The morning was crisp, the air carrying the scent of frost and woodsmoke as Jocelyn wrapped her cloak around herself and made her way toward the servant's quarters. Mira had been tending to her daily duties, but today, Jocelyn had insisted on helping—or at least, accompanying her.

"You know you don't have to do this," Mira said as she led Jocelyn through the winding hallways of Winterfell. "No one expects a lady to spend her time in the kitchens."

Jocelyn gave her a pointed look. "I'm not a lady right now."

Mira snorted. "Tell that to everyone else."

They stepped into the warmth of the kitchen, where the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air. Servants moved around with purpose, their hands busy kneading dough, stirring pots, and stacking wooden crates. It was a world Jocelyn had never been part of—one of movement, of usefulness beyond beauty and politics.

Mira tied an apron around her waist before tossing a second one to Jocelyn. "Well, if you're serious, you can start with these." She pointed to a basket of potatoes.

Jocelyn took one look at them and raised an eyebrow. "I've never peeled potatoes before."

Mira smirked. "Then today's your lucky day."

With a laugh, Jocelyn grabbed a knife and got to work. It was clumsy at first—the blade slipping in her hands, the peels coming off in uneven chunks—but Mira guided her through it, her teasing lighthearted rather than cruel.

"You're terrible at this," Mira noted after Jocelyn had successfully massacred her fifth potato.

Jocelyn sighed dramatically. "I was raised to embroider, not handle sharp objects."

"Well, maybe if the embroidery needle was as big as a dagger, you'd have been better at it," Mira teased.

Jocelyn laughed, shaking her head. "You're enjoying this too much."

Mira grinned. "Maybe just a little."

They continued peeling, Jocelyn slowly getting better at the task. For the first time in weeks, she wasn't hiding, wasn't running—she was just existing, laughing alongside someone who didn't expect anything from her.

After they finished, Mira led her outside to a quieter part of the courtyard, where the chill in the air was offset by the warmth of their shared amusement.

"You know," Mira said, leaning against the stone wall, "you're different now."

Jocelyn raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

"You're not the same girl who arrived here, quiet and afraid." Mira studied her, something like pride in her expression. "You've changed."

Jocelyn exhaled, watching her breath curl into the cold air. "I feel different. I don't know who I was before… I only knew what was expected of me. Now, I feel like I'm finally deciding for myself."

Mira smirked. "And part of that includes peeling potatoes?"

Jocelyn laughed. "Apparently."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Mira's tone turned more serious. "You have people who care about you here, Jocelyn. Not just Robb and Jon. You're not alone."

Jocelyn looked at her, warmth blooming in her chest. "Thank you, Mira."

"For what?"

"For being my friend."

Mira's smirk softened into a genuine smile. "Anytime, my lady."

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. "No 'my lady.' Not today."

Mira laughed, nudging her shoulder. "Alright then, Jocelyn."

It was a simple moment, but it meant everything. For the first time, Jocelyn felt like she belonged—not as a noblewoman, not as a fugitive, but as herself.