[ bloodiedwolf ]

                    ‘ i didn’t say who. ’

       a small difference, but a pivotal one, the skinny sharp of a knife’s edge
       tipping between one word and the other ; the sudden change in his
       parlance is noted, too, and the empty wasteland of lyanna’s belly knots,
       twitches, in spite of herself. speak the names, and a man will do the rest.

       it doesn’t seem like one of THEM to commit an accidental slip, and yet
       – hers is the dominion of error and bad luck and cursed second names,
       bloodied teeth and bloodied paws, her temple is the ice-strewn famine-
       -hardened badlands and thick dark trees and death walking, so why not,
       why not?

       ( i see you, you and your nothing, that she had already uncovered, but this
       – friends may talk in secret, and if she’s right, she has half a dozen reasons
       to spit the vitriol of her bestial, raging fury into his eyes and let him burn as
       she did. )

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                    ‘ you’re no one. what you are’s a different question. ’

                       ◤ Ꮴalar  Ꮇorghulis. ◢

        “ Some secrets are best kept for no one, my Lady.”

        Sentiment not a facet a man is to express, in any form, save for
    reverence once in Braavos again. When the thought of a boy abrades
    his mind it spreads rampantly ( tries to, tries to ) and his scrutinizing
    gaze chills, resembling surrounding snow-ladden verdure too similarly.
    The girl could have been like him. She could have. Who is she? Who
    is he?

        But it is not a man’s duty to judge, nor is it his to impose own inner
    turmoil unto an ‘innocent’ — she would likely claim otherwise, he thinks.
    She would not appreciate the changing of face yet again, a trick he
    knows ( should NOT know ) that once entertained. Show me. I want to
    do it too. There is no going back in time, there is no need to. She, a
    Hand of the King, he, No One. Nothing. An empty void once filled with
    life,  now  with  layers  upon  layers  upon  layers  of  the  dead;
    and DEAD men tell no tales.

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          “ What am I to say? What could quell this ire of yours?
                  We are alone; we are speaking freely, are we not?”

 

R U L E

INDEPENDENT
JAQEN H'GHAR
OF GRRM'S
A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.

Y O U R

LOW ACTIVITY.
MULTI-EVERYTHING.
#INFERUXS

F A C E.

PLEASE READ
LINKS 02., 04., AND 06.
BEFORE INTERATCION.