward. It had been so long since she'd sat in a proper dining hall, since she had allowed herself to exist in any way other than a shadow.

Robb looked up as she approached, a warm smile breaking through the tension that usually rested on his face. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

Jocelyn returned the smile, though hers was more hesitant. "I wasn't sure it was a good idea."

"Neither was I," Robb admitted, gesturing to the chair across from him. "But we're being careful, and you deserve to sit at a table instead of hiding in the dark."

Jocelyn settled into the chair, her hands smoothing over the fabric of her skirts. The table was set with simple dishes—warm bread, roasted meat, and a small bowl of stew. Compared to the extravagant feasts she had known in the South, it was modest, but to her, it felt like a feast nonetheless.

She picked up a piece of bread, tearing it absently. "It feels strange, being here like this."

Robb leaned back, watching her carefully. "Strange in a bad way?"

Jocelyn hesitated before shaking her head. "No. Just… different. I was raised to eat in silence, to take small bites, to be mindful of every movement. Every meal was a lesson in decorum."

Robb scoffed, reaching for his own bread. "That sounds miserable."

"It was," Jocelyn said with a small laugh. "But it was what was expected of me."

Robb studied her for a moment before setting his cup down. "And now? What do you expect of yourself?"

Jocelyn exhaled, looking down at her plate. "I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that out."

Robb nodded thoughtfully. "I think you're doing a good job of it."

Jocelyn looked up, surprised. "You do?"

"I do," he said simply. "You made a choice. A difficult one. Not many people would have had the courage to do what you did."

Jocelyn felt warmth rise in her chest. "It didn't feel like courage. It felt like desperation."

"Sometimes they're the same thing," Robb said. "But whatever it was, you chose your own path. That means something."

Jocelyn studied him, taking in the way his blue eyes shone with sincerity. Robb had always carried himself with an easy confidence, but now, sitting across from him, she saw something else—a quiet understanding, a man who bore responsibility beyond his years.

"You were never just a pawn, Jocelyn," Robb continued, his voice softer now. "Not to me. Not to Jon. You're more than your father's plans, more than the Lannisters' prize."

Jocelyn swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her. "I want to believe that."

Robb's expression grew serious. "Then do."

They ate in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them. Jocelyn had spent so long feeling like a burden, an inconvenience. And yet, here she was, sharing a meal with Robb Stark, being treated as if she mattered.

When they had finished, Robb leaned forward slightly, his tone lighter. "If you could go anywhere, be anyone, what would you choose?"

Jocelyn hesitated, surprised by the question. "I don't know. I was never allowed to think like that."

"Well, now you can," Robb said with a grin. "So? Where would you go?"

Jocelyn thought for a moment. "Somewhere quiet. Somewhere where I don't have to be someone I'm not."

Robb nodded. "Sounds nice."

"What about you?" she asked, tilting her head. "If you weren't heir to Winterfell, if you weren't bound by duty, what would you choose?"

Robb exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never really thought about it. I've always known my place."

Jocelyn frowned. "And do you want it? To rule Winterfell?"

Robb hesitated, then nodded. "I do. But it doesn't mean it's easy."

She understood that all too well. Duty, expectation—it weighed on them both, even in different ways.

"I think you'll be a good leader," Jocelyn said after a moment.

Robb smiled, something warm and genuine. "And I think you'll be whoever you want to be, Jocelyn."

The words settled deep in her chest, and for the first time in a long time, she felt as though she could be.

As they finished their meal, Jocelyn realized something else—she wasn't just hiding at Winterfell. She was healing. And perhaps, just perhaps, she was beginning to find herself.