Chapter 10: The Iron Wolf Rises
Grief was a fire. It could consume you or forge you into something harder.
Kole chose steel.
Three days after Ned's death, he emerged from his chambers with purpose burning in his eyes like forge-light. The paralysis of despair had lifted, replaced by crystalline clarity about what needed to be done. If he couldn't speak warnings, he would build defenses. If he couldn't prevent disasters, he would prepare for their aftermath.
The first gathering took place in Winterfell's secondary training yard, away from the main courtyard where scattered metal still bore witness to his moment of lost control. Kole had summoned the most capable fighters remaining in the castle—men and women who had witnessed his power and chosen to stay rather than flee.
Mira Tallhart stood at their center, her auburn hair gleaming in morning sunlight and her hand resting easily on her sword hilt. Beside her, Harwin Stone maintained the stoic expression of a veteran who had seen enough impossibilities to accept one more. A dozen guards completed the group, their faces reflecting mixtures of curiosity, loyalty, and the kind of desperate hope that came from knowing their world was changing in ways they couldn't control.
"War is coming to our doorstep," Kole began without preamble. "Not from the South—from somewhere closer, someone you trust. I can't explain how I know, but I know."
The assembled fighters stirred with uncomfortable awareness. They had all heard the ravens from Robb's campaign, understood that victory in battle didn't guarantee safety at home. But Kole's certainty carried weight beyond normal strategic assessment.
"Train with me," he continued, his voice carrying the intensity of absolute conviction. "Learn to fight like your lives depend on perfect technique, because they will. Become something more than guards—become weapons that think, shields that adapt, a brotherhood bound by loyalty rather than just duty."
Harwin Stone was the first to step forward. "You saved Lord Bran's life. That earns consideration. What exactly are you proposing?"
"Unconventional tactics. Enhanced weapons. Training that prepares you for enemies who fight dirty and allies who might become betrayers." Kole's enhanced senses detected elevated heart rates, the sharp scent of nervous sweat, but also the metallic taste of determination. "I can't promise you'll survive what's coming. But I can promise you'll have every advantage I can give you."
"And in exchange?" Mira asked, her green eyes studying his face with uncomfortable intensity.
"Loyalty to Winterfell. To the Stark children. To each other." Kole met each pair of eyes in turn, reading acceptance in some, skepticism in others. "Not to me personally—to what we're protecting."
One by one, they nodded agreement. Not enthusiastic acceptance, but the grudging acknowledgment of people who understood that unusual times demanded unusual solutions. They became his Brotherhood that day—bound by shared knowledge of his abilities and shared commitment to defending what remained of the world Ned Stark had built.
The nights that followed, Kole spent in Winterfell's forge.
Mikken the blacksmith had fled south with Robb's army, leaving behind tools and workspace that Kole transformed into something approaching a laboratory. His metal manipulation had evolved since the day of Ned's execution, refined by necessity and emotional trauma into something approaching art.
He could feel the molecular structure of steel now, sense the imperfections that weakened blades and the stress points where armor failed under pressure. More importantly, he could fix them.
Working by candlelight while the castle slept, Kole reshaped weapons with magnetic fields that aligned crystalline structures in patterns no normal smith could achieve. Swords that would never dull, their edges maintained by forces that operated below the threshold of human perception. Armor reinforced at critical junctions with alloys that shouldn't exist but did under his enhanced touch.
The process was exhausting. Each night of metalwork left him drained, his enhanced metabolism burning through calories at rates that required massive food consumption just to maintain basic function. But the results spoke for themselves—weapons that cut through conventional steel like parchment, protection that could turn aside blows that should have been fatal.
"This is what I should have been doing from the beginning. Not hiding, not pretending to be normal. Building tools for the people I care about. Preparing them for the wars I know are coming."
Word spread despite his attempts at discretion. Visiting merchants carried tales of "the boy who bends steel like willow branches" to taverns throughout the North. The legend grew with each telling—the Iron Wolf who could reshape metal with thought alone, who had collapsed from grief when Lord Stark died, who was forging weapons of impossible sharpness in preparation for enemies unknown.
"This attention worries me," Maester Luwin warned during one of their regular conversations. "The Citadel has ways of learning about unusual phenomena. If they send investigators..."
"Let them come," Kole replied, testing the edge of a blade he'd just completed. "By the time they arrive, we'll be ready for whatever questions they bring."
But the most important conversation took place in Bran's chamber, away from witnesses who might misinterpret cryptic warnings.
Kole found the boy reading by his window, morning light illuminating pages of a book about the history of House Stark. Bran's legs lay motionless beneath blankets, but his mind remained sharp as winter air.
"I need to tell you something," Kole said, settling into the chair beside the bed. "About trust, and loyalty, and people who might not be what they seem."
Bran set down his book, giving Kole the focused attention that had always made him seem older than his years. "You're talking about someone specific."
"Trust is earned, not inherited. Just because someone grew up here doesn't mean their loyalty runs deep." Kole chose his words with surgical precision, dancing around the cosmic curse's constraints. "Watch for resentment disguised as friendship. Look for signs that affection might be performance rather than genuine feeling."
Bran's grey eyes grew distant, that otherworldly awareness stirring behind them like wind through leaves. For a moment, his pupils dilated with the telltale signs of greensight activation.
"I see... flashes. Someone standing where they shouldn't. Banners that don't belong." Bran's voice carried the dreamy quality that accompanied his prophetic moments. "You're trying to warn me about someone specific. I can't see who, but I'll remember this. I'll watch."
It was the best Kole could do—plant seeds of caution without naming names, prepare Bran to recognize betrayal when it came without triggering the curse that prevented direct prophecy.
"Good. That's all I can ask for."
The raven from Robb arrived that evening, bearing news of continued victories but also questions that made Kole's enhanced senses scream warnings. The young King in the North had captured Jaime Lannister during the battle at Riverrun and wanted counsel on what to do with such a valuable prisoner.
Kole's response was carefully crafted: Keep him alive. He's worth more as a hostage than a martyr. But guard him well—the Lannisters will stop at nothing to secure his release.
He didn't add what he knew from the show—that Catelyn would free Jaime anyway in a desperate attempt to ransom her daughters, setting in motion the chain of events that would lead to the Red Wedding. The cosmic curse wouldn't allow such specific warnings, and even hints might be too dangerous.
But he could prepare for the consequences. Train his Brotherhood to recognize threats from within as well as without. Forge weapons that could turn the tide when betrayal inevitably struck. Build defenses that might hold when everything else fell apart.
Standing on Winterfell's walls that night, watching stars wheel overhead in patterns that had guided navigators for millennia, Kole felt the weight of transformed purpose. He was no longer the frightened young man who had tried to remain invisible while catastrophes unfolded around him.
He was the Iron Wolf now—protector of the North, forger of impossible weapons, keeper of secrets that could reshape the world if properly applied. The cosmic curse might prevent him from speaking certain truths, but it couldn't stop him from acting on the knowledge he possessed.
War was coming to Winterfell's doorstep. Betrayal lurked in familiar faces. Enemies marshaled their strength while allies prepared for battles they couldn't imagine.
But this time, when the wolves howled, they would have steel in their teeth and fire in their hearts.
The North would remember. And remembering, it would endure.
Winter was coming.
But the Iron Wolf was ready.
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