26th Day of the First Moon, 282 AC – Eastern Riverlands
The river air smelled of smoke and iron. The ground, churned by hooves and blood, had turned to black mud that clung to boots and corpses alike.
The Stark and Arryn banners flew beside Robert Baratheon's crowned stag now — a symbol of rebellion made flesh. The three armies had joined at last, forming a host vast enough to challenge the Crown's loyalists in open field.
Yet for all their numbers, the rebels were weary. They had marched and bled for months, living on burned grain and meager spoils. Fear and exhaustion were heavy companions.
Only one man seemed untouched by it — the barefoot stranger who walked among them, his calm undisturbed by the ruin that surrounded them.
---
Jin Mu-Won stood at the edge of the encampment, overlooking the fields where the two armies would meet come dawn. His eyes traced the distant fires of the loyalists — a thousand small suns flickering on the horizon.
Robert Baratheon strode toward him, hammer slung across his back, his grin fierce despite the blood on his mail.
"There you are, Shield," Robert said, his voice booming. "My men say you walk through battle without raising your weapon. Is that true, or just another fireside tale to make them piss themselves?"
Jin's lips curved faintly. "It is true. Though I find that fear seldom serves as armor."
Robert laughed, loud and unrestrained. "By the gods, I like you. Shame you won't fight for me — you'd be worth ten of my bannermen."
"I fight for lives," Jin said simply. "If your war spares them, then we already walk the same road."
Robert's grin faltered just a little, replaced by something like respect. "Then walk with me tomorrow, Shield. Let's see if your road and mine end at the same place."
---
At dawn, the loyalists came — banners of House Darry and Mooton at their head, flanked by remnants of Crownland levies. Their armor gleamed in the morning light, the roar of their advance echoing across the fields.
The rebel horns answered.
Jin stood near the center ranks with Ned's men, his staff raised, his eyes scanning the lines. He could feel their fear — the tremor in their breathing, the pounding of their hearts. He drew a deep breath, letting his qi ripple outward, a calm pulse that brushed across them like a tide.
"Breathe," he said, softly at first. "Breathe as one."
The words spread, passed from man to man. Shields rose. Spears steadied.
When the lines met, the clash was thunder.
---
Jin moved like a shadow through the storm. His staff blurred, striking shields, turning blades aside. Where men stumbled, he steadied them; where they fell, he pulled them to safety.
Arrows hissed — he swept his hand, and qi flared, bending their flight aside. One struck his shoulder, slicing through cloth but not flesh; the arrow snapped against him like straw.
To the soldiers, it was sorcery. To Jin, it was simply breath in harmony with the world.
He reached the vanguard where the loyalists pressed hardest. Their commander — a knight in silvered mail, bearing the sigil of House Mooton — shouted for his men to break the rebels. Jin's staff met his sword with a ringing crack.
The knight sneered. "You fight with wood?"
Jin's gaze was steady. "Wood shields the roots of mountains. Let us see how steel fares."
Their blades met again — and again — until the knight's sword split clean in two. Jin struck once, the staff's end slamming into the man's chest. He fell, armor dented, breath gone.
The loyalist line faltered.
---
Elsewhere, Robert's war cry rose above the din, his hammer crushing all before him. The contrast was stark — Robert a storm of fire and fury, Jin a current of calm and balance.
Where Robert's men roared for vengeance, Jin's fought for survival. Where Robert left ruin, Jin left quiet.
And yet, by day's end, the field belonged to them both.
The loyalists broke and fled, the ground littered with corpses and broken banners.
Robert raised his hammer high, bellowing victory. His men cheered, their cries echoing across the river.
But Jin did not cheer. He walked the field instead, kneeling by the fallen — loyalist and rebel alike — and closed their eyes one by one.
---
That night, the camp feasted. The air was thick with triumph, wine, and the smell of roasted meat. Songs rose, crude and loud, drowning the memory of blood.
Ned sat apart, his mood sober. Jin joined him quietly, his robes streaked with dust.
"Another victory," Ned said softly, though the words held no joy.
Jin nodded. "Victory is only a word. It feeds no one."
Ned studied him. "Do you ever rest, Jin?"
Jin's gaze drifted to the stars. "Rest is not for those who still owe the dead."
Ned said nothing. In the distance, Robert's laughter rolled across the camp — wild, unburdened, the sound of a man who believed the crown already his.
But Jin's eyes were on the fires beyond, where the wounded groaned. "War makes men forget the price of peace," he murmured. "Until someone reminds them."
---
Far away, in King's Landing, Elia Martell felt the world tremble.
News of the battle reached the city by raven. Rhaegar was still missing, Aerys still raving, but the whispers grew louder: the rebels are winning.
And in those same whispers, another name — the Shield who bends steel, the stranger who spares children.
Elia pressed her hand to her heart. "Then he walks still," she whispered. "And perhaps the gods are not deaf after all."
---
At dawn, Jin stood by the river, washing blood from his hands. The water ran pink, swirling around his reflection.
He thought of the little girl from the burned sept, of the faces of men he'd spared, of the lives lost despite his best efforts.
A soldier approached, hesitant. "Master Jin… you saved us again. You make us believe there's something beyond all this killing."
Jin smiled faintly, though his eyes were weary. "Belief is good. But it is not enough. You must become what you believe."
He rose, his gaze on the horizon where the next battle waited.
The river flowed on — red, unending — but within it, his reflection did not waver.
---