25th Day of the Second Moon, 282 AC – Fields of the Trident, Riverlands
The war changed after the bells.
The rebellion that had once seemed a desperate gamble now carried the weight of destiny. Robert Baratheon — bruised, bloodied, and still roaring — had become more than a man. To the soldiers, he was thunder given flesh, a storm walking.
Songs spread faster than ravens: Robert the Unbroken, the Hammer of the Storm.
But in the shadows between camps, another name was whispered softer, deeper, with reverence rather than awe. The Shield who saved the bells.
Men followed both — one for wrath, one for hope.
And though they marched under the same banners, Jin Mu-Won could feel how those banners rippled with two different winds.
---
The rebel host moved north along the Trident's banks, their numbers swelling with each day. Lords who had hesitated now sent men, eager to side with the rising sun.
They passed through towns half-ruined by war, through fields where wheat lay flattened beneath the weight of armies. The air was heavy with smoke and victory — a heady mix that dulled the senses and numbed the heart.
Jin walked among the men, watching. He saw laughter where there should have been silence, jesting where there should have been reflection. The faces that once trembled in fear now burned with zeal — and he felt unease.
Victory had not cleansed them. It had merely hardened them.
---
One night, as the campfires burned along the river, Ned Stark came to him. His armor was off, his cloak dark with soot. He carried no wine, no jest — only weariness.
"They've begun to believe Robert cannot be killed," he said quietly, sitting beside Jin. "That the gods themselves march with him."
Jin's gaze was calm. "Men often confuse the loudest storm for divine will."
Ned managed a faint smile. "And what of you, Jin? Some say you are no man at all — that you bend arrows and fire because you're blessed, or cursed."
Jin was silent for a moment, then said softly, "If the gods wished to bless me, they would have done so before I lost my world."
The wind off the river carried the faint scent of blood. Ned looked at him sharply. "Then why fight still? You could turn away. No one here could stop you."
Jin's hands rested on his staff. "Because if I turn away, the fire wins. And I have already buried too many burned by it."
Ned was quiet. Then he said, almost in a whisper, "Sometimes I wonder if there will be anything left to save when this war is done."
Jin's gaze lifted to the stars, faint through the smoke. "Then let us make sure there is."
---
The next day, they found the aftermath of another loyalist defeat — but no songs would be sung for this one.
A small village on the river's bend had been used as a garrison by Aerys's men. When the rebels came, the villagers had tried to flee, but were caught in the crossfire. The rebels won, but the streets were lined with bodies — old men, mothers, children.
Jin moved through the ruin, silent. He saw a rebel sharpening his blade beside a burned house, humming one of Robert's victory songs.
"Why do you sing?" Jin asked quietly.
The man looked up, startled. "For the fallen, Master Jin. For victory."
Jin's voice was soft, but the steel beneath it cut clean. "Then learn their names before you sing. Or you will only be celebrating your own deafness."
The soldier swallowed hard, shame coloring his face.
Ned found Jin later, burying the bodies himself, sweat streaking the ash on his face.
"You cannot bury the whole realm," Ned said gently.
Jin did not look up. "Then let me start with this part."
---
Across the river, ravens carried tidings.
In the Red Keep, King Aerys tore one apart with his bare hands. His beard hung in clotted tangles, his eyes wild.
"They cheer a traitor! They sing of rebellion while my throne bleeds!" he screamed, spittle flecking his lips. "Burn them all! Burn every man who whispers their names!"
Varys bowed deeply, expression unreadable. "Your Grace, wildfire takes time to prepare. The alchemists require—"
"Time?" Aerys hissed. "I am time! I am fire! Burn them!"
When Varys left the chamber, he did not sigh. He simply whispered to a small bird perched nearby, "Send word east. The prince will return soon — and none too soon."
---
At Dragonstone, Rhaella Targaryen felt the storm brewing. She had not left her chambers in weeks; the halls stank of salt and fear. Viserys clung to her skirts, wild-eyed, asking when his father would stop shouting.
"Soon," she lied softly, brushing his pale hair. "Soon, my love."
And when the servants were gone, she pressed a trembling hand to her belly. The child still within her kicked weakly. "Hold fast," she whispered. "The world burns, but not all men carry fire."
She had heard the whispers too. Even on Dragonstone, the smallfolk murmured of the Shield, the man who bent steel and spared children. A stranger. A foreigner. A hope.
Rhaella prayed to gods she no longer trusted that those whispers were true.
---
In the Dornish sands, Oberyn trained with his spear, fury burning in every motion. He struck until his hands bled.
"Your anger blinds you," Doran said from the shade.
"Then let it," Oberyn snapped. "It is better than waiting while our sister rots."
"She still lives," Doran murmured.
Oberyn laughed bitterly. "Because the gods take pleasure in slow cruelty."
Doran's gaze drifted to the horizon. "No. Because somewhere out there walks a man who does not yield to cruelty."
---
The days passed. The armies grew. And at last, word came like thunder across the land:
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had returned.
He rode at the head of the Crown's forces — tens of thousands strong, banners of red and black blazing above the fields of the Trident.
Robert's war cry echoed when he heard. "At last! Let the dragon come, and I will break him!"
Men cheered.
But Jin only stood in silence, his eyes distant.
Ned found him later by the river's edge again. "You've heard," he said softly.
Jin nodded. "Yes. The dragon returns. And with him, the fire that ends or renews."
Ned frowned. "Do you fear him?"
Jin shook his head. "No. I fear the world that cheers for whichever man kills first."
---
That night, as the camps slept, Jin could not. He walked the riverbank alone, the moonlight painting silver ripples across the dark water.
He thought of Rhaegar — the prince of prophecy, the man whose choices had lit this fire. He thought of Elia, locked in her gilded prison, and of the two children who might never see peace. He thought of Rhaella's unborn child, of Lyanna's uncertain fate, of Robert's hammer raised high.
So many fires.
He raised his hand, palm open to the moon. Qi shimmered faintly around it, the air itself trembling. He could feel the flow of life in every stone, every leaf, every drop of water.
"So much strength," he murmured to the quiet night. "And still it cannot bring peace."
He lowered his hand slowly, his expression unreadable. "Then I will try again. Until my last breath, I will try again."
---
At dawn, the horns blew.
The armies of the stag, wolf, and falcon faced the banners of the dragon. The Trident waited — calm, blue, and wide, as if holding its breath.
The battle that would decide the fate of a realm was coming.
And between those who would burn and those who would break, one man stood once more, unarmed, unwavering — the Shield.
---