Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

The tone was unmistakably Jon Snow's.

"Thank you for looking after Jon. Winterfell will always welcome like-minded friends."

"Lord Stark, this is certainly the right decision for you. Cole's barbecue is the best on the Wall," said the Night's Watch brother, taking a bite of his meat pie and washing it down with ale.

The people of Winterfell exchanged knowing smiles, clearly unconcerned. After all, how could there be any great cooks on the Wall? The best cooks served the noble lords, not the Night's Watch.

"My lord, the kitchens at Winterfell are always short-staffed," Maester Luwin suggested to Robb. "At the king's reception last time, the kitchen was in complete disarray."

"That sounds perfect! He can stay in the kitchens and cook for us," Bran said cheerfully. The knowledge that the saddle crafted by the Imp would allow him to ride a horse had lifted his spirits.

Robb considered the idea and glanced at his foster brother, Theon Greyjoy, who was smirking silently as he always did.

"You're the Lord of Winterfell; you don't need anyone's permission," Theon remarked.

Robb nodded. "Then let's have this brother from the Wall stay in the kitchens and work for the time being."

Cole hesitated, looking to Yoren, who merely sighed and shook his head.

The talkative Night's Watchman suddenly realized his words had been misinterpreted. He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and cast an apologetic glance at Cole.

Cole stood up and, following the knightly etiquette Jon had taught him, addressed Robb. "Thank you, Lord Stark. But I think there's been a misunderstanding."

Before he could say more, Yoren tugged at his sleeve.

Cole didn't understand but sat down anyway.

The hall remained in good spirits, but Robb felt somewhat troubled. He wasn't particularly fond of Cole's demeanor but tolerated it for Jon's sake.

Honor and glory should be earned, just as Jon had chosen his own path by joining the Night's Watch. If this boy, who carried himself like a knight, truly sought honor, why hadn't he remained on the Wall?

The captain of the guard, Harwin, noticed Cole's precise knightly gestures. He wanted to caution his young lord that appointing a knight so impulsively was improper. However, seeing Robb force a smile, he chose to stay silent.

A fourteen-year-old's attempts at masking his emotions were still too transparent. Everyone in Winterfell could see he was growing weary of the responsibilities of a lord, but as a Stark, he had to learn to rule the North.

As the feast wound down, the kitchen servants moved in to clear the tables and clean up the mess.

That night, Cole lay on his bed of soft furs, feeling an unexpected hollowness. This strange place would be his home now. He had read about Winterfell countless times in books, yet being here in person filled him with an indescribable emptiness. Everything was unfamiliar, as cold as the northern wind.

"This isn't the Night's Watch, Cole. A noble's words can be a gift, not a dismissal," Yoren had told him.

In that moment, he finally understood Jon's feelings. Jon must have felt the same way when he first arrived at Castle Black—when the reality of the Watch proved different from his expectations. If their roles had been reversed, Cole was certain he would have been thrilled.

He had noticed the reluctance in the Young Wolf's eyes. Could it be as Jon had warned in his letters? No, that was impossible.

Far away on the Wall, Jon Snow sniffed and sneezed from the cold air. He was on patrol—again. It was always his turn at night. No doubt, Ser Alliser and the others arranged it deliberately, but he refused to let them break him.

Since Cole and Tyrion had left, he had gradually come to tolerate—even bond with—some of the recruits he once despised. He was no longer alone, no longer full of resentment.

The next morning, the Night's Watchmen prepared to depart. The two sworn brothers escorting the Lannister prisoner would return to the Wall, while Yoren planned to head south in search of recruits before reuniting with Tyrion.

Tyrion's squire, Jack, was waiting outside Winterfell, which seemed to amuse Yoren. However, Jack walked straight up to Cole and said, "Lord Tyrion asked me to tell you that he owes you his life. 'A Lannister always pays his debts.'"

Cole smiled. "Tell your lord that Cole will come to Casterly Rock one day to collect—and he should have a bottle of Summer Red ready for me."

Watching them ride off, Cole suddenly felt the urge to leave with them. If he had spoken up, Tyrion would surely have taken him along. But he remembered the look in Tyrion's eyes as he left Winterfell—it had been full of disappointment.

"Kid, your name is Cole, right?" Maester Luwin, dressed in his scholar's robes and metal chain, asked him.

"Yes, Lord Maester."

Maester Luwin was a kind old man. He smiled gently and said, "Steward Vayon Poole followed the Duke south. For now, I'm handling some affairs in the castle. I'll take you to the cook. He should be busy in the back kitchen."

"Sorry to trouble you."

Maester Luwin smiled warmly and led Cole to the kitchen. Unlike the now-quiet hall, the kitchen was bustling, feeding hundreds of people.

The head cook, Gage, was a short, stout man with a thick beard and a voice that cut through the clamor of the kitchen.

"Gage," Luwin called, and the cook waddled over when he saw the maester.

"Good afternoon, Maester. What can I do for you?"

Luwin introduced Cole.

Gage eyed him curiously—no one had told him a new hand was coming. Most of the kitchen staff were his relatives. But since Maester Luwin had brought him, this was no ordinary arrangement.

Gage had been Winterfell's head cook for years. His daughter had practically grown up alongside the Stark children, so he feared no challenge to his position. He patted his chest and said, "Don't worry, Maester. I'll take good care of the boy."

With the introduction done, Luwin departed.

Gage looked Cole up and down. "You're tall, but too thin. Give it two months in my kitchen, and you'll be strong as a bull."

"Hello, Master Gage."

Gage nodded. As head cook of Winterfell, he had authority. Now that the newcomer was under his care, he had to teach him the rules.

"Come with me," he said, leading Cole through the kitchen, explaining castle etiquette—where not to go, such as the Stark family quarters or the training yard during guard drills.

In Winterfell, cooks ranked alongside grooms and servants. Though Westeros had no slavery, castle servants often served noble families for generations.

Cole carried the steel sword "Winter Night" on his back. Gage pointed at it. "What's that? No bringing extra baggage into my kitchen."

"For now, just watch the fires. In a few days, I'll see what you can do and assign you a proper task."