Chapter 3: A Choice in the Cold
The following days at Winterfell passed in a haze for Jocelyn, but the weight of Jaime Lannister's letter never left her. Each word haunted her, a reminder of the life waiting for her far to the south—a life that felt like a gilded cage. Here in the North, she had found a strange sense of freedom, and yet, it was tethered to the bonds she had formed in the halls of Winterfell.
The tension in her chest grew unbearable. Robb's kindness and charm, Jon's quiet intensity—both men seemed to pull her in different directions, and she found herself caught between the warmth of their companionship and the cold reality of her arranged fate.
On the fourth morning after the letter arrived, Jocelyn found herself wandering the grounds of Winterfell, seeking solace in its ancient walls. Snow fell lightly, blanketing the stone in pristine white. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but she didn't mind. It was bracing, grounding.
She made her way to the training yard, drawn by the sound of clashing steel. There, Robb was sparring with Theon Greyjoy, the two moving with the precision of seasoned warriors. Robb's strikes were fierce yet calculated, his auburn hair catching the pale sunlight as he moved. Theon, cocky as ever, grinned despite being clearly outmatched.
Jocelyn stood at the edge of the yard, her gaze fixed on Robb. He noticed her almost immediately, his strikes faltering as he turned to meet her eyes. Theon took advantage of the distraction, swinging his wooden sword toward Robb's side.
"Keep your focus, Stark!" Theon shouted, but Robb sidestepped with ease, disarming Theon in a single, fluid motion.
Theon groaned and threw his hands up in mock surrender. "I can't compete if you're trying to impress her, you know."
Robb rolled his eyes but grinned, his breath visible in the cold air as he approached Jocelyn. "Theon's just bitter because he loses more often than he'd care to admit," he said, his voice warm with amusement.
Jocelyn smiled. "It seems you've mastered more than just swords, Lord Stark. You're quite skilled at distractions, too."
Robb chuckled, a boyish charm lighting up his face. "Perhaps. But sometimes distractions are worth it."
His words hung in the air, and Jocelyn felt her cheeks flush, though she couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the way Robb looked at her—like she was the only person in the world.
"I was going to check on the stables," Robb said after a moment. "Would you care to join me?"
Before Jocelyn could answer, another voice cut through the crisp air.
"She has other plans," Jon said as he approached from the other side of the yard. He was bundled in his thick black cloak, his gray eyes sharp and focused.
Robb raised an eyebrow. "Does she now?"
Jon stopped a few paces away, his gaze flicking briefly to Jocelyn before settling on Robb. "I thought she might want to see the library. She mentioned wanting to learn more about the North."
Jocelyn blinked in surprise, caught off guard by Jon's unexpected suggestion. She had mentioned her curiosity about the North in passing, but she hadn't expected him to remember.
Robb looked between them, his smile fading slightly. "I see," he said, his tone neutral. "Well, if that's what you'd prefer, my lady…"
Jocelyn hesitated, her heart tugging in two directions. Robb's easy charm made her feel alive, like the world was brighter when he was near. But Jon's quiet steadiness was something she couldn't ignore—a gravity that seemed to pull her closer, no matter how much she tried to resist.
"I would like to see the library," she said finally, her voice soft but firm.
Robb nodded, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. "Of course. Perhaps later, then."
Jon gestured for Jocelyn to follow, and she fell into step beside him, her heart pounding as they walked toward the castle.
The library was quiet, the scent of aged parchment and wood filling the air. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, laden with tomes of Northern history, legends, and knowledge. Jon led Jocelyn to a corner where the light from a nearby window illuminated the pages of a heavy book.
"This one," Jon said, pulling a volume from the shelf. "It's about the First Men and the origins of the North. It's… important."
Jocelyn took the book, her fingers brushing against his briefly. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jon hesitated, as if debating whether to say something. Finally, he spoke. "Do you want to marry Jaime Lannister?"
The question caught her off guard, but his tone wasn't accusing—just curious, almost concerned. Jocelyn clutched the book tightly, her gaze dropping to the floor.
"I don't know," she admitted. "It's what my father wants. What my house needs."
Jon stepped closer, his presence grounding. "What you need matters too."
Jocelyn looked up at him, her breath hitching. His gray eyes were steady, unwavering. For a moment, she felt as though he could see right through her, past her careful words and into the doubts she tried to bury.
"I don't know what I need," she whispered.
Jon nodded, as though he understood more than she could say. "Sometimes, it takes time to figure it out. But you don't have to decide now."
As Jocelyn stood there, the weight of the Lannister letter seemed to lessen, if only slightly. In Jon's quiet strength, she found something she hadn't realized she was searching for—a moment of peace amidst the storm of her thoughts.
But even as she felt the comfort of his presence, a part of her couldn't forget Robb's warm smile or the way his laughter had made her feel alive.
Torn between two wolves and the shadow of a lion, Jocelyn knew her journey was far from over.
The days in Winterfell passed with a strange mix of tranquility and turmoil. Jocelyn found herself growing more entangled with the Stark family. Robb's laughter and charm brightened her days, while Jon's quiet strength seemed to anchor her in ways she didn't fully understand. But no matter how much warmth she found in the North, the looming shadow of her arranged marriage to Jaime Lannister remained an ever-present weight on her mind.
One evening, as the setting sun bathed Winterfell in hues of gold and crimson, Jocelyn found herself summoned to the Great Hall. A raven had arrived, bearing another message from Casterly Rock. She entered the hall cautiously, the letter clutched tightly in her hands, her heart pounding.
Catelyn Stark, ever poised and motherly, sat at the high table, her keen eyes watching Jocelyn with quiet understanding. Robb stood near the hearth, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the stone mantle. Jon lingered at the edge of the room, his arms crossed and his face shadowed by the flickering firelight.
"Well?" Robb asked, his voice careful. "What does it say?"
Jocelyn hesitated, then broke the seal and read aloud, her voice steady despite the unease twisting in her chest.
Lady Everfair,
You delay in the North longer than necessary. While I understand the courtesy you extend to the Starks, remember that your true place lies to the south. I have made preparations for your arrival. A retinue will be sent within the fortnight to escort you to Casterly Rock.
I expect no further delays.
—Ser Jaime Lannister
The room was silent as Jocelyn lowered the letter. Her hands trembled slightly as she folded the parchment and set it on the table. The words felt like chains tightening around her, dragging her closer to a life she didn't want.
"Fortnight," Robb said quietly, his expression darkening. "He's already decided your fate, hasn't he?"
Jocelyn opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. She couldn't deny the truth of Robb's statement. Jaime Lannister's tone left no room for doubt—her life was no longer her own.
"You don't have to go," Robb said, stepping forward, his voice firmer now. "You don't have to let him dictate your future."
Jocelyn's eyes darted to him, her breath catching. "And what would you have me do? Defy my father? Refuse the Lannisters? It would ruin my house."
"Ruin your house?" Robb scoffed. "Your father sold you off to the highest bidder. He doesn't care about you. He cares about what marrying a Lannister brings him."
"Robb," Catelyn interjected gently, her tone cautious but firm. "Be mindful of your words."
But Robb wasn't finished. He stepped closer to Jocelyn, his blue eyes blazing. "You're more than a bargaining chip, Jocelyn. You deserve more than to be sent off to a man who sees you as nothing but another conquest."
Jocelyn swallowed hard, her throat tightening as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to believe him, but the weight of her family's expectations bore down heavily on her shoulders.
"I don't have a choice," she whispered.
"There's always a choice," Jon said from the shadows, his voice quiet but commanding.
All eyes turned to him. He stepped forward, his gray eyes meeting Jocelyn's. "You don't have to live for them. Not your father, not the Lannisters. You can choose your own path."
The intensity of his gaze made Jocelyn's heart pound. Jon's words carried a certainty that both terrified and emboldened her. Could she truly defy the South? Could she stay in the North, where she felt more alive than she ever had before?
"I don't know what that path is," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I don't even know who I am outside of my duty."
"Then stay," Robb said, his voice softer now. He stepped closer, his presence steady and reassuring. "Stay here. Find out who you are. Winterfell will always welcome you."
"And what of my family?" Jocelyn asked, her voice trembling. "What of the Lannisters? They'll demand answers. There will be consequences."
"Let them come," Robb said, his jaw tightening. "Winterfell is not afraid of lions."
Jocelyn's gaze shifted between Robb and Jon, her chest tight with conflicting emotions. Both men offered her something she had never been given before: a choice. But the weight of that choice pressed heavily upon her.
"I need time to think," she said finally, her voice breaking slightly. "Please, I just need time."
Robb nodded, though his expression remained tense. "Take all the time you need."
Jon didn't speak, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could. He understood her turmoil, her hesitation, and he would wait for her to decide—no matter how long it took.
As Jocelyn left the Great Hall, the cold night air wrapped around her like a shroud. The stars above glimmered faintly, and the distant howl of a wolf echoed across the frozen landscape.
Her fate was no longer as clear as it once seemed. The South called to her with promises of power and duty, but the North whispered of freedom and the chance to choose her own destiny. For the first time in her life, Jocelyn wasn't sure where her heart truly belonged—or with whom.