5th Day of the Eleventh Moon, 281 AC – The Riverlands
The northern host marched south across the Green Fork, their banners snapping in the cold autumn wind. The air smelled of smoke and ash, carried on the breeze from villages that had burned long before the wolves arrived.
Jin Mu-Won walked beside the wagons, his staff steady, his bare feet sinking into mud. He felt it before he saw it: the sharp taste of sorrow in the air, the heavy weight of qi thick with grief.
When they came to the first village, it was a ruin. Charred beams jutted from the ground like broken teeth, smoke still rising from the blackened earth. The silence was broken only by the caw of carrion crows.
Brandon cursed, his sword drawn though there was no one left to fight. "The bastards fled before us."
Ned dismounted, his face pale. He moved among the ruins, his hand brushing the burned wood. When he found the bodies — a mother, a child, their hands still clasped even in death — he froze, his lips tight.
Jin knelt beside them, his hand hovering over their ashes. His voice was low, heavy, carrying across the ruin. "This is war's truth. Not crowns, not banners. Only this."
The soldiers behind him shifted uneasily. Some muttered prayers. Others turned away.
Ned's voice was tight. "They were smallfolk. They had no part in this."
Jin's gaze was steady. "War does not see part or place. It only devours. And if you forget that, you will become its teeth."
---
The next days were worse. More villages, more ruins. Some had been sacked by crown loyalists, others by foraging bands who cared only for plunder.
In one hamlet, they found survivors — women and children hiding in a cellar, their eyes hollow with hunger. Soldiers called for them to be left, for the army could not feed every mouth.
Jin stepped forward. "We will not march past them."
Brandon scowled. "Our men starve as it is. We cannot feed every beggar in the Riverlands."
Jin's reply was sharp, his voice cutting like steel. "Then what do you fight for, Brandon Stark? Crowns? Songs? If you leave them, then you fight for nothing worth the blood in your veins."
Rickard's gaze was heavy. "And what do you propose, stranger? That we carry them all to war?"
Jin's eyes did not waver. "I propose that we remember they are the reason war should end at all. Give them food enough to walk. Set them upon the safer roads. If we forget them, then we are no better than those who burned their homes."
There was silence. At last, Ned stepped forward. "He is right. We will give what we can spare. And I will see them to Riverrun when the chance comes."
Rickard nodded slowly, though his face was grave. Brandon turned away, muttering.
Jin bowed his head slightly. "A shield cannot cover all. But it can cover some. That is enough."
---
One night, as rain pattered upon the tents, Ned found Jin sitting beneath the open sky, his staff across his knees. The camp behind them murmured with weary voices, the air thick with sorrow.
Ned sat beside him, silent for a long time before speaking. "I thought I understood war. I thought it was honor, oaths, steel. But every day I see more bodies, more burned homes. I do not know if honor survives this."
Jin's eyes were calm, though his voice was heavy. "Honor is not in the fire. It is in what you choose when the fire comes. Do you turn away, or do you stand? That is all honor is. Not songs. Not crowns. Only choice."
Ned's gaze was fixed on the rain. "And you, Jin? Why do you stand? You are not of this land. You owe nothing to us. Why walk in our fire?"
Jin's voice was long, his words carrying the weight of another world. "Because I stood once before and failed. I watched my world burn, my people consumed by pride and cruelty. I swore then I would never watch again. Not while I could still draw breath. I am not your man, Ned Stark. I am not bound by your banners. But I will not stand aside while children cry in the ashes."
Ned turned, his grey eyes meeting Jin's. In that moment, he understood. This man was no lord, no knight. He was something rarer: a man who stood because he could not do otherwise.
Ned bowed his head, his voice soft. "Then may the gods keep you standing. For all our sakes."
---
Far to the south, Robert Baratheon's hammer fell again, this time in the Reach. His fury was unstoppable, his victories piling. His men loved him, followed him with laughter and blood. But behind him, fields blackened, villages emptied.
In King's Landing, Aerys raved louder, demanding wildfire poured into the cellars. "Burn them all!" he shrieked. "If they come, if they dare, we will burn them all!"
Elia Martell wept silently, holding her children as the city prepared to drown in green fire.
And at Casterly Rock, Tywin waited still, his silence sharper than any sword.
---
In the Riverlands, the northern host pressed on. Jin's legend spread faster than ravens, carried in whispers: a man who bent arrows, who healed with a touch, who walked barefoot through mud and ash yet stood like iron. Some called him a sorcerer. Others, a saint.
But to the smallfolk he had saved, he was only this: the Shield.
And though war raged louder with each passing day, his vow burned brighter: no innocent would fall while he still drew breath.