Chapter 1: A Cold Welcome

The carriage rocked violently as the narrow path twisted and turned through the snow-covered woods. Jocelyn Everfair shifted uneasily on her cushioned seat, her gloved hands gripping the edges of her fur-lined cloak. The cold air seeped through the cracks of the wooden frame, biting at her cheeks despite the small brazier at her feet. Winter had come to the North, and she had been brought along with it—an unwilling guest to a place she had never seen, destined for a fate she had not chosen.

Her father had always been a calculating man, one who saw opportunities where others saw risks. When word came from King's Landing that Jaime Lannister, the golden lion himself, was seeking a bride to solidify alliances, Lord Everfair had eagerly offered his daughter. A match with a Lannister would elevate their house beyond measure, he had said. Jocelyn, with her dark auburn hair and striking green eyes, was a beauty meant for courts, for politics. Her duty was clear.

But destiny, it seemed, had other plans. The journey had taken her northward, far from the warmth of Casterly Rock or the bustling streets of King's Landing. Her father had insisted she stop at Winterfell before continuing south—"A courtesy to the Starks," he had called it. Jocelyn had agreed without protest, though the chill of the North already gnawed at her spirit. She had heard of the Stark family: stoic, honorable, and distant as the stars in the frozen sky.

The gates of Winterfell loomed ahead, gray and imposing against the pale winter landscape. Jocelyn's breath hitched as the carriage halted, and the door was pulled open by a man with the Stark sigil on his chest. His face was red from the cold, but his demeanor was warm enough.

"Lady Everfair," he said, bowing slightly. "Welcome to Winterfell."

She stepped down carefully, her boots crunching against the snow. The courtyard was alive with the sounds of clashing steel and barking dogs. Stark men trained in one corner while stable boys hurried to and fro. A large direwolf padded silently across the yard, its yellow eyes fixed on her. Jocelyn froze for a moment, unsure whether to be terrified or awestruck.

"Don't mind Grey Wind," a voice called out, deep and resonant. She turned to see Robb Stark approaching, his expression one of easy confidence. His auburn hair was tousled, his cloak heavy with fur and pinned with a silver direwolf. Behind him trailed another young man, quieter but equally arresting. Jon Snow, the Stark bastard, walked with a deliberate grace, his gray eyes sharp and assessing.

"My lady," Robb said, bowing slightly. "You honor us with your presence."

Jocelyn dipped into a polite curtsy, though she felt her heart racing. "Thank you, Lord Stark. Your hospitality is most generous."

"It's the Stark way," Jon said, his voice low and calm. His words were simple, but his gaze lingered a fraction longer than was proper. Jocelyn felt a spark of warmth in her chest despite the frigid air.

"I hope the journey wasn't too harsh," Robb continued, leading her toward the Great Hall. "The North isn't known for its comforts, but we'll do our best to make you feel at home."

"It was… different," Jocelyn admitted, her words carefully measured. "But I am grateful for the chance to see Winterfell. My father has spoken highly of your family."

Robb chuckled. "I hope we live up to the tales. My mother will be eager to meet you. She loves guests."

Inside the Great Hall, the warmth of the roaring hearths was a welcome relief. Servants bustled about, laying out food and drink. Catelyn Stark greeted Jocelyn with the poise of a lady and the warmth of a mother. Bran and Rickon peeked out from behind a pillar, giggling before disappearing when their mother scolded them.

But it was Robb and Jon who held Jocelyn's attention. Robb, with his commanding presence and easy smile, was magnetic. Jon, quieter and more reserved, had an intensity that seemed to draw her in without effort. Both men offered their own kind of warmth in a place so unforgiving.

As the evening wore on, Jocelyn found herself laughing at Robb's stories of battles won during childhood training, her cheeks flushing under his attentive gaze. Yet it was Jon's quiet remarks, his subtle wit, that lingered in her mind long after the words were spoken.

She had been sent to Winterfell as a courtesy, a mere stop on her way to becoming Lady Lannister. But as the night stretched on, she began to wonder if her path might lead her somewhere else entirely—if Winterfell might hold more for her than just the chill of its winds.

For in the North, the cold had a way of uncovering truths, and Jocelyn was beginning to see the first glimpses of hers.