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Chapter 18 - Chapter 17 – The First Trial

8th Day of the Tenth Moon, 281 AC – The Green Fork, Riverlands; King's Landing; Casterly Rock

The march of the Northern host was steady, the chill of autumn sinking deeper with each passing day. Banners flapped above them, direwolves and mermen, bears and pine trees. But beneath the banners, men murmured of things stranger still: of a foreign master who walked barefoot among them, who steadied their steps with breath and taught them how not to break in fear.

The men laughed less now, but their laughter, when it came, was easier. They argued less, too, their camps quieter, their eyes sharper. Where other armies would march ragged, this one moved as though its heart beat together.

Jin Mu-Won walked at their side, staff across his back, his eyes ever on the horizon.

They reached the Green Fork at dusk, the river swollen with autumn rains. Across the water, loyalist men-at-arms had camped, sworn to House Darry, one of the crown's staunchest allies. They barred the crossing, their banners high, their archers waiting.

Rickard Stark stood with his sons, gazing across the water. "We cannot march further south without crossing. To go around would cost us weeks. We must take the ford."

Brandon's eyes burned. "Then we'll take it at dawn. Let me lead the charge."

Ned frowned. "The river runs swift. A headlong charge will drown more men than the enemy's arrows will fell."

Rickard's jaw tightened. "Then we'll take it steady. Every hour we linger is a gift to the dragons."

All eyes turned, almost unconsciously, to Jin, who stood silent at the water's edge, watching the current. At last, Rickard spoke. "And what say you, Shield?"

Jin's voice was calm, but carried weight. "The river does not yield to those who rush. Nor do arrows yield to those who fear. If your men breathe as I have taught them, if they move steady as stone, they will cross. But if they falter, they will drown."

Brandon scoffed. "Words. Arrows don't bend to breath."

Jin turned, his gaze piercing. "Then stand with me at the ford tomorrow, Brandon Stark, and breathe as I do. And you will see if arrows find you so easily."

---

At dawn, the battle began. The river foamed, men splashing through, shields raised. Arrows hissed down like rain. The first rank faltered — until Jin's voice rang out.

"Breathe!" he called, his staff raised. "Steady your breath! Step with the river, not against it!"

Men drew breath in rhythm, their steps more sure, their shields tighter. Where panic would have broken them, steadiness carried them. Arrows struck, but fewer than before.

Jin himself waded forward, his staff sweeping, qi rippling outward. Arrows bent aside, glancing off water and air as though the river itself shielded him. Soldiers stared, then cheered, their courage surging.

On the far bank, the Darry men-at-arms broke before the steady push. Northern steel clashed with theirs, and though the fighting was hard, it was the Starks who took the field.

When it was done, the ford was theirs. Men roared their victory, lifting their banners high.

But Jin did not cheer. He knelt by the water's edge, washing blood from his staff, his eyes fixed on the bodies floating in the current — some theirs, some the enemy's, some villagers caught between.

Ned came to him, his face shadowed. "We've won, Jin."

Jin's voice was low, heavy. "You've crossed a river. But look. These men will not see another dawn. Tell me, Eddard Stark — is that victory?"

Ned's gaze fell upon the bodies. Slowly, he shook his head. "No. It is only blood."

Jin's eyes met his. "Then remember. Victory is not what bards sing. It is what children laugh for when the dawn comes again. If you forget that, you will win crowns and lose souls."

Ned bowed his head. "I will not forget."

---

In King's Landing, the mood was darker still. King Aerys raved louder, demanding wildfire be poured into the cellars. His fingers bled where he clawed the Iron Throne, his eyes red with madness.

"Burn them all!" he shrieked. "Wolves, stags, falcons — all of them! Burn their wives, their children, their halls! Fire is mine, fire is king!"

Elia Martell sat with her children in her chambers, her face pale but unbroken. She held Rhaenys close, rocked Aegon in her arms, and whispered soft lullabies in Dornish, though her own voice trembled. Hold, Shield. Hold, wherever you are. Come when the fire comes for us.

---

Far to the west, in Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister sat in silence. His bannermen pressed him for word, but he gave none. His golden eyes watched, his face carved in patience.

"Let the realm bleed," he murmured at last, his voice cold as the sea below his fortress. "And when the dragons lie broken, the lions will feast."

---

That night, the Stark camp celebrated. Brandon roared of his valor, men sang crude songs of victory, and cups clashed. But Ned sat with Jin by the fire, quiet.

"You saved them," Ned said softly. "I saw it. The arrows bent from you. The men steadied because of you. You saved them."

Jin's gaze was calm. "I showed them their own strength. That is all. I am no more than a shield. But a shield alone cannot end a war. Only men who remember why they fight can."

Ned's hand tightened on his cup. "Then I will remember. Not just Lyanna. Not just honor. The smallfolk too. The children. All of them."

Jin nodded slowly, his eyes on the fire. "Then when the storm breaks hardest, perhaps it will not break you."

---

The rebellion grew bloodier with each passing day. Banners clashed, kings raved, lords schemed. But on the muddy banks of the Green Fork, whispers spread faster than ravens: of a nameless man who bent arrows with breath, who shielded men with water and air, who saved even the lowliest foot soldier from death.

The Nameless Shield.

And though Robert's hammer rang loud in the south, it was the whispers of the Shield that carried softer, deeper — a name not for war, but for hope.

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