4th Day of the Twelfth Moon, 281 AC – The Riverlands, marching south toward Saltpans
The road curved through the Riverlands like a scar, muddy from autumn rains, its edges littered with the wreckage of war. Burned carts, broken lances, the bones of horses left to rot where they had fallen. Yet the Stark host pressed on, banners flapping in the cold wind, their voices quieter now than when they had set out.
Among them walked Jin Mu-Won, his staff steady, his robes patched anew by grateful hands. He walked not at the head, nor with the lords, but at the edge of the column, where children huddled in wagons and women trudged behind, their burdens heavy.
He did not march as they did. He flowed. His breath steady, his step sure, his eyes calm. And wherever he passed, men seemed to straighten, to breathe easier, as if his rhythm carried them with him.
---
That evening, they camped near a stream, its banks muddy, its water cold. The men lit fires, roasted what little game they had, and raised their cups in weary cheer.
Jin sat near the fire with a group of young soldiers, their faces lean with hunger, their eyes bright with nervous laughter. One, a lad no older than sixteen, asked him, "Ser… when you stand against arrows, do you not fear them?"
Jin's gaze was calm, but his voice was warm. "Of course I fear them. Only a fool does not. But fear is not the end of breath. It is only its beginning. You take the fear in… and you breathe it out. And in that breath, there is space enough to move."
The lads tried to mimic him, breathing deep and steady. One overdid it, puffing like a bellows, and the others laughed. Jin chuckled too, shaking his head. "Not like a smith's forge. Like the river. Calm. Flowing. Try again."
They did, and though they stumbled, they smiled. For a moment, the weight of war lifted, and it was only a group of boys learning to breathe by a fire.
---
Later, Ned Stark joined Jin, sitting beside him in the glow of the flames. The firelight painted his face solemn, his eyes shadowed with thought.
"They are young," Ned said softly, watching the soldiers. "Too young for this war."
Jin's gaze was steady. "All men are too young for war, Ned Stark. Whether sixteen or sixty. But if they must walk in it, better to give them a shield than leave them bare."
Ned studied him, then nodded slowly. "And yet you laugh with them. You give them more than shields. You give them breath when all they know is fear."
Jin smiled faintly, his eyes soft. "Laughter is as strong a shield as steel. I have seen men fall with swords in hand, but I have seen men endure with only laughter left. Teach them to laugh, and you teach them to live."
Ned was silent for a long moment. Then, to Jin's surprise, he laughed — low, quiet, but real. "My brother Brandon would call you mad for such words. But I think… I think you may be right."
Jin's lips curved. "Madness and wisdom often share the same path."
---
The next day, they passed a village half-burnt, its people scattered, its wells fouled. The soldiers cursed, some muttering that nothing would be left to feed them on their march.
But in one hut, a group of children hid, their eyes wide with fear. Jin found them first, coaxing them out with soft words. He gave them dried fruit from his pouch, kneeling so his gaze met theirs.
One boy whispered, "Are you the Shield?"
Jin's eyes softened. "I am Jin. That is enough."
The children clung to him, refusing to let go until their mothers, found nearby, wept with relief and carried them away.
Behind him, soldiers murmured. The name spread again, softer, deeper: the Shield.
---
That evening, as the host neared the coast, the scent of salt on the wind, Brandon rode ahead and called for cheers. "Tomorrow we see the sea, and the dragons will hear the wolves at their gates!"
Men roared, though their cheer was thin. Jin sat by the fire, repairing his staff's binding with a strip of cloth. Ned sat with him again, quiet.
"Do you never tire of it?" Ned asked. "The saving, the shielding. Do you never wish to lay it down?"
Jin's hands stilled. His gaze was distant, his voice slow, heavy. "Every day. In my world, I fought until my body broke, until I bled my last breath. I thought death would be my rest. But I woke here instead, in a world already burning. Perhaps it is cruel fate. Or perhaps it is mercy — a second chance to keep my vow unbroken."
Ned's grey eyes softened. "Then it is mercy for us too. For without you, I think we would already be ash."
Jin looked into the fire, his voice low. "Then let us see the sea together, Ned Stark. And beyond it, perhaps laughter yet."
---
And so the host pressed on, the salt wind growing sharper with each mile. The sea waited, vast and endless, and with it new storms.
But for one night more, they camped by the river, their laughter mingling with the crackle of fire, their breath steadier for the presence of a stranger with a staff who walked among them.
---