Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

The two swords whirled like a hurricane, their strikes ringing against spears and blades in the training yard.

In just a few days, Cole had demonstrated remarkable talent. Some people were simply born to fight, and Cole was one of them.

Steel flashed, shadows danced, and the greatswords in his hands rained down like a relentless storm.

Tyrion Lannister seemed keen to get a proper look at the Wall, so he had been following Jon Snow and the others to the training yard these past few days, preparing for the long journey ahead.

Even in times of peace, the roads of the Seven Kingdoms were plagued with bandits and cutthroats.

The ability to protect oneself was invaluable. Without servants or guards at his disposal, Tyrion had no choice but to rely on his own skills.

His efforts had not been in vain. With his unique ability—the Eye of Time—and his incredible strength, Cole was nearly unbeatable in the training yard. Even Jon Snow hesitated to face him directly.

No matter how skilled an opponent was, all their technique meant little in the face of overwhelming power. If Cole were clad in heavy armor, he would be like an unstoppable war machine—anyone caught in his path would be crushed.

Despite his lean frame, his muscles had begun to develop, slowly but surely.

His unmatched strength, combined with his swift reflexes, left his opponents uneasy.

Not only could they not withstand his attacks, but they could barely land a hit on him. It almost felt unfair.

His fighting style was simple—almost crude. He had little formal training and often hurt his own wrist while gripping his sword. Yet even Ser Alliser Thorne, proud as he was, had to admit that the boy was already a formidable warrior, lacking only experience and refined technique.

After all, even he had suffered at Cole's hands.

Pulling off his training helmet, Cole let out a breath. Sweat had soaked his hair, a testament to the toll both his immense strength and the Eye of Time had taken on him.

The true strain came from using the Eye of Time. Its limit was ten minutes—if a battle wasn't finished within that time, he had to stop, or else the intense pressure on his eyes would blind him temporarily, plunging him into darkness.

Each time he used it, he had to close his eyes and meditate for at least half an hour to recover.

"Damn, you're really strong, Cole." Grenn groaned, rubbing his shoulder. After taking a strike from Cole's sword, his entire arm felt like it was about to fall off.

Grenn had been considered a leader among the new recruits, but he had quickly accepted his position beneath Cole. Unlike a certain bastard who still carried himself with a sense of superiority.

At the Wall, everything depended on one's own ability. Strength alone could be intimidating, but true respect had to be earned.

Cole had wanted to bring Jon Snow into the group of new recruits, but Jon still seemed reluctant to associate with them.

After training, Jon walked alongside him.

"When are you leaving?" Jon asked.

"Waiting on Lannister. Once he's finished pissing off the edge of the Wall, we'll be on our way."

Tyrion had been joking for days about wanting to stand at the end of the world and relieve himself off the Wall. Given the fierce winds up there, though, he might just end up drenched—or worse, blown clear to the Narrow Sea.

"Where are you headed? King's Landing? Casterly Rock?"

The question made Cole pause. Where was he going? He had been thinking about it for a long time. With the coming storm, should he find a safe place to hide or throw himself into the chaos in search of opportunity?

Once, he might have chosen safety. But now? Battle was dangerous, unpredictable—but it was also full of possibilities.

He was torn. Nobles and knights were like gold coins hanging just out of reach—valuable, but dangerous. Reaching for one meant risking a cut from the sharp edge.

"Maybe I'll go to Winterfell first," he said. "Maybe I'll ask you to introduce me to your brother."

At the mention of Winterfell, Jon's eyes lit up. His heart still belonged to that place—his home, the one he longed for.

"Robb won't knight you," Jon said, "but if I send him a letter, he'll let you stay. That, I can promise."

Cole chuckled. "That depends on Lord Snow saying something nice about me."

He placed his sword and armor back on the rack. He didn't hold out much hope for the armor promised by the Lord Commander. He knew well enough how poor the Night's Watch was—armor was scarce, and the quality varied wildly.

He hadn't spent much time in the kitchens these past few days. Instead, he had poured all his energy into training. Of course, since he wasn't officially part of the Night's Watch, Ser Alliser paid him no mind—aside from the occasional insult.

Snow, at least, had been a good teacher. Cole had learned a lot from him.

"Hey, Cole!" one of the recruits called. "Want to head to the hall with us?"

Morning training was over. It was time for breakfast.

Grenn and his gang also came over, setting their things down before inviting Cole to join them.

Cole knew exactly what they were doing—they were isolating Jon Snow. It was a tactic often used by children and the weak-willed, a form of cold hostility that sometimes gave people a sense of power.

Of course, it wasn't entirely their fault. Jon Snow had indeed been harsh, pushing too hard during training. In the end, they were all brothers who would have to live and fight together.

But the master-at-arms of Winterfell would never condone such behavior. Ser Rodrik Cassel had always taught the Stark children: "Training is like real battle. Any hesitation could cost you your life on the battlefield."

"Holding back in front of a knight is an insult."

"You go ahead. Jon and I will be along shortly," Cole said at last, choosing to stand by Jon Snow.

If one looked carefully, they would notice Jon's clenched fists slowly relaxing at Cole's words. Over the past few days, Grenn and the others had whispered about Cole behind his back. Though it angered Jon, his only response had been to fight harder in training.

To Jon Snow, such behavior was petty and dishonorable.

Grenn and his group didn't seem too upset by Cole's rejection. They knew Cole wouldn't be staying at Castle Black for long.

Grenn cast Jon a provocative glance, muttered "bastard" under his breath, and left with his followers.

Cole sighed at the childish conflict. From his perspective, these weren't deep grudges—just petty squabbles among young men.

"Jon, you could try getting along with them. Grenn isn't as bad as you think—he just looks ugly."

Jon's expression remained stubborn. Seeing that, Cole wisely decided to keep quiet.

A voice interrupted them. "If you don't want your throat slit in the night, you'd best listen to him."

Both turned to see a burly man with a round belly and a thick beard covering his face.

"Master Donal," Cole greeted.

The blacksmith smiled at Cole before fixing Jon with a stern look. "If killing a horse thief makes you feel honorable, then do it. But be wary of the others. One night, you might wake up to find your head mounted on the Wall for the wildlings to admire."

His words were sharp and unforgiving. As he walked away, Jon's expression darkened, as if he'd been doused in cold water.

Cole, on the other hand, watched the whole exchange with an amused detachment.

"You could have backed me up," Jon muttered, having caught the amusement in Cole's expression.

Cole shrugged. "I wanted to, but Master Donal wasn't exactly wrong."

"Cole!" A voice called from the corner.

It was Virgie. Cole hadn't seen much of him lately and wondered where he had been.

"My good friend Virgie," Cole said with a grin. "Maybe I should introduce you to Jon."

Jon shook his head. His thoughts were too heavy to make new friends. "I need to return to the tower," he said, clearly looking for an escape.

"Alright, see you later," Cole said before turning to Virgie. "So, what have you been up to?"

Virgie had a bundle wrapped in cloth slung over his back.

"Where have you been these days? I thought the White Walkers got you."

Virgie chuckled and handed Cole the bundle. "You're leaving soon, so I wanted to prepare a gift for you."

Cole unwrapped the cloth and was momentarily speechless. He hadn't expected Virgie to be running around for him. This clumsy fool, often tripping over his own feet, had spent days preparing something for him.

"This was my father's. He gave it to me when I joined the Watch. I don't know how to use a sword anyway, so I buried it under the Wall. Take it out and have a look."

Cole unsheathed the blade, its cold steel gleaming in the dim light. He understood the weight of this gift—it was something Virgie's father had entrusted to him for survival.

His grip tightened, his eyes turning slightly red. A man doesn't cry easily, but at this moment, he wasn't sure when he'd see Virgie again.

"Then let this sword become famous across the Seven Kingdoms," Cole murmured with a chuckle. "Does it have a name?"

Sometimes, friendship didn't require words of gratitude.

Virgie shook his head. "A wandering knight gave my father an axe, and my father reforged it into this sword. It never had a name."

Cole ran a hand along the sharp edge. The steel shimmered with a cold light, reminiscent of the Valyrian steel sword Longclaw carried by Lord Commander Mormont.

"Then let's call it—Winter Night."