24th Day of the Ninth Moon, 281 AC – Winterfell, The Riverlands, Storm's End
The chill of autumn deepened across the North. At Winterfell, smoke curled from the chimneys, filling the air with the scent of pine and hearthfire. Children ran in the yard, their laughter thin beneath the tension that gripped the castle walls.
Inside the great hall, Rickard Stark sat at the head of the long table, his face carved of stone. Beside him sat his sons: Brandon restless and fierce, Eddard quiet and solemn, Benjen eager to prove himself though still young. The lords of the North filled the benches, voices rising with oaths and boasts, but beneath it all was the truth that weighed upon every heart: war had come, and none could know how it would end.
Jin Mu-Won stood at the edge of the hall, his staff resting against the wall. He had no place at the table of lords, and he did not seek one. Yet his presence drew glances all the same — some respectful, some wary, some fearful. Word had spread too far to be silenced. The man who bent fire, the man who saved wolves from chains.
When the meal ended, Rickard dismissed the lords with stern words. "Prepare your men. Winterfell marches soon."
The hall emptied, leaving only Rickard and his sons. And Jin, silent still.
Rickard's gaze fell upon him. "You walk with us still, stranger. Do you seek to bind yourself to Winterfell?"
Jin bowed his head. His voice was calm, but long, layered with weight. "I seek no binding. But I will not walk away while fire threatens to devour all. I have seen too many halls fall to ash while men argued of crowns. I will stand where I must, as I have always done. If that path walks beside the wolf, then so be it."
Rickard studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Then walk with us. Until winter's end."
---
Later, in the quiet of the godswood, Ned found Jin beneath the heart tree. The red leaves whispered in the night, the face in the weirwood watching with solemn eyes.
"My father accepts you," Ned said quietly. "But my brother never will. Brandon sees only pride. He cannot understand why you walk among us."
Jin looked up at the red canopy, his breath slow. "Brandon burns bright, but fire consumes quickly. You… you are stone, Eddard Stark. Slow to move, but unyielding when you do. Your people will need stone more than fire when this war grows long."
Ned's jaw tightened. "And you? What are you, Jin Mu-Won?"
Jin smiled faintly, though his eyes were weary. "I am the shield that breaks before those behind me do. That is all I have ever been. That is all I will ever be."
Ned looked at him for a long time, then bowed his head. "Then may the gods keep you standing."
---
Far to the south, the rebellion grew bloodier. Robert Baratheon clashed with loyalists along the Mander, his hammer smashing through lines like waves upon stone. His laughter carried even in the din of battle, but behind his victories lay burned farms and emptied villages.
In the Riverlands, Lord Hoster Tully bent his knee to the rebels, joining his daughters to the cause. Catelyn wed Brandon Stark, though her heart was heavy, and Lysa pledged to wed Jon Arryn. Ravens carried the tidings to Winterfell, binding the fates of wolves, stags, falcons, and fish.
And in King's Landing, Aerys raved louder, demanding more wildfire, more heads. Elia Martell sat in her chambers, her children pressed to her breast, praying silently for the shield she had seen once to stand again before fire reached her.
---
At Winterfell, Jin began his teaching in earnest. Not just soldiers, but squires and even children gathered in the yard as he moved through his stances. His staff cut arcs in the air, his feet steady, his breath flowing.
"Balance," he told them. "Breath. These are the roots. A tree without roots falls when the storm comes. A man without balance falls when the blade strikes."
The children mimicked him, their movements clumsy but eager. The soldiers scoffed at first, but as they watched, they found their own stances less sure, their own breaths ragged. Slowly, they began to follow too.
Benjen Stark, eager and bright-eyed, asked Jin one evening, "Will this make me fight like you?"
Jin's lips curved faintly. "No. It will make you fight like yourself. And that is all you need."
---
That night, in the quiet of the hall after the lords had gone, Ned sat with Jin by the dying fire. Brandon's laughter carried faintly from the courtyards, where he boasted with his men. Rickard had retired to his chambers, heavy with thought.
Ned poured wine into Jin's cup, though Jin barely touched it. "You give my people more than you know," Ned said softly. "But you also unsettle them. They do not understand you. Some fear you."
Jin's gaze was steady. "Fear is natural. When men see what they cannot explain, they call it witchcraft or sorcery. But time will show them truth. I am no sorcerer. I am only a man who has walked too long through fire to fear it anymore."
Ned studied him, then nodded slowly. "When this war is over, if it ends, what will you do?"
Jin looked into the embers, his voice quiet. "If there are still children laughing, I will sit with them. That is enough for me."
Ned smiled faintly, though it did not reach his eyes. "Then may we win a world where children can laugh again."
---
The war drums beat louder with each passing day. Ravens flew in black clouds. The Riverlands bled, the Stormlands roared, the Vale held firm, and the North prepared to march.
But in the halls of Winterfell, Jin Mu-Won planted roots where he could — in the breaths of soldiers, in the balance of squires, in the laughter of children.
And as autumn deepened, he knew the storm would only grow darker. But he also knew this: when fire fell, there would be more than one shield to stand against it.
For that was the gift he had brought from another world — not just his own strength, but the strength to awaken shields in others.
And though he did not yet know it, the seeds he planted in those days would change the North forever.