One man and one wolf. One in the light, one in the dark. Moving in perfect harmony.
Cole dodged as a northern cavalryman rode past in an attempt to strike him down. On the battlefield, survival meant more than just watching the enemy in front of you—you had to sense the killing intent lurking in every direction.
Both he and Robb had come to the same realization.
They were facing an opponent unlike any they had ever fought before.
Robb was astonished—this man is holding his own against both me and Grey Wind… without a single injury.
Cole fought with precision, attacking Robb while avoiding the direwolf. Every time he found an opening and went for a killing strike, the beast would lunge from the shadows, forcing him to retreat.
The fight dragged on, but Cole never stopped listening, waiting, sensing his surroundings.
Then—he caught it. A flicker of movement in the dark woods.
His cape rippled as he dodged to the side, then lunged forward to attack. Robb met him head-on, raising his sword in both hands.
Cole's left-hand blade slashed across Winter's Night.
By now, Robb had learned his opponent's style—Cole never defended, only attacked. If he wanted to win, he had to block every strike and wait for an opening.
As expected, Cole struck downward again, putting all his strength into the blow. Robb twisted, sidestepping the horizontal slash, then raised his sword to block.
Steel scraped against steel, and his blade slid along Cole's, angling toward the knight's right arm.
But then—
Cole redirected the blow mid-swing.
His sword came down in a vertical arc—too fast.
Robb's heart pounded. He barely had time to react.
With a desperate decision, he blocked the lower attack with his sword while raising his arm to take the upper strike on his wrist guard.
A sharp clang rang out as iron met steel.
Then—pain.
A searing pain tore through his arm. The impact drove metal into flesh, ripping muscle, and blood welled up between the seams of his armor.
He staggered back. His arm burned.
Cole pressed forward, driving both swords against him, forcing the wound open. The pressure snapped the guard plate apart, exposing the torn flesh beneath.
Robb lost his footing and crashed to the ground.
Grey Wind leaped from the darkness.
Cole turned, swords ready, showing no fear.
The direwolf lunged, jaws wide, a blur of gray fur and gleaming fangs.
Cole met the beast mid-air, bracing both blades against its massive paws.
Grey Wind towered over him, standing on its hind legs like a monstrous bear. A man and a wolf, locked in a test of raw strength.
The direwolf pressed down.
Cole did not waver.
Like an immovable rock, he held firm—then, suddenly, he let go.
Grey Wind lost balance and collapsed forward.
A flash of steel—
Cole drew a dagger from his belt in one fluid motion.
"Grey Wind, careful!" Robb's shout rang out.
The direwolf twisted its head, but it was too late.
Shhk!
A dagger buried itself in its eye.
Blood sprayed into the night.
If not for the wolf's last-second movement, the blade would have pierced its throat. Even blinded, Grey Wind did not retreat. Snarling, it snapped its jaws, but Cole had already jumped back, avoiding the vicious bite.
"Grey Wind, fall back!" Robb called.
The direwolf obeyed, staggering away. Blood dripped from its ruined eye, staining its muzzle red.
Robb's grip trembled as he reached for the dagger, teeth clenched.
With a sharp yank, he pulled it free.
Cole picked up his sword and met Robb's furious gaze.
Adjusting his tilted helmet, he surged forward once more.
But Robb…
Robb could barely hold his sword.
His injured arm was failing him. Grey Wind, his fiercest protector, was bleeding heavily.
They were both crippled.
Cole saw it, too. This fight was already won.
But before he could land the final blow—
A northern knight burst into the fray.
The warrior swung a heavy mace, aiming for Cole's skull.
Cole ducked under the arc, sidestepped, and in one clean stroke, severed the knight's head from his shoulders.
The body hit the ground with a thud before the knight even had time to scream.
The battlefield was still raging, but in this small corner of it, death was coming swiftly.
For Robb Stark, that death was fast approaching.
Robb tightened his grip on his sword with his uninjured hand, pushing Grey Wind away as he staggered back. But the direwolf refused to retreat, its loyalty unshaken.
The battle had turned against him.
More northern knights rushed in to defend their lord, but none could stop Cole. Like a blood-soaked god of war, he cut them down one by one, drawing ever closer to the Young Wolf.
Robb knew whose blood stained Cole's blade. He had already lost two of his men.
Grey Wind bared his teeth, letting out a deep, menacing growl.
"Grey Wind, go!" Robb tried again, pushing at the stubborn wolf, but it wouldn't leave his side.
Cole studied the young lord, his arms trembling from exhaustion and injury. Maybe this battlefield is as good a place as any for you to die, boy.
The direwolf lunged once more. But with one eye blinded, its aim was off. Cole sidestepped the attack with ease and turned to face Robb again.
The boy's face was set with grim determination. His sword rose slowly, leveling toward his opponent.
Cole had seen many men beg for mercy on the battlefield. But this one—this boy—had the courage to face death head-on.
He was only fifteen.
Before Robb could make his final stand, fate intervened.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Thwack!
An arrow struck Cole in the back.
Pain exploded through his body. He let out a low groan, gritting his teeth against the unexpected agony.
From a distance, a mounted archer lowered his bow.
Even through the armored helm, Robb could feel the smirk behind it.
Theon Greyjoy.
His brother in all but blood. The adopted son of Winterfell.
Cole reached behind him, fingers brushing against the deeply embedded arrowhead. With a sharp breath, he swung his sword, snapping the shaft in half. Pain shot down his arm, leaving it numb.
Grey Wind seized the opportunity.
The direwolf launched itself at him.
Cole had no time to react before he was slammed to the ground.
Jaws snapped toward his throat.
He caught the beast's upper and lower jaws, straining to keep them apart. But the pull of his injured arm only tore the wound open further.
Pain blurred his vision.
Death was just inches away.
He had fought like an unstoppable force on the battlefield, but in the end… he was still mortal.
Through the struggle, slow footsteps approached.
Cole flicked his gaze upward.
Robb Stark.
The Young Wolf loomed over him, sword in hand, blood dripping from his wounded arm.
Cole exhaled slowly. So, this is how it ends…
Then—
A deafening roar of battle cries erupted.
Red banners.
Golden lions.
Lannister reinforcements flooded the battlefield.
Robb's eyes widened.
Theon galloped toward him, a column of northern cavalry at his back. He reined in his horse, scanning the fallen warrior at Robb's feet. For a moment, he didn't even recognize him.
"Robb, get on the horse! Lannister's men are coming!"
Robb hesitated. His gaze lingered on Cole.
Then, with a tight jaw, he called Grey Wind back.
The direwolf snarled but obeyed, slinking to his side as Robb mounted up with the help of his men.
Without another word, the Young Wolf and his riders vanished into the forests, disappearing into the unknown.
Cole lay on his back, coughing, blood staining his lips.
With great effort, he propped himself up, turning his head toward the advancing Lannister forces.
Through the haze of battle, he spotted the man leading them—an older knight, clad in full armor, his face sharp with confidence.
Ser Kevan Lannister.
The northern cavalry that had failed to retreat in time were being slaughtered.
Kevan rode up to Cole, dismounting with a smug expression.
"Stubborn brat," he scoffed. "Beg me, and I might help you up."
Cole spat blood onto the ground.
"I can stand on my own."
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