After the Lannisters left Winterfell, the Stark ceremonial formation gradually dispersed.
"I've had rooms prepared for you," Robb said, his words polite yet hesitant. It was easy to tell he had rehearsed them beforehand.
The fourteen-year-old Lord of Winterfell still seemed too inexperienced, even though he was only temporarily overseeing the castle in his father's absence.
His striking turquoise eyes and reddish-brown hair came from his mother's side, setting him apart from his father. In contrast, the illegitimate Jon Snow bore a much stronger resemblance to Eddard Stark.
It was precisely because Jon looked so much like Eddard that he so often provoked the ire of Catelyn Tully, the lady of Winterfell.
Appearance seemed to shape destiny. Among the Targaryens, history showed that those crown princes born without silver hair and purple eyes rarely ascended the Iron Throne. Take, for instance, Prince Baelor the "Spearbreaker," whom Cole deeply admired.
Though he was the crown prince, his Dornish features—courtesy of his mother—marked him as an outsider. In the end, it was no surprise that he never ruled the Seven Kingdoms.
Of course, such notions were little more than the idle musings of fate-obsessed scholars. Yet Robb Stark, too, seemed unable to escape a similar kind of fate.
Some men leave behind a legacy that makes them legendary. Whether reading novels in his past life or studying the histories in Winterfell's library, Cole had always been drawn to Prince Baelor's remarkable character.
It was those same qualities in Robb that inspired Cole's loyalty. The Starks could be naive at times, but their integrity and honor set them apart in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Lord Stark," Cole suddenly called out just as Robb was about to leave. The young lord turned back, mildly confused at being addressed by a Night's Watch recruit.
"Jon entrusted me with a letter for you," Cole said, producing the sealed message. Unlike official letters bearing a sigil in wax, this one was simply sealed with resin.
Robb took the letter but made no move to open it, merely instructing his men, "See that the brothers of the Night's Watch are treated well."
Cole wasn't sure whether Jon's letter would serve as his introduction or just be a casual family message. He had never read it—after all, it was personal. He could only hope that Lord Robb would give it more than a passing glance.
The guest rooms in Winterfell were far more comfortable than the rough shelters of farmhouses and the open wilderness. For Cole, this was the height of luxury. The woolen blankets were far softer than the tattered leather mat he had slept on at the Wall. He couldn't help but imagine how much more extravagant velvet and silk must feel.
Someday, he mused, if he ever became a lord, he would live like Tyrion Lannister—drinking fine wine daily, feasting on steak, dressing in rich fabrics, and sleeping in a feather-stuffed bed.
He shook his head at the thought. Damn it, he had come from another world, one with air conditioning and hot pot. How had he ended up longing for something so simple?
Then again, circumstances change people. A man struggling just to eat doesn't have the luxury of dreaming about poetry and philosophy.
For the first time in his life, Cole took a proper bath. Winterfell, built atop hot springs, never lacked for warm water.
He had heard that the main keep was constructed directly over a hot spring, with its heat coursing through the walls, keeping the castle warm even in the dead of winter. Of course, he and the other guests wouldn't be staying in the main keep, but Winterfell had its own dedicated accommodations for visitors.
Under the open sky, Cole stripped down and lowered himself into the steaming water. The temperature was near-perfect—around forty degrees. He ran his hands over his arms and scrubbed, watching as layers of grime peeled away. A blush crept onto his otherwise pale face.
He scrubbed himself raw, from head to toe, until his skin turned red. When he finally emerged, his entire body was flushed from the heat.
After drying off, he hesitated before putting his old, worn clothes back on. The idea of donning the same gray rags again made him grimace, but he had no choice.
On his way back to the guest quarters, he ran into Yoren just as the older man was stepping out.
"Now that we've arrived at Winterfell, what's your plan?" Yoren asked.
Everyone had assumed he would follow the dwarf south. After all, the southern lands had a stronger knightly tradition than the North, and his ambition to become a knight was well known among the Night's Watch.
Cole, for his part, wished to get closer to the Stark family, but he knew approval had to be earned. He couldn't simply force himself into their ranks with flattery alone.
Besides, bowing and scraping wouldn't necessarily earn their favor. The Starks seemed to respect men who stood their ground—those with honor.
"I want to take a look around Winterfell first. This is the largest castle I've ever seen. Maybe after I've seen enough of the North, I'll head south. Maester Aemon encouraged me to see more of the Seven Kingdoms."
"It's good that you have a plan," Yoren said with a nod. As an elder of the Watch, he felt it his duty to offer some advice to the younger man. "But remember—these lands aren't as safe as you might think. Don't be reckless in the face of danger. There are plenty of greedy bastards out there who wouldn't think twice about taking what little you have."
He thought for a moment and continued, "Knighthood isn't as simple as you think, kid. You may not want to hear this, but status determines a lot. Not everyone can be Ser Duncan the Tall."
The legendary Kingsguard knight, once a lowly commoner from Flea Bottom, had earned fame through sheer skill and determination. Rumor had it he was over two meters tall, earning him the title of the Giant Knight.
Cole glanced down at Winter Night, the steel sword in his hands. He wasn't as freakishly tall as Duncan, but he had his own strength.
"Being a knight isn't just about a title—it's about the journey, isn't it?"
Yoren smiled, thinking that youthful enthusiasm was never a bad thing. Better to be ambitious than to rot away like old men with no purpose. "Just don't get blinded by the glamour of it all," he said. "Most knights aren't much different from the Night's Watch. They're just mercenaries with a coat of polish."
Winterfell would be Cole's first step on the path to carving out his own fate. Even if he couldn't change Robb Stark's destiny, he could still make a name for himself in the War of the Five Kings. A prophet in troubled times always had opportunities.