Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

Dusk hung heavily over the land. As the crimson sunset faded, the sky and earth seemed draped in a deep blue curtain. The Neck, shrouded in mist, felt haunted—its marshes thick with eerie silence. The North was littered with graves, and in the fog, lonely spirits seemed to flicker in and out of sight.

Cole was covered in mud. Riding a horse through the swamp was a poor choice, especially at night.

Leading his mount carefully, he had to activate the Eye of Time every so often to stay on the right path. Straying even slightly could mean sinking into quicksand or vanishing into the treacherous bogs.

This was a place of death. Venomous snakes, toxic plants, and lizard-lions—each one capable of ending a life.

The Neck was the North's natural fortress. If properly defended, a single man could hold the pass against ten thousand.

By night, the damp miasma thickened. People spoke of the marsh folk who lived here, calling them "mud men," but in the two days Cole had spent in the Neck, he had seen neither house nor human—only endless wilderness.

He dared not stop for long, wary that the ground beneath him might shift, or that a lurking lizard-lion might strike.

The mud caking his clothes was thanks to one such beast. After leaving the farmhouse, he had ridden hard, plunging into the swamp as twilight deepened. He hadn't rested much through the night, only stopping when the morning mist dispersed and sunlight trickled through in golden beams.

He had dismounted to scoop some water and wash his face when he met the damned creature.

A lizard-lion, lying in wait, had lunged at him the moment he bent down.

It hadn't fought with honor, so Cole hadn't shown mercy. He sent the beast to whatever gods it believed in. Its meat, he had quickly discovered, was tough and dry—not worth eating.

Now, every floating log in the water reminded him of the attack.

No wonder so many people never left their homes. The world beyond was wild, remote, and filled with danger.

Exhausted, he stopped now and then to rest, but never dared to sleep. He hadn't slept well in a long time.

Then, suddenly—fire.

A distant flicker, like a dim star in the moonless night.

Fire meant people.

Cole's fatigue vanished in an instant. Someone was there. Should he approach?

Anyone camping in the wilderness at night was likely a wandering knight, a mercenary, or a merchant.

But greed was a dangerous thing. Even Theon Greyjoy had coveted his sword—what would these strangers do? Perhaps the silver in his pouch was temptation enough.

His blade, Winter Night, was simple: plain hilt, unadorned steel. He still didn't understand why Theon had tried to steal it. Surely Winterfell had finer swords?

Not that it mattered—House Stark already had Ice, their great Valyrian steel blade.

Suddenly, a voice rang out.

"Morris, are you deaf? Suck the poison out for your master!"

It was loud—without fear of attracting lizard-lions.

The voice was familiar.

Cole led his horse forward. Then, as fate would have it, he saw Tyrion Lannister sprawled atop a wooden stake, his pants half-undone, exposing a pale patch of skin.

Cole had thought Tyrion would be long gone, having crossed the Neck and headed south. Or perhaps he had already been captured by Lady Catelyn Stark and taken to the Eyrie.

At the sound of movement, Yoren and the guard Jack sprang to their feet. They watched as a shadow emerged from the mist.

Cole stepped into the firelight, his face coming into view.

"Little Cole? How in the seven hells is it you?" Yoren asked, stunned.

Tyrion turned his head, his face lighting up with relief—before quickly contorting into a grimace.

"Oh, Morris, for the love of the gods, be gentler!" he grumbled.

Cole smirked, though his eyes carried a hint of complexity.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He led his horse closer to the fire, tying it to a short tree.

His gaze fell on Tyrion, still lying down.

"What happened?"

Tyrion looked somewhat embarrassed, though his words remained as grand as ever.

"Damn it, you warned me about the she-wolf, but I nearly met my end at the fangs of a she-snake."

He scowled at Cole. "Your predictions are terrible."

Cole's lips twitched slightly. He had thought his luck was bad, but Tyrion's situation seemed even worse.

"Lord Cole, it was just a harmless water snake," Morris explained from the side.

"You know nothing," Tyrion snapped. "That was a venomous snake! I saw one kill a man when I was a boy."

Morris wisely shut his mouth and resumed tending to Tyrion's wound, though the location—just under his thigh—was rather awkward.

"I almost became a eunuch," Tyrion grumbled.

Cole let out a short chuckle.

"Did the Starks kick you out?" Tyrion asked, smirking. "I told you, they only welcome the Night's Watch."

Seeing Cole's strange expression, Tyrion's eyes widened.

"Wait… you were actually kicked out?"

"Almost."

Tyrion burst into laughter. "Hah! I'd love to know how you managed to get thrown out by those honor-obsessed Starks. Weren't you supposed to be their cook? What did you do, piss in their wine?"

"You really deserve to be eaten by Jon's direwolf," Cole muttered, looking like he wanted to hit him.

"A bastard wouldn't dare lay a hand on the queen's brother," Tyrion shot back. Then he groaned, wincing. "Morris! Can't you be a little gentler? When we return to Casterly Rock, I'll have you thrown into the women's wing so they can teach you what gentleness is."

Morris looked aggrieved. He was already being as careful as possible, but how was he supposed to extract the venom without any effort? Not to mention—it was just a harmless water snake!

"I'll take you to the Westerlands," Tyrion declared. "No one will dare touch you as long as you carry the name 'Lannister.'"

Cole considered that for a moment. Perhaps joining the Lannisters wouldn't be a bad choice, even if Tyrion wasn't exactly favored by his father, Lord Tywin.

"My fee isn't cheap, Lannister," he said, half-joking.

Tyrion grinned and held up two fingers. "I'll pay double."

Cole extended his hand. "Then it's a pleasure doing business with you. But I told you before—I won't be your squire."

"Oh, Cole, you're just like those greedy hedge knights."

"And why not?" Cole pulled out a small book from his coat—The Life of Ser Duncan the Tall—and flipped to a passage. He read aloud:

"Hedge knights are the purest knights. Other knights may serve lords or chase lands and titles, but we follow our hearts and remain true to our beliefs."

Tyrion took the book from him, eyes gleaming with recognition. "I was wondering where this had gone. So you had it."

"The Night's Watch are the purest knights," Yoren chimed in from the side.

"A group of thieves and rapists who violate everything knighthood stands for," Tyrion quipped without missing a beat.