Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

Over his black linen shirt, he wore a leather vest reinforced with stitched threads. It was somewhat short and narrow, exposing much of his waist and abdomen, giving it the appearance of a sleeveless coat. Beneath his wolfskin gloves, an iron-plated wrist guard covered only one arm.

Such mismatched attire was a common sight along the King's Road—just another wandering knight. He rode a tall warhorse; though his clothing seemed unimpressive, anyone familiar with horses could tell at a glance that this stallion had never plowed a field.

The rider was Cole, making his way down the King's Road.

He was still dressed in the remnants of a chef's garb but had thrown on a simple leather vest and strapped two swords to his waist, giving him more of a knightly appearance.

These pieces of equipment had been gifts from two unfortunate thieves—whom Cole had kindly sent to meet the gods.

Ahead lay the Neck, where the air grew thick with humidity. Here, one could already feel the touch of summer. Crossing the Neck meant leaving the North behind.

As night fell, he needed to find a place to rest. Perhaps because the land near the swamp was more fertile, farmlands stretched in every direction, making it easier to find a village.

Cole lightly tugged on the reins, slowing his horse's pace. The villagers seemed accustomed to wandering knights, sparing him little more than a passing glance. He dismounted and knocked on a random door.

The owner answered with a scowl. "We don't welcome guests here. Move along."

Unbothered, Cole approached the next house. This time, the owner was slightly more polite but still refused him lodging. After days of encountering the same treatment, he had grown used to it.

The third door was opened by a farm girl. She looked him over before speaking.

"What can I do for you, ser?"

"I was wondering if I might stay the night. I can pay."

A voice called from inside the house. "Laurie, who is it?"

The girl turned her head. "A knight."

A thin man stepped out from the shadows. He had a narrow chin, sharp eyes, and wore a rough gray linen shirt with no shoes. A simple hemp rope served as his belt, and his pants hung loosely, exposing his legs, which were covered in coarse black hair. Patches of skin peeked through where the fabric had worn away.

"Oh?" The man's gaze flicked to Cole's face. "And what might this knight need from us?"

Laurie answered before Cole could. "He's looking for a place to stay. He said he can pay."

The man smirked. "Pay, you say? Ten copper coins for the night."

Cole nodded, retrieving ten copper coins from his horse. "Here's my fee."

The man's eyes gleamed at the sight of the money. A generous traveler, it seemed. His demeanor shifted instantly, turning warm and accommodating. He called for the girl to prepare a space for their guest.

It wasn't much—just a sheepskin spread over a pile of straw—but it was far better than sleeping exposed to the night air.

Cole tied his horse outside the house. Laurie emerged a moment later, cradling a swaddled baby.

"Madam," Cole addressed her, "would you happen to know where I can find good fodder for my horse?"

Laurie stiffened slightly at being addressed so formally, hesitating as if startled. Before she could answer, the thin man reappeared.

"If you're willing to part with three more copper coins, ser, I'll see to it your horse is well taken care of," he offered smoothly.

Cole considered for a moment, then handed over the coins. He had a pouch of silver stags on his horse and had barely spent anything along the way. Three coppers were a small price to avoid the hassle.

"Make sure my horse is well fed," he warned, his tone sharp. "If I find out you've given him poor feed, you'll learn that my sword is not just for show."

The man chuckled and nodded eagerly. "Of course, ser, of course! I'll have the woman find the best feed for him. Her father once raised horses for noble lords, you know."

Then he turned sharply to Laurie. "Well? What are you standing around for? If the knight's horse goes hungry, I'll beat you senseless!"

The girl flinched at the threat, staggering a few steps backward. The baby in her arms let out a wail.

"I have to care for the child, Lance," she protested softly.

Lance sneered. "That little bastard should be fed to the wolves. He won't die just because you leave him inside for a while."

Cole frowned. He despised men who beat women, but he remained silent. It wasn't his place to interfere in another family's affairs.

Laurie lowered her head without another word and carried the baby back inside.

"Don't worry, ser," Lance said, his tone suddenly cheerful again. "Your horse will be as strong as ever, ready to chase every mare in the Seven Kingdoms by morning!"

Inside, Laurie placed the child among a pile of ragged cloth, gently whispering, "Don't cry, don't cry, Mama will be back soon."

When she turned, she saw Cole standing in the doorway. She stiffened, eyes wide with fear, then hastily grabbed a broken sickle and rushed out of the house.

Cole rubbed his nose. Did he really look that intimidating?

With Laurie gone and Lance nowhere in sight, only Cole and the baby remained in the dimly lit room.

Sighing, he settled onto the straw pile, pulling out a book. It had been lent to him by Tyrion, though the little lord had departed in such a hurry that he likely forgot it was still with Cole.

The Legendary Kingsguard, Ser Duncan the Tall.

A knight's biography—a decent way to pass the time. Cole became engrossed in the pages, but a sudden cry pulled him back to reality.

The baby was wailing.

Cole instinctively stood, glancing around the room. The child waved his tiny, frail hands, his face flushed red, little feet kicking in distress.

He looked outside. No sign of Laurie. No sign of Lance.

After a brief hesitation, he lifted the baby gently, as if picking up a bundle of cloth. The child quieted slightly but continued to whimper.

"Are you hungry?" Cole muttered. "Where the hell am I supposed to find food for you?"

He rocked the baby awkwardly, sighing. He would rather face a battle than try to soothe a crying infant.

Suddenly, the door banged open.

Laurie had returned. Her gaze locked onto Cole, then she rushed forward, snatching the baby from his arms before he could react.

Laurie shrank back warily, glaring at Cole with anger and fear.

"I was just trying to calm him down," Cole said, feeling as if he were dealing with a cornered mountain lion. "He must be hungry."

The girl froze for a moment, then her defensive posture melted away. Her defiance turned to submission as she lowered her head and whispered, "I'm sorry, Ser Knight."

Cole offered her a small smile. "You're a good mother. The gods will bless you and your son."

"Thank you, ser."

With that, Cole returned to his seat and resumed reading. He pulled out some dried meat from his pack, chewing absently. Perhaps because of his strength, he often found himself hungrier than most.

Laurie fed the baby before stepping outside to tend to the horse. When she returned, she found the knight eating and couldn't help but swallow nervously.

The night dragged on. Lance returned late, and Cole dozed lightly in the haystack, half-awake, half-asleep.

Then came the loud banging on the wooden door.

"Laurie! Damn it, you stinking bitch, open the door for your man!"

The slurred voice was thick with drink.

Cole pushed himself up and made his way to the door. Inside, the mother and child slept soundly. He opened the door, and the sharp scent of alcohol immediately filled the air.

Lance stumbled inside, colliding with Cole's chest—only to recoil as if he had slammed into a stone wall.

Blinking in confusion, he swayed on his feet, shaking his head before letting out a drunken laugh. "Ohh… it's the knight! Hah! You should have come drinking with me. I would've bought you a beer!"

Cole stepped aside without a word. Laurie stirred at the noise, sitting up as her husband lurched toward her. Without warning, he grabbed her roughly and turned to Cole, his breath reeking of ale.

"Ser, for just ten copper coins, I'll let her warm your bed for the night," he slurred, grinning.

Laurie's face went pale. "Lance, what are you saying?" she stammered, struggling to free herself.

Smack.

The slap echoed in the quiet room, leaving a red handprint on her cheek, even visible under the pale moonlight.

"Shut up, you worthless whore," Lance spat. "I don't even know whose bastard you're raising. Now go serve the knight—I need drinking money."

He raised his hand again.

Cole caught his wrist mid-swing.

Lance's drunken stupor was replaced by sudden shock. His arm was trapped in Cole's iron grip, as unyielding as a steel vice.

"Enough," Cole said, his voice like ice. "I don't need anyone to serve me."

Lance blinked, then sneered. "Ser, you don't know what you're missing. A woman like this is hard to come by. Are you sure you won't reconsider? Just ten copper coins."

Cole looked at Laurie.

Her eyes were wide with fear, not just of her husband but of him, too. And suddenly, he understood why she had been so afraid from the moment she saw him.

She was young, only slightly older than him. At her age, she should have been living under the warmth of the sun, not in the shadows of fear and cruelty.

A passage from his book flashed through his mind:

"This man protects the weak, just as every true knight should."

It was what Ser Duncan the Tall had once been told in his most desperate hour. Back then, Duncan was no legendary knight, no revered Kingsguard—just a common squire who had dared to strike a prince to defend a puppeteer girl from his cruelty.

For his defiance, he had been forced into a Trial of Seven, pitted against the greatest knights in the realm. Alone and outmatched, he had no one to stand with him.

Until Prince Baelor arrived.

The Targaryen prince had ridden into the trial at dawn, clad in black armor and crowned with a roaring dragon helm. And in that moment, he had chosen the side of justice, standing not with his own kin but with a nameless hedge knight.

That choice had cost Baelor his life.

He had been the heir to the Iron Throne, a prince of House Targaryen. And yet, he had chosen to fight for the weak, because that was what a knight was meant to do.

Cole's grip tightened. Murderous intent flickered in his eyes.

He could not be Baelor. He was no prince, no noble warrior of legend. But he could wield his sword for the weak. He could make sure that scum like Lance did not walk away unpunished.

His fingers curled around the hilt of his blade.

Then—something stopped him.

A hand, small and trembling, clutched his wrist.

Laurie.

Tears filled her eyes. "Please, my lord," she whispered. "I… I am willing to serve you. Just don't kill my husband."

Cole froze.

His mind reeled, the anger twisting into something bitter and hollow.

After a long, heavy silence, he let go.

Lance crumpled to the floor, too drunk to understand how close he had come to death.

Cole turned, walked into the house, and gathered his belongings. He slung his bag over his shoulder, untied the reins of his horse, and mounted up.

For a moment, he hesitated. His gaze flickered back to the small, dimly lit home.

Then, without another word, he rode away.

The wind howled against his face, cold and unrelenting.

It was then that the weight of reality settled upon him.

The justice he had believed in—the righteousness he had imagined—was nothing but a fantasy.

He had thought himself noble, thought himself different from the lords who looked down on the world from their castle towers. But what had he done?

He had left.

He had walked away, thinking himself a righteous man, thinking he had done the right thing. But what would happen to Laurie now?

Winter was coming. Without a man to support the household, how would she and her child survive?

Had he truly done the right thing?

Or had he merely convinced himself that he had?

The world he had come from had been too kind. The stories told to him by Maester Aemon had filled his head with dreams. He had believed in knights, in justice, in honor.

But the real world was colder.

Winterfell had taught him his place in it.

And tonight, a farm girl had taught him its truth.