The morning was cold, the kind of biting Northern chill that seeped into the bones no matter how many layers one wore. Jocelyn pulled her cloak tightly around herself as she stepped into the courtyard, her breath curling in the air like smoke. Winterfell was already alive with movement—blacksmiths hammering steel, stable hands tending to the horses, and guards patrolling the walls.
But her focus was on Jon.
She spotted him near the training yard, his sword clashing against another in a flurry of practiced strikes. He was moving with more aggression than usual, his swings harder, his footwork sharper. Whoever he was sparring with—one of the guards, she assumed—was barely holding his own.
Jocelyn hesitated before stepping closer, watching as Jon disarmed his opponent with a final, brutal strike that sent the man's sword clattering to the ground. The guard stumbled back, panting, before nodding his thanks and stepping away.
Jon exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulders before turning—and then he saw her.
For a brief second, something flickered in his gray eyes. Surprise? Annoyance? Pain? She couldn't tell before he quickly masked it, straightening and wiping sweat from his brow.
"Jocelyn," he said evenly.
She swallowed. "I was looking for you."
Jon gave a small, humorless smirk. "I figured."
She hated how distant he sounded, how carefully he was keeping himself guarded. This wasn't the Jon she had come to rely on—the Jon who had stood by her through everything.
"I wanted to talk," she said softly, stepping closer.
Jon tensed but didn't move away. "About what?"
Jocelyn hesitated, glancing around at the others in the yard before lowering her voice. "You know what."
Jon exhaled, his grip tightening on his sword. "I don't think talking about it will change anything."
She winced. "Jon, please. I—"
"I get it," he interrupted, his voice quieter now. "You made a choice. Robb is… Robb." He shook his head slightly. "You don't have to explain."
But that was the problem—she didn't know if she had made a choice. And even if she had, she didn't want to lose him because of it.
"I never meant to hurt you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jon let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know." He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time in days, she saw the conflict in his eyes. The unspoken words. The quiet ache he was trying to hide.
Jocelyn reached for his arm instinctively. "Jon, I—"
But he took a step back. Just enough to stop her.
Her heart clenched.
Jon shook his head, forcing a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We should focus on keeping you safe. That's what matters."
She wanted to argue, to tell him that he mattered too, that their friendship—whatever was left of it—was just as important. But the walls between them were already building, and she didn't know how to break them down.
So instead, she nodded, even though it hurt. "Okay."
Jon gave one last nod before turning away, picking up his sword again. And just like that, the distance between them stretched even further.
Jocelyn watched him for a moment longer, then turned and walked away, feeling more lost than ever.
Jocelyn sat in her chambers, her hands wrapped around a cup of warm cider, but the heat did little to soothe the ache in her chest. The tension with Jon, the uncertainty with Robb—it was all weighing on her, twisting inside her like a tangled thread she couldn't unravel.
A knock at the door broke her from her thoughts.
"It's open," she called, her voice softer than usual.
Mira stepped inside, carrying a small bundle of fresh linens. Her auburn hair was pulled back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She studied Jocelyn carefully before setting the linens down.
"You look miserable," Mira said bluntly, walking over to the hearth to warm her hands.
Jocelyn sighed. "I feel miserable."
Mira glanced at her, her expression softening. "Jon?"
Jocelyn nodded, running a hand through her hair. "I think I ruined things with him."
Mira tilted her head. "And Robb?"
"That's… different."
Mira sat beside her on the edge of the bed, studying her with those sharp, knowing eyes. "You care for them both."
Jocelyn hesitated. "I care about Jon. But I want Robb."
Mira hummed, reaching for Jocelyn's hand and squeezing it lightly. "Complicated."
"That's an understatement." Jocelyn let out a humorless laugh before sighing. "I don't even know who I am anymore."
Mira was quiet for a moment before reaching up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Jocelyn's ear. The touch was gentle, lingering, and Jocelyn's breath caught when she realized Mira wasn't pulling away.
Before she could react, Mira leaned in, her lips barely a whisper away from Jocelyn's.
Jocelyn froze.
It wasn't fear, nor was it rejection. It was something more confusing—something she had felt before, long ago, but had buried deep inside herself.
Her childhood had been filled with expectations—who she was supposed to be, who she was supposed to love. She had once questioned it, wondered if the warmth she felt toward other girls meant something more. But she had never dared explore it, not when her life had already been so rigidly planned.
And now, here was Mira, offering something Jocelyn didn't even know she had wanted.
But…
Jocelyn pulled back, her heart hammering. "Mira, I—"
Mira studied her for a moment before giving her a small, sad smile. "It's alright."
Jocelyn swallowed hard. "I just… I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize," Mira said gently. "I shouldn't have assumed."
Jocelyn exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face. "I don't even know what I feel anymore."
Mira reached for her hand again, squeezing it once before standing. "Then maybe you should figure that out before you let anyone else decide for you."
Jocelyn watched as Mira walked to the door, pausing before leaving. "You're my friend, Jocelyn. No matter what."
And then she was gone, leaving Jocelyn sitting there, her emotions a mess of confusion, regret, and longing.
She knew one thing for certain—she wanted Robb.
But what did it mean that, for a moment, she hadn't stopped Mira right away?