The Blackwater Coast, the 13th Day of the Third Moon, 282 AC
The road curved inland that day, pulling away from the sea and into a maze of dunes and wind-twisted pines. The air smelled faintly of brine and smoke, a mix that never quite left this part of the coast.
They had been walking since dawn, the sky low and heavy with clouds. Jin led the way, his staff cutting a clean line in the damp sand. Behind him, Elia walked with Aegon asleep in her arms, her dark hair tied back with a strip of linen. Rhaenys trudged beside Mariya, humming to herself and kicking at shells buried in the sand.
Thalen, the old woman, brought up the rear, muttering about the state of her knees. "I've had better walks to my grave," she said for the third time.
Ralf, the deserter, chuckled under his breath. "Wouldn't be much of a walk if you're already dead."
She turned her head sharply. "And wouldn't be much of a man, saying that to an old woman."
"Fair enough," Ralf said. "You're not much of a woman either. More like an angry crow with a stick."
Thalen stopped walking just long enough to squint at him. "Careful, boy. Crows live longer than deserters."
Elia bit back a smile. It was the first real conversation she'd heard between them that didn't sound like the edge of a knife. The tension of the road had been pressing on everyone, and even small, rough humor was a kind of relief.
Jin glanced back once, his expression unreadable, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
---
By midday, the wind picked up. They found a half-collapsed farmhouse near the edge of a field, its roof caved in but one room still standing. The ground was littered with broken tools, a child's wooden toy, and an overturned bucket that had long since rusted through.
They decided to stop.
Elia sat near the doorway, watching as Jin and Ralf gathered dry branches for a fire. Mariya fussed over Aegon, wrapping him in another blanket. Rhaenys poked her head through a hole in the wall, announcing she'd seen "a bird bigger than a chicken but smaller than a dragon," and Thalen grunted, "That's a seagull, you daft child."
Jin set down the bundle of wood and dusted his hands. "We'll stay here tonight. The storm from the sea will reach us by evening."
"Again?" Ralf muttered, dropping his own bundle. "Feels like the storms follow you, old man."
Jin didn't look up. "Then perhaps you should walk faster."
The reply caught Ralf off guard. He barked a laugh. "Didn't think you had a tongue for jokes."
"Neither did I," Jin said dryly. "But I seem to learn from bad examples."
Even Elia smiled at that — soft and brief, but real.
---
As the light began to fade, they built the fire. The flames flickered low and uneven, casting long shadows against the cracked walls. The air was cool and damp, smelling of wet earth.
Thalen had found a handful of carrots and a single onion in what remained of the larder. Ralf contributed a small rabbit he'd caught in a snare earlier that afternoon. "Not much," he said, tossing it onto a flat stone. "But better than chewing on your riddles, monk."
Jin arched a brow. "My words may not fill your belly, but they might keep your mouth busy enough to forget your hunger."
Ralf snorted. "You sound like my mother."
"I hope she's proud, then."
"Not likely," Ralf said, smirking. "She threw me out when I joined the goldcloaks. Said I'd come back with more sin than coin. Guess she was right."
The conversation faded for a while after that. The fire crackled, and rain began to patter softly on the broken roof.
Elia sat with her back against the wall, Aegon asleep in her lap, Rhaenys leaning against her shoulder. The flickering firelight danced across their faces, softening the sharpness that war had carved into them.
Mariya, half-dozing, asked suddenly, "Do you think… do you think they'll rebuild King's Landing? After all this?"
Thalen grunted. "Aye. They'll patch the stones, hang new banners, call it peace. Same thing they always do."
Elia didn't look up. "And then it all happens again."
"That's the way of things," Thalen said, adjusting her shawl. "The world doesn't stop breaking just because you're tired of watching."
Rhaenys stirred. "Will it happen again soon?"
Her mother hesitated. Jin glanced toward them, watching the flicker of light in the child's eyes.
"Maybe not soon," Elia said quietly. "Maybe not while you're small. That's why we keep walking — so you'll be somewhere safe when it does."
Rhaenys frowned. "Then when I'm big, can I make it stop?"
Elia smiled sadly. "If anyone can, you might."
The girl's eyes brightened, though she didn't understand the weight in her mother's voice.
---
Later that night, after the rain had turned to a steady downpour, Jin and Ralf stood guard outside. The sound of the storm drowned out everything else — wind moaning through the broken beams, the rhythmic drip of water from the roof.
Ralf kicked at a loose stone. "So… where are we even headed? You keep walking south, but south's just more sand and Dornishmen who don't like strangers."
"Then we'll find those who do," Jin said.
"That's not much of a plan."
"Plans rarely survive the road," Jin said, adjusting his cloak. "But they make people feel safe."
Ralf smirked. "You've got an answer for everything, don't you?"
"Only for questions worth asking."
Ralf huffed out a breath, amused despite himself. "You talk like a man who's been everywhere. Like you've seen it all before."
"I've seen enough to know no one has."
"Right." Ralf leaned against the wall, arms folded. "And what did you see before this? Before you started saving stray royals and lost soldiers?"
Jin's gaze drifted toward the horizon, though there was nothing to see but rain. "A world that taught me strength means nothing without restraint. And mercy is harder than killing."
Ralf gave a low whistle. "Sounds miserable."
"It was," Jin said quietly. "But misery teaches faster than peace."
Ralf was silent for a while, then asked, "You ever lose someone? Someone you couldn't save?"
Jin's hand tightened briefly on his staff. "Yes."
"Family?"
"Everyone," Jin said, so softly it was almost lost to the wind.
The younger man didn't press further. For the first time, he saw not the unshakable calm of the strange foreigner, but the faint shadow behind his eyes — the weight of a grief carried too long and too quietly.
They stood in silence for a while after that, the storm washing the ash from the road.
---
By morning, the rain had stopped. Mist clung to the fields, turning the world to silver. The farmhouse looked almost peaceful again — smoke curling from the fire, Elia humming softly as she fed the children, Thalen complaining about her joints, Rhaenys running barefoot through puddles.
Ralf joined Jin outside, yawning. "You don't sleep, do you?"
"I try," Jin said. "The night doesn't always let me."
"Yeah. Same." Ralf rubbed his jaw, then added awkwardly, "Thanks. For… not letting me die back there."
Jin looked at him, then nodded once. "You earned another day. Make it count."
Ralf blinked. "That's it? No lesson about honor or duty?"
"No," Jin said, turning toward the rising sun. "You already know the lesson. You're just deciding whether to follow it."
Ralf grinned faintly. "You're a strange bastard, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
---
They left the farmhouse by midmorning. The road ahead wound through low hills covered in wild grass, shimmering with dew. Somewhere beyond those hills lay the coast again — and, beyond that, the path to Dragonstone.
They didn't hurry. The storm had washed the air clean, and for the first time since the city's fall, the world smelled like rain instead of blood.
Elia walked beside Jin, the children running ahead, Thalen and Mariya trailing behind.
"Do you think there's still a place left untouched?" she asked after a while.
"Somewhere," Jin said. "There always is."
Elia nodded, her voice quiet. "Then let's find it."
And for the first time in weeks, Jin smiled — not faintly, not fleetingly, but with the warmth of a man who wanted to believe it too.
---