"History does not remember the shield. It remembers the sword. But without the shield, no one survives to remember anything at all."
— Jin Mu-Won
The Red Keep was never still.
Even in the dead of night, the halls whispered with the shuffle of servants, the clatter of guards, the murmurs of lords too restless to sleep. And always, in the heart of it, the shadow of King Aerys lingered — a man seen rarely, yet felt everywhere, like the stink of smoke after fire.
Jin walked those halls with silence in his step, his eyes sharp. He had not come for courts or crowns, but Ashara trusted him, and Elia… Elia needed a shield. He had seen the truth in her eyes: the knowledge that she was a pawn, her children pieces on a board she could not control.
The Rebellion was growing bloodier by the day. Word of battles reached the capital — Robert's victories in the south, Stark and Arryn banners raised in defiance. Panic rippled through the court. And in its midst, Elia remained at the mercy of the throne she was bound to.
---
The Shadow Over Elia
One evening, Jin found her alone in her chambers, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows. She sat by the window, her daughter Rhaenys asleep in her lap, her son Aegon cradled in a nurse's arms nearby.
Elia's gaze lingered on the children with both love and sorrow. When she looked up at Jin, her voice was quiet, edged with weariness.
"They call me weak," she said. "Too frail for childbirth, too delicate for politics. And yet I am to hold the fate of my children in a city that could devour them."
Jin's answer came softly, steady as stone. "The stem that bends in the storm is not weak. It survives when rigid branches break. You are not weak, Elia Martell."
Her eyes glistened, though she blinked back the tears. "You speak as if you have known me longer than days."
"I have known burdens like yours," Jin replied. His gaze shifted to the sleeping children. "And I will not see them broken."
For the first time, Elia allowed herself to believe the words.
---
The Threat
It came days later. A group of goldcloaks, drunk and bold, entered the princess's chambers under the pretense of "inspection." Their laughter was coarse, their eyes lingering too long on the Dornish princess.
Elia froze, fear warring with fury. Ashara was not near, and the guards she trusted had been sent elsewhere.
Then Jin stepped forward from the shadows.
His staff tapped once upon the stone floor. "Leave."
The leader sneered. "And who are you to order the king's men, foreigner?"
Jin's voice did not rise. "Leave."
The goldcloaks drew blades.
The staff moved like lightning. The first sword was split from its owner's hand, the second soldier slammed into the wall, wind knocked from his lungs. The leader swung wildly, only for Jin's strike to shatter his wrist, the blade clattering uselessly to the floor.
The others fled, dragging their captain with them, curses trailing.
Jin turned back to Elia. She had not moved, but her eyes were wide, her breath sharp. Slowly, she rose, still cradling Rhaenys.
"You would strike the king's own men," she whispered.
"If they would harm the innocent," Jin said simply.
There was silence, save for the soft breathing of her children. Then Elia lowered her gaze, her voice trembling but firm.
"Then you are the shield I prayed for."
---
The Rebellion raged beyond the walls, but in that moment, within those chambers, Jin Mu-Won's vow bound him tighter than any crown could.
The fate of Elia Martell and her children would not be the same as the history this world had written.
Not while Jin still drew breath.