she catches the jarring formality of his speech as a scent upon the wind – ginger and cloves, she remembers, and the tannic blood that had followed in its wake – and the wolf in her does stir ; she wonders how easily he forgets himself, forgets his training, ( forgets why he is truly here ) if he imagines that some lowborn sellsword come to her door requesting scraps and land and service would know words like nescient and flora.
the slip almost amuses her, but nothing of it broaches her features, smile dimming into earnest, searching entreaty.
there is no privacy, no – even friends talking in secret was betrayed, and she has no patience for him teaching her lessons she has already learned and paid dearly for ( in her pound of flesh, in her blood shed, in the drought that stole away her tear ducts and the poison that stole away her eyes, her children, her self, in the way the kindly man once seemed to know all her secrets no matter how well she hid them ), but that, too, is kept away from her face.
‘ but i’m sure we can make some compromises, you and i. ’
desire for distance ( an aversion to touch that his own people did teach her, albeit with the aid of predecessors, weese, rorge, raff the sweetling most notable among their number – dead, dead, dead, and i’m still here, she thinks, and exhales inaudible ) is relinquished with nary an eyelid batted – she remembers his hand over her mouth, his lips at her hair, and does not shudder, but the memory is not a fond one, if it ever was – as lyanna extends a loosely bent arm, should he wish to link his with her own.
‘ shall we? ’
◤ Ꮴalar Ꮇorghulis. ◢
The man denies the Hand’s proffered physical contact, continues down the chilled path with nary a word and calc- ulates each ensuing step. ( Oft he wonders if he is but a ghost, too, if only visage is true since mind and body and touch seem false, as light as air — empty. Is a body but a tomb? Might one day a pinch to the flesh awaken his soul. [ And if he is to awaken, what state is he in now? ] )
Silence is the sweetest of deeds and he carries it out as he would any other — with an astute rigour. A man unknown to himself is known to this woman and it is present in her eyes; he is no fool. ( Even if a name and a face cannot come to mind unless physically presented with the scrap of skin he cannot be faulted for being constant in faith. )
Enquiries pertaining to the status of Winterfell are what press against the inside of his lips, though; ‘tis the sought goal in the scheme of things. Ne’er would he ask them aloud nor would he allude to them, but the thought rings tempting. The woman disquiets him for reasons known nary unto himself and to visit his brothers and sisters and continue to carry out deeds best left to himself( travelling to bestow deaths in need of granting ) are thoughts that threaten to taint his mind focused on disengaging from current discourse that perils to bore an inanimate object.
In the end, a man’s face is ruled.
“ Compromises of what sort, My Lord? Hopefully there’s no need.”
( though he does not recognise the man amongst the gathered smallfolk, tínu is struck by the odd feeling that he should. i’ve met you, he thinks but then upon trying to rack his brains for evidence of such a thought, he finds himself lacking. perhaps he has heard of such a man, or has passed him before in a ride through the north. perhaps he came to the mountain once? the inn is busy, choking with people as he pushes his way through, and still his eyes drift to the strange man not two paces down, and after a second helping of ale, he decides he may as well ask. he is, after all, a lord and he could do as he liked (so long as lyanna didn’t hear him or see him do it). )
I’M SORRY – have we met before?
◤ Ꮴalar Ꮇorghulis. ◢
Tínu … the bannerman whose life is pledged to the Hand of the King.
A man is very familiar with the Durin; yes, they have met before. Years ago, Merek reminisces, years ago when a different face was bound by blood to blank visage. ( A face this man no longer remembers, for it is not faces but the God of Many Faces that the deathless serve; a mien is but transient in the scheme of things. )
He looks to the visitor after finishing a chilled beer, then, taking the back of a hand that once belonged to a neater man and wiping the excess off of satiated lips.
‘ why should i interrogate you? you’re not my prisoner. ’
three truths and a lie. do you think, or do you know? a cage, a blindness, a poison, a death, a wall set thick about with masks, skins, she remembers – and, with brow cocked, her speech sounds almost flippant, even as the choice of words is anything but ( not her prisoner, no, but someone’s, or no one’s, and she wonders – bitterly, almost – if it stings him to know that she is free and he is not ).
she observes him with faceted eyes and mind, lyanna and no one, mercy and nan, then ; mouth silent and unmoved ( she remembers a dark cell, a flagon of watered wine in hand, standing stock still until beckoned forth, not breathing a word and not meant to listen, either, but more fool them for having taught her this unmoved observance, and thinking that she might forget altogether the seeds planted before by the braavosi former first sword ) and eyes unblinking.
the more she watches, the more she becomes convinced that one of this man’s selves, at least, would once have been familiar to her – intuition tugging at her seams, but she allows for no dissolution.
they have already near to broken her once ; no man, no shadow, no ghost will ever hold that power over her again, she who has drunk more blood than water, she who has found her tempest anew under- -neath her skin, scarred and brittle but hers – the wolf blood, the branch of madness that comes with her lineage, dark and wild and dangerous – and if she bends herself to servitude now ( cares for the smallfolk, for the children she will never have, for the orphans and the refugees fleeing from war, for the innocents ; executes the rightfully guilty, makes amends with their victims ) it is her own choice. her own choice, made knowing – remembering – who she is, who she was meant to be. underneath them was always lyanna.
she has created her own valar dohaeris, and takes it on willingly ( not threatened, or coerced, but out of being human, out of the compassion she almost forgot, out of the love that was torn asunder and buried ); and that, to her, makes all the difference. he should have killed the masters!
‘ is it a crime to get to know our visitors? of course, if you’d rather speak in private, the wolfswood might suit. ’
and friends may talk in secret, she thinks, remembers, and smiles, but it chills, and does not touch her eyes – smiles as he( her paired ghost between the haunted walls of harrenhal ) used to, from one corner of the mouth and not the other, never quite kind or warm.
(i see you.)
Nigh, he feels the need to asseverate, just as his Master in Braavos, that sensing one’s falsity is not a feat unequal. Surely this woman knows that her words are transparent, just as her thoughts. The House of Black and White would be offended if one of its servants ( be he or she past or present ) did not recognise one from another. For this reason, Merek chooses to remain silent and not dispute an assumption spoken. He is no prisoner, be it of the House, of Winterfell. He is but a loyal servant. He is no one. A façade, a man. (That? ) No hopes, no dreams, no aspirations… Only loyalty. Only trust. Trust in Him.
And perhaps this woman forgets, as well ( despite clenching onto house name and sigil, despite physical hold on Needle — disadvantage that explains why she is no longer in the House…and here in Winterfell; though evident she prefers suchit is upon her icy visage ) that a servant such as this man does not serve from brute force but from unwavering loyalty; his bones featherlight with the presence of the God of Many Faces coursing through them; his eyes aflame with the spirit of the faceless.
It also noted that adead man’s expression is brought to life, as seen clearly on opposite’s visage. Dead men tell no tales, this man — alive, not foolish for grant- ing items to those undeserving — yearns to murmur. And gods are not MOCKED, girl. But stops himself. ( We are not warriors, nor soldiers, nor swaggering bravos puffed up with pride. … We are but servants of the God of Many Faces. )
“There is never true privacy, My Lord.” A girl should know this. “Alas … I am nescient of the North’s geography. I would not be averse to speaking amongst the flora.”
intuition warns that he complies more to placate her than out of genuine loyalty ; no sign of such realization broaches her features, but behind the composure of her face she notes it ( and how little he seems to know her now, if he thinks it is for pride that she asserts her title ) all the same. not out of ambition – she leads because she took an oath, to protect and to serve – but it behooves her, too, to note any wisp of threat in or around winterfell’s walls ; suspicion rising, the more she watches him, that he may yet intend to drag her back, and with her removed, the hold her sister has on her own lands, her own castle, may yet weaken. her own life matters little – those who have already felt the worst thing cannot fear death, and a direwolf is twice as fearless – but the king, and the north, must be upheld.
lips part to speak, but she is interrupted by a low rumble emerging from lupine breadth of chest before she can begin ; a sound known to strike fear into the hearts of most, but to lyanna it is familiar, and assuring – visenya approaching on padded feet as though having sensed the unease that the face and voice of her bondmate had not betrayed to any man. ( to know a face is one thing ; to have shared a skin quite another. )
the beast has grown taller than a horse – seeming all the larger under a closed roof and next to lyanna’s shorter, wiry stature – and is known to have a taste for the blood of men ( just as the kindly man had said of lyanna of house stark a myriad of lifetimes ago ), thus lyanna slips her fingers between the coarse, silvered fur that covers the nearest flank, murmuring assurance in the old tongue of the free folk, of the first men. sit, visenya ; all is well.
even so, the presence of her direwolf – complying with the command given, a quiet thud of muscle on stone, but ready to be loosed, too, should the need arise – is a clear message, even if lyanna’s face and its fading smile is not.
‘ merek clarke, then. is that a northern name? seems strange to me that a southron sword would seek to swear himself to a northern king. you are a sworn sword, aren’t you? her grace needs loyal and skilled men in her guard, i’m sure you understand. ’
◤ Ꮴalar Ꮇorghulis. ◢
The Kindly Man conveniently refrained from telling no one, once assigned to visit Winterfell, that the North and its dominant family continue to interact with direwolves. Thusly, newfound presence of beastly creature does evoke choice thoughts within mind.
But, trained to remain ever stoic in face, this man allows not a beat of pulse to rise or fall, nor does he allow a characteristic twist of lip to ensue. ( The latter an action that a man once named Jaqen H'ghar would have executed, were he alive; this man is no one, and habits of men whose faces have been stored on the third floor are no longer relevant. )
Merek Clarke, no one is provisionally called, is working to forget Jaqen H’ghar’s image of a once promising lovely girl intaglioed to memory, though — a girl who said she wanted to be Faceless as well, change visage with as much ease as this man can. (“Show me,” she blurted. “I want to do it too.”)
‘Tis working fairly well, the erasing of memory — seeing Lyanna standing, short as ever, next to her direwolf. Still lovely, but hard. The iciness of the North is evident upon her features now as much as it once was on her tongue. A smart one, he does remember. (Arya put her lips to his ear. “It’s Jaqen H’ghar.” ) But things have changed.
She could have joined, shed her titles and family and needle of a sword, and she could have delivered the Gift of Death and she could have traveled around the world and she could have served the God of Many Faces who asks for naught but a shedding of identity — not much, no! Many training sessions, many jobs. Many rewards! To live in a Home where peace is valued above all, where Valar Dohaeris and Valar Morghulis are taken to heart and followed reverently.
But this is no House, and he is no brother here. Roles have been changed. Merek lowers his chin in the slightest to continue in a smooth voice:
“My Lord, if you were sent to express your suspicions about me by way of interrogation, I ask that you tell me what causes such. I am but a man who seeks a job here in Winterfell. I have no personal belongings, save for necessities, and I have no family. There is no threat you need fear from me.”
your first mistake, lyanna thought, though she gave no narrowing to her eyes ; instead reached for a mirrored, closed-lipped smile ( her servant, still, to be called upon as it pleased her, even if her loyalties had reverted to their original state, the training was far from forgot ) to soften the bite of admonishment – correction – that would follow. if you’d been paying close enough attention, you would know better. ( they had stripped the sex and gender from the titles of lord and king, and reclaimed them – in that, it could be said that perhaps they had styled themselves after the old valyrians, for whom the words for prince and princess were one and the same. )
‘ yourlord. lady stark was my mother. ’
it was said, too, though, that the king’s hand smiled rarely, if at all, and when she did you had best hope it was in pleasure, not in war- -ning ; the latter, even when her lips remained softly shut, was more akin to a silent predator baring its teeth prior to the snap of strong jaws around an unsuspecting throat, but most oft it took a familiar or a trained eye to distinguish the one smile from the other.
she wondered if this one would spot the difference, or if he would fall short there, too.
‘ and you thought you would bypass me, is that it? ’ they were a wintry people, cold and dark as their weather more oft than not, but lyanna let her smile warm by a degree, or two, to give her words the air of half a jest, brow lifting ; it would not serve, either, to have her testing him prove too obvious. ‘ you understand, my sister’s interests and my own are one and the same. it behooves me to know the men who might serve beneath her and guard her back. shall we start with your name? ’
◤ Ꮴalar Ꮇorghulis. ◢
A man knows.
“My Lord,” he echoes without hesitation.
To be a servant in all aspects of the word calls for unprecedented masking of assumed visage and with opposite’s fraudulent twist of lips boils within finely tuned musculature of body the thought of what would happen if the Kindly Man were to stumble upon ‘Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.’ ( Musing is ixnayed in less than a second, though, shoved out of mind and drowned out of mortiferous body along with other comments that he could voice were he, as in the House, a figure of relative authority. )
It is not his place to remark upon ‘what ifs’, he concludes, and he remains silent until this woman’s ( woman’s, not Lord’s. In life there is naught but Life and Death, woman and man. All are equal in the eyes of the Many-Faced God.) questioning comes to a temporary end. He inly admits to smothering a smirk until it can no longer breathe, reach surface of lips. Woman’s play of own is noticed by naturally bronze eyes, threatening a ‘do not test a man of his validity’ — but is, yet again, thrown out of possible options of response.
Thusly, he bothers not in speaking of Lyanna’s lineage; does not care to reveal even a hair of what information is concealed, what true countenance holds confidentially in file cabinet of mind, stacks upon stacks of papers ( all perfectly organised, categorised by last name ) set to never be revealed lest harm is to befall those undeserving — whomever he or she might be.
wariness had been taught by circumstance, intuition sharpened much like any other knife ; word of a new tenant upon their lands spread quickly, and lyanna’s eyes were honed with both sentiments ( albeit, veiled behind the darkling quiet that kept her stilled ) as she approached the newcomer. it was her interest and her responsibility to make the acquaintance of those who received the boon of the king’s acknowledgment, lands, coin ; but more than that, there was something about him like a figure out of a dream, some- -thing pulling at the base of her spine, itching at the back of her neck, insistent. do i know you, or have i finally gone mad?
he looked like no one she knew, to be sure, but that meant little, not in the realms that she traversed ; she walked between skins and selves as she might once have walked between walls, and if her suspicions held true …
if her suspicions held true, she would have preferred to be mad, and she was bound by her honour to tell the king, to tell her sister, that there was a potential threat among them ; but how could she do that without unravelling everything?
steps remained soundless even atop stone infamous for its echoing, frame contained and face illegible as she drew near enough to make the acquaintance of whoever this tenant might ( or might not ) be ; a soft clearing of her throat preceded any commencement.
( if he was what she thought, he would know she was there at his back even without the sound, but there were certain formalities to be obeyed if she was wrong. )
‘ i understand her grace has rented you some land, ser – ? ’
◤ Ꮴalar Ꮇorghulis. ◢
Only to maintain secrecy of guise is the man tempted to halt the turning of frame until words are inevitably spoken, pricked ears sensing footfalls clothed(she steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears, he said. The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears. ) from yards off.
The North harbours less criminals than the Free Cities, so say they when whispering amongst Braavosi — A ruler in the North!Order is present!— this man knows, but to risk relative safety and proffer trust to passersby by keeping back to stranger unannounced is no option. To be a faceless man is to be unknown, in any case; identity would not be revealed with a mere twist of torso. ( Save for own kin, for to recognise one another is to be trained well. )
A turn of head and gaze is cast downward. He says nothing.
Empty eyes remain as such even when likeness is agnized (A man sees. A man hears. A man knows. ) and posture far from the rigidness akin a man once named Jaqen H’ghar’s bows equably in Hand’s presence. The corners of this visage’s lips are tweaked to form a half-smile — genuine, but not overtly bubbly. To come off as vaguely false is something even an acolyte would never do.
“My Lady—
Land to dwell upon is what Her Grace kindly rented to me. I am to ask about positions within the Royal Guard on the morrow.”
Hello! Thank you for taking the time to read this page; I really appreciate it.
On this page you will find no password, so do not fret. However, please read this if you’d like to write with me. Please read links 04. and 06. as well. Said links will give you insight into my portrayal of Jaqen and his many guises, especially if you are unfamiliar with ASOIAF/GOT.
I.
There is an incredibly small amount of information regarding Jaqen H'ghar’s life; therefore, I will take a great amount of liberty in expanding upon the characterization given to him by George R. R. Martin in the series A Song of Ice and Fire.
**Thus, if you also write as Jaqen H'ghar, I ask that you please do not steal my headcanons or anything pertaining to my characterization. I have spent but a few years on Tumblr as Jaqen H'ghar; however, I have worked diligently to form my interpretation of him. Of course, everyone has a different interpretation when it gets to the details. I'm just putting this out here. If I feel as though you've done such a thing, I will privately take it up with you.
II.
I do not follow blogs for the sake of following back unless I see a plausible interaction between said blog and Jaqen. ( Or, I may admire your writing/characterization!! Lbr. ) In this regard, I am very selective with whom I write with and I do this in an effort to keep drafts and pressure off of my shoulders.
I cannot stress this enough: The guise of Jaqen H'ghar is not seen many places in the books; it is challenging to get him to meet other characters, even in the ASOIAF world.
Please refer to the PSA. tag for further information.
Mutuals only, please.
However, if we're not in a mutual follow and you think our characters could have a plot line together, please do not hesitate to send me a message! I truly mean it. You know more about your character than I do, so if you think our characters could have a cool storyline, just let me know. I am really kind ooc! I do have the right to refuse, though.
III.
Building off of that, this blog is multi-verse and multi-ship.
IV.
This account is based off of book canon. The only show influence on this blog is the faceclaim, Tom Wlaschiha, which is seen in my main verse. I do not acknowledge Season 5 and further of Game of Thrones, the show. That is, the Kindly Man oversees Arya Stark when she is in the House of Black and White—- not Jaqen H'ghar. There are many more differences, but that would force me to digress.
That all said, my verses/AU things are noted in link 03. because writing outside of canon is also fun!!!!! ( E.g., my interpretation of how Jaqen would treat Arya in the House of Black and White is quite different than the show's interpretation. )
V.
I always accept multiple threads and ask prompts. If you want to have 7 threads going, let's do it. Do you want to send in 3 ask prompts at a time? Do it. Do you want to ask random questions about or to Jaqen? Do it. Live your life. We are here to write.
VI.
This blog’s purpose is not for shipping, but, if applicable, please do not force them.
I strongly prefer to be an exclusive roleplayer when it comes to romantic interactions. ( E.g., if an X blog would ship with my Jaqen, I would prefer that I would be the only Jaqen that X blog would SHIP with. ) However, I completely understand if my shipping partner is not into shipping exclusivity.
The only 'real' ship I see on this blog is Jaqen x Arya, but I will never force that upon you. Even then, I am extremely selective with that ship.
Nothing regarding underage relations will be present on this blog.
( Thus, when he's smirking a lot and being cryptic with her at Harrenhal and kissing her head, that is not 'shippy.' That's just Jaqen. Arya is a fucking child. THANK YOU. )
I am most comfortable when us writers are on good terms and have both in-character and out-of-character writing chemistry in order to ship our characters. If we do not click at all out-of-character, I will not be shipping with you.
VII.
My Skype ( fireoflethe ) and Discord ( inferuxs #4751 ) are available to mutuals. Please let me know your URL when adding me. I primarily use those platforms for in-character interactions, but out-of-character interactions are great as well! I'm almost always on them.
VIII.
If you have a problem with how I portray Jaqen, kindly let me know what you think I am doing 'incorrectly' or unfollow me. I don’t mind. I love con-crit. Anonymous hate, if applicable, will not be acknowledged.
IX.
God modding is not welcome here. Killing or causing serious harm to Jaqen is considered God modding to me, but do not sacrifice your character’s personality for 'nice' interactions! Pushing, shoving, yelling—- all fine. Just nothing serious . . . unless you consult with me first hand.
That said, Jaqen will know who your character is when he speaks with them, unless your character is a god / supernatural creature with all-knowing powers / etc. It's his life's work to know what's going on re: ppl around him.
And please note that, as stated in links 04. and 06., Jaqen is a lethal character. He can kill your muse ( unless said muse is a god ) in seconds and make it look like an accident. Killing people is a part of his religion—- seriously. Please, never underestimate him.
X.
AU threads are highly welcomed and I will jump on the opportunity to write them. Hit that link 01. and we’ll go from there. Or, send me a IM. Seriously.
XI.
I will gladly tag triggers for you if you ask!! This is what a trigger tag looks like: abuse //. Period not included.
If we are in a mutual follow, I ask you to PLEASE tag any images pertaining to NON-HUMAN/ANIMAL-like creatures—- shadow-like things that are lurking and shit. Like demonic shit that creeps into your room. These images cause me extreme fear and anxiety.
nonhuman //, tw: nonhuman, or nonhuman cw . . . all work for me! Whatever tagging style suits you!
By default, I tag abuse and sexual assault for my followers, but nothing else unless asked.
XII. ! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!! ! ! ! ! !
This blog is VERY low activity. I am a university student doing a combined honors degree, who has two jobs, and who likes to read in her free time. I also have another blog.
Thus, I am NEVER able to reply in a timely manner. Also, I take a long time to write in general. You may drop me a reminder about a reply, but wait a week before doing so. I RARELY lose threads; it's likely in my drafts and just. sitting there. lmao.
I truly do have a lot on my plate and I will never pressure you for a reply. This is a hobby, y'all. A HOBBY.
XIII.
If I didn't make it clear, you are always welcome to message me. I don't bite. Really! Gosh.
** This blog is in no way affiliated with George R. R. Martin, HBO, Tom Wlaschiha, Nicola Wincenc, Adrien Brody, or Aidan Turner. Damn, how I do wish it was.
Please do not take ANY of the icons or graphics or content on this blog; I will know if you do and confront you about it.
And, of course, the writing is mine.
VERSES
NOTE THAT ALL VERSES ARE OPEN FOR INTERACTION UNLESS MARKED OTHERWISE. These will be periodically updated, as all verses are extremely flexible, and I am always willing to add many more.
( This is set in an ALTERNATE universe for easy access to interaction. )
Jaqen has left Arya Stark with an iron coin that holds a great amount of value. Afterward, he travels back to the House of Black and White and continues serving the Many-Faced God. This is considered to be in an AU because readers are not exactly sure where Jaqen is at this time.
According to book canon, the man does not have the same face that Jaqen H'ghar wore when with Arya Stark. I bent the rules a bit by keeping Tom Wlaschiha as his FC, though, because most characters to be interacted with have no business in Harrenhal (where Jaqen H'ghar is located in canon verse ). In this verse Jaqen can be anywhere in the world.
This universe is set when a man’s identity known as Jaqen H'ghar ‘dies’ once he leaves Arya Stark at Harrenhal. The man makes a new identity for himself, with curly, dark hair, a crooked nose, and sallow features. Essentially, post-Harrenhal. Coincides slightly with a later verse, v ;; far away and across the narrow sea.
An umbrella tag for all Modern AU threads and interactions. In this verse, Jaqen is anything, really. Since he can change his appearance with a swish of the hand, there are so many opportunities for modern threads!
We can discuss professions/aliases over ooc chat ( i.e., message me ) or I can write whatever comes to mind at the time. Essentially, I will go with whichever alias I think will help our muses interact.
In some forms of this verse, it's the same as canon in that there's a House of Black and White and he's a modern-day assassin, for lack of a better word. In other forms, Jaqen is no longer affiliated with the House of Black and White. Or, he grew up as a devout Catholic ( not by choice ) and is no longer religious; that is, he either defected or was banished. It all depends on what a writing partner would prefer. There are a god damn lot of headcanons pertaining to this verse and I am always willing to explain nuances not mentioned on this page.
Really can't stress the flexibility of this verse. Lmao.
An AU in which Arya Stark is the King in the North and Jaqen, by the Faceless Men, is selected to gather information concerning the North’s political system. He is not aware of the fact that Arya is the one who rules when he is given the assignment, and once he arrives in Winterfell he is shocked to see that the girl he once deemed “lovely,” Lyanna Stark, is the Hand of the King and that her twin, Arya Stark, is the King in the North.
Merek Clarke, the man’s guise, asks Arya and Lyanna for a plot of land and stays in Winterfell to, as directed, gain information pertaining to the ruling system. He does not let them know that he was the man named Jaqen H'ghar Lyanna once met in Harrenhal until later in the thread, but it is implicitly revealed towards the beginning.
To retain the image of being a ‘normal’ citizen, Merek becomes betrothed to Allison Argent, the daughter of a middle-class family from the North. ( The marriage is arranged by the woman’s father. ) Allison is completely unaware of a man’s falsehood, but she will be in for a devastating turn of events once her betrothed is killed in a ’terrible accident.’
From thence, Merek Clarke will become but another lifeless mason the third floor of the House of Black and White, and a man will live on, continuing to serve the Many-Faced God.
( set in Harrenhal. )
This verse can be set anywhere from when Jaqen was imprisoned as a criminal in Harrenhal to when he was set free by Arya Stark. A mash-up between show and book canon, in truth.
If Arya had taken Jaqen’s offer to escape to Braavos and become his apprentice. ( Pretty much season 5 of A Game of Thrones, the show. EXCEPT I don’t follow that. Lol. Just my own version because the show ruins everything good. )
A verse in which Arya Stark defects ( or is attempting to defect ) from the House of Black and White in favor of returning home to Winterfell. She tells Jaqen H'ghar the cruelties of the House, but, due to his indoctrination, there are many variations of what could come...
An AU in which Arya Stark agrees to travel across the Narrow Sea with a man and arrive in Braavos thereafter, eventually training under him. In this verse Jaqen H'ghar is a dead man and a new name and face are claimed — dark curly hair, sallow features, a gold tooth, a scar on his rounded cheek, and a crooked nose.( A prequel to v ;; a wolf in the faceless den.) This new visage is worn only during their travels. He re-becomes Jaqen H'ghar when he enters the House of Black and White. Verse is heavily under construction.
An umbrella tag used for all AU threads and interactions, or AU threads in which a specific verse has yet to be determined.
BIGRAPHY AND BASIC INFORMATION
Please read through this page before interacting with Jaqen, for almost all of this information is crucial to how I portray him. Note that a lot of creative license is used in this blog due to the lack of information regarding him.
BIOGRAPHY
A man, also known as ‘Jaqen H'ghar,’ is a member of the House of Black and White, or The Faceless Men. The Faceless Men is an organized group filled with men ( and the occasional woman or child, in rare cases ) who have the ability to change their appearance on command.
They are highly trained and skilled assassins who serve the Many-Faced God ( or, gods that represent Death in all religions mentioned in A Song of Ice and Fire ) and carry out their ‘deeds’ in complete secrecy. Most deaths carried out by the Faceless Men appear to be completely accidental to onlookers.
Jaqen H’ghar is a Lorathi from the Free City of Lorath, a man and place that few people know about. But Jaqen, in particular, is a façade of a man the man who claims to be Jaqen H’ghar is truly no one, and his inherent identity is unknown even to himself.
He has extremely angular features that mesh well with his long hair, which is split in the middle: red on one side and white on the other. His eyes resemble that of bronze and his body is extremely lean and toned. He is known for smirking when outside of the House of Black and White a lot. His voice holds an accent that sounds German, and he has NO concept of personal space. ( I promise that's canon lmao. )
Jaqen is first seen in A Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire posing as a criminal, alongside two other men who are not faceless. Arya Stark sets him free and, in return, he finds her in a heavily damaged castle known as Harrenhal and helps her cross three men off of her ‘hit list.’ He tells Arya to give him three names ( three people to kill ) so that three deaths may be payed to the Red God, because she saved three men, including himself, from fire. He grows to be fond of Arya and refers to her as ‘lovely girl.’ When he says this, he means it platonically.
Hopefully you now know enough about Jaqen to adequately write with him and me. Thank you very much for taking the time to read through this little biography I compiled. Now, here are some basic facts containing information I have gleaned together that make up my portrayal of Jaqen.
INFORMATION
Name: Jaqen H’ghar.
Referred to as: Jaqen H’gar; a man; no one.
Age: Unknown, but assumed to be anywhere from his mid twenties to early thirties. It varies.
Gender: Male.
Hair Color: Half red and half white.
Eye Color: Bronze.
Ethnicity: Lorathi.
Sexuality: Heterosexual? ( CELIBATE unless noted otherwise in specific verses. )
Occupation: Faceless man and servant to the Many-Faced God.
This is a note to let you know that no one should underestimate a man/Jaqen H’ghar/any of his aliases at any time.
Jaqen H'ghar's characterization is built upon smirks and cryptic sayings. He is extremely polite and is obsequious to Arya Stark.
However, this does not mean that he is weak or immediately willing to be your character’s friend.
Jaqen H'ghar is a faceless man, of the The House of Black and White, which is a highly secretive and anomalous guild because of the incredible, coveted, mind-boggling abilities of which its servants possess.
He can mix and create poisons at a fairly advanced level; he can detect lies as easily as he inhales ( based on intonation [ or lack thereof ] in voice, micro-expressions, body language, &c. ); he possesses incredible hearing ( to aid him when on missions ); he has stealth beyond that of any hunter; he can change his ENTIRE identity with the swipe of a hand; and, he can compartmentalize his emotions and his memory.
Please do not underestimate Jaqen H'ghar and expect to be the exception.
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.
