Game of Thrones: Winter Lord

The wind and snow grew fiercer. Beneath the waning moon, the world was blanketed in white. Cole walked against the wind, yet he felt no cold.

He followed the KingsRoad, heading south. Whether to King's Landing, Casterly Rock, or even Dragonstone, there would always be a place for him—perhaps even Dorne.

Beyond the soft hush of falling snow, silence reigned.

He had no sense of how long he had been walking; all around him, the world was a blur of white chaos.

Then, the sound of hoofbeats broke the stillness. Who would be riding so late at night? Cole turned, just as the sharp whistle of an arrow cut through the air. A gust of wind brushed past his ear.

Through the swirling haze, he saw a mounted figure, bow raised, its surface gleaming like moonlight. The archer's eyes locked onto him as they pulled another arrow from the quiver.

Even if there was hesitation, Cole knew this person meant him harm. In an instant, the Eye of Time and Space unfolded. Snowflakes froze midair, and the world slowed to a crawl. His attacker's movements became sluggish, like a picture advancing frame by frame.

Not only did the Eye of Time and Space slow time, but it also sharpened Cole's vision. The face reflected in his pupils was unmistakable—Theon Greyjoy.

So it was him. Back in Winterfell, Theon had gone out of his way to make things difficult for him. Now, he had come to kill him.

Time resumed its flow. Theon loosed the arrow with practiced ease. The Ironborn were famed for their skill with bows, and as the future king of the Iron Islands, Theon had trained hard to master the craft.

At this distance, the kill should have been effortless. He aimed for the head—one shot, clean through the skull.

But with a slight tilt of his head, Cole dodged it. The arrow whistled past his neck. He advanced, one hand reaching behind his back to grasp his sword.

"Lucky bastard," Theon muttered, spitting to the side before nocking another arrow.

He fired again, but Cole dodged effortlessly, twisting his body out of harm's way. Theon's confidence wavered. This wasn't normal.

Frustrated, he loosed two arrows in quick succession. "Let's see you dodge this," he thought.

Cole moved like a shadow, tilting his head to evade the first and striking the second out of the air with his sword.

"Damn it," Theon cursed, yanking his reins and turning his horse. They were barely ten feet apart.

Cole surged forward. Before the horse could fully turn, he swung his sword. The blade cut through the falling snow, streaking toward Theon.

Theon's instincts took over. He raised his bow to block, but with a sharp snap, the string broke. The sword sliced clean through, splitting the bow in two.

Thrown from the saddle, Theon crashed into the snow. But Cole did not hesitate. He struck again.

Seeing the blade flash toward him, Theon acted on reflex. He grabbed for the broken bow, hooking it around Cole's ankle in a desperate attempt to trip him. But it was a feeble effort—barely enough to slow him.

Cole's sword came down.

Theon reached out, gripping the blade with his gloved hand. Pain shot through his palm as the steel pierced the fur and leather. For a brief moment, regret flared in his mind. He had been reckless.

The blade pressed closer to his chest. With a desperate burst of strength, Theon shoved it aside and rolled, tumbling several times through the snow before scrambling to his feet.

He yanked the iron sword from his belt, lowering into a defensive stance. His legs shifted, distributing his weight just as Jon had once taught Cole.

"You really are something," Theon muttered, breathing heavily. His hands trembled, blood dripping from his fingers onto the pristine snow, staining it red.

The landscape remained blurred and pale—blue shadows mixing with white. The blood stood out starkly, a single blot of deep crimson against the cold.

"Theon Greyjoy, we have no quarrel, do we?" Cole's voice was calm, yet sharp as a blade. "You provoked me in the hall, and now you attack me with a bow. Do you really think I'm so easy to bully?"

Theon spat blood onto the snow, his body trembling from the impact of his fall. "Ironborn don't need reasons. Strength matters more than effort. If you want to blame someone, blame whatever it is on you that caught my eye."

What on Cole could possibly interest him? A tattered cook's tunic, a pair of worn Night's Watch boots, and the sword—Winter Night.

So that was it. Theon wanted his sword.

"Hmph. Greedy, aren't you?" Cole stepped forward, his boots sinking into the snow. "Then prepare to pay the price."

His sword flashed like the curve of a waning moon. Theon raised his own blade to block, but the moment their weapons met, pain ripped through his arm. The wound on his palm split open again, blood spilling freely.

Cole struck again. Holding his sword with both hands, he unleashed a relentless flurry of blows, the cold light of his blade falling like a sky full of stars. Theon struggled to parry each strike, his hands growing weaker with every impact.

"What kind of monster is this?!" The thought screamed in his mind.

Then, in an instant, Cole's sword changed direction, twisting mid-strike like a silver serpent.

"Shit—!" Theon barely had time to react before pain exploded in his thigh.

"Ahhh!" He collapsed onto the snow, his sword slipping from his grasp. Clutching his bleeding leg, he howled in agony.

Cole kicked the fallen sword aside and stepped forward.

Each step echoed like a drumbeat in Theon's chest. Fear twisted his face, his mind racing. No—I can't die. I still have to inherit the Iron Islands. I will be king of the Ironborn.

Desperation took hold. "Don't kill me! Please—don't kill me!" He sobbed, his voice raw with terror.

Cole raised his sword. He had no mercy for enemies. There was no reason to let Theon live—killing him now might even serve Robb Stark's cause.

Tears streamed down Theon's face. His mouth hung open, snot mixing with blood as he stared at the cold steel reflecting the moonlight. Death had never felt so close.

Then, a voice rang out like an order from the gods—

"STOP!"

The earth trembled as horses thundered toward them.

Cole halted his blade and turned his head toward the approaching riders. He sighed inwardly. So, this idiot gets to live.

A formation of Northern cavalry surrounded them.

Cole met Robb Stark's gaze, then, without a word, withdrew his sword and turned away. He pushed past the cavalry and walked toward Theon's fallen horse.

With a swift movement, he mounted the steed and cast a final glance at Theon, who lay crumpled in the snow.

"I'll spare your life. Try not to waste it."

The cavalry moved to block his path, but Robb raised a hand, stopping them. They could only watch as Cole rode off, his figure disappearing into the pale horizon.

Theon groaned from the ground. "If no one helps me up, you'll be taking a corpse back to Winterfell."

Robb Stark sighed. Theon, once clever and arrogant, looked utterly pathetic now. But despite everything, he still bore the name of a brother.

"Take him," Robb ordered, before turning back toward Winterfell.

The ride was silent for a time, until Robb finally spoke. "Do you even understand what you've done? I declared him innocent. Do you want the Starks to lose their honor?"

Theon groaned. "Robb, I'm bleeding out here. Shouldn't you let the maester take a look at me first?" He held up his bloodied hand, but his thoughts were elsewhere. I'm not a Stark. What does Stark honor have to do with me?

Robb's expression darkened. "Everyone is responsible for their own actions, Theon. If you had died tonight, it would have been no one's fault but your own." He spurred his horse forward.

Theon clenched his jaw, seething in silence.