24th Day of the Sixth Moon, 281 AC – Harrenhal
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Epigraph
"It is not the sword's edge that begins wars, but the words whispered in corners and the hearts that cannot bend. The clash of steel is only the echo of choices already made."
— Jin Mu-Won
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The Morning After
Harrenhal was quieter the morning after the prince's roses fell into Lyanna Stark's lap, but it was not peace. It was the quiet of a field after lightning strikes, the silence of smoke before the fire takes.
Jin Mu-Won walked the lower bailey, staff steady in his hand, his eyes on the faces around him. Some laughed too loudly, desperate to dismiss the scandal. Some whispered behind hands, voices sharp as knives. Some avoided speaking altogether, fear lurking in their eyes.
The banners of a hundred lords fluttered still, but the air was heavier than the day before.
Jin stopped by a stall where a boy polished helms. The boy's hands shook, though his eyes darted eagerly toward the nobles riding past.
"You are troubled," Jin said gently.
The boy looked up, startled, then shrugged. "Only… my lord says there'll be trouble. That what the prince did means fighting. I don't want fighting, ser."
Jin crouched, staff across his knees, meeting the boy's gaze. His voice was calm, but long, rich with weight.
"Listen well. Trouble does not begin with a crown of roses, or even with a prince's folly. Trouble begins when men let pride blind them, when words turn sharp and kindness is forgotten. If men remember mercy, the storm can pass. But if they cling to anger, the storm will swallow all."
The boy's eyes widened. "Do you think they'll remember mercy?"
Jin's lips curved faintly, though his eyes were grave. "Few do. But some will. And that is why not all is lost."
The boy nodded, though he did not truly understand. Yet his hands steadied as he returned to his work.
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Elia Martell
Later, Jin found himself near the royal pavilion. Prince Rhaegar was nowhere to be seen, but Elia Martell sat alone, her handmaiden fussing over her cloak. Her smile was practiced, but Jin saw the fragility in her breath, the pain in her posture.
He approached slowly, bowing his head. "Princess."
Her dark eyes lifted, faint surprise flickering. "You are not one of my husband's men."
"No," Jin said softly. "I am no man's man."
She studied him, then tilted her head. "And yet you speak to me as though you carry my burdens yourself."
Jin's gaze softened. "Because I see them. You smiled when your husband passed you by. But smiles do not hide what the heart cannot bear. You have strength, princess, but no woman should be asked to endure what you endure alone."
For a moment, her composure cracked. Her eyes shimmered, and she turned away slightly, her voice low. "You see much for a stranger. Too much, perhaps. Who are you?"
Jin hesitated. He did not speak of Murim, of sects, of worlds torn apart. Instead, he spoke with quiet truth.
"I am a wanderer who has seen pride destroy kingdoms, and love turn to ashes. I cannot stop your storms, princess. But I can stand with those who weather them."
Elia drew a slow breath, then smiled faintly. "Then stand. For I fear the storms will not spare us."
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Oberyn's Fury
That evening, the feasting hall was quieter. The nobles drank, but laughter was thinner, strained.
Oberyn Martell strode in, his eyes blazing, his steps quick. He stopped near Elia, bowing to her, though his anger could not be hidden.
"Sister," he hissed, "if the prince dishonors you so openly, then Dorne must not sit silent. Our blood will not be trampled beneath dragon hooves."
Elia placed a trembling hand on his arm. "Please, Oberyn. Not here. Not now."
Oberyn's jaw tightened. He turned, his eyes falling on Jin. "And you, stranger — you sit silent while my sister is shamed?"
Jin met his gaze calmly. "Would you have me shout with the others? Rage is easy, prince. But rage alone builds only pyres. If you would defend your sister, then think not of pride, but of what will truly shield her."
Oberyn sneered. "And what would you know of shields?"
Jin's voice deepened, his words long, resonant. "I have been a shield, Oberyn Martell. For villages who could not fight. For children who could not flee. I have stood until my body broke, so that others might live. If you wish to do the same for your sister, then learn this — a shield does not swing wildly. It stands where it must, steady, unyielding."
The hall was silent. Oberyn stared at him, fury battling thought. Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned away, muttering curses under his breath.
Elia met Jin's eyes, gratitude unspoken but clear.
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By the Lake
That night, Jin walked the lake's edge once more. The moon was bright, the towers' reflections rippling across the water.
Ashara found him there, as she often did, her cloak trailing. She stood beside him, silent at first, then spoke softly.
"You speak to princes and princesses as though you are their equal."
Jin chuckled faintly. "I speak to them as I would to any soul. Titles change nothing. Pain is pain, no matter the crown."
Ashara's violet eyes lingered on him. "You unsettle me, Jin Mu-Won. You walk as though you are part of us, yet apart. You carry secrets, and yet… I cannot help but want to know them."
Jin was quiet a long time, watching the ripples. Then, at last, he said, "Where I was born, the world was divided by sects, each clawing for power. I fought them all, until nothing remained but ash and blood. I fell there, and yet… I awoke here. In your world. I cannot explain how or why. Only that I am here now, and I will not stand idle while storms gather."
Ashara's breath caught. She stared at him, her lips parting. "You… you speak of another world as if it were truth."
"It is truth," Jin said softly. "But it matters little. What matters is this world. And whether I can keep its children smiling a little longer."
For once, Ashara had no jest, no retort. She only looked at him, and in her eyes burned something new — not only curiosity, but respect, and something softer beneath.
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The Storm Gathers
As the days passed, Harrenhal emptied. Lords returned to their lands, carrying whispers sharper than swords. Robert Baratheon rode in anger, Brandon Stark fumed, Lyanna Stark vanished from the feast halls, and Rhaegar Targaryen's gaze grew ever more distant.
Jin watched it all, staff steady, his qi whispering of storms yet to break. He had stood at Harrenhal, he had seen the roses fall, and he knew what would come.
But he also knew this: he was no longer only an outsider. Elia had looked to him with unspoken trust. Ashara had listened, truly listened. And though the storm would come, he would not face it alone.