facelos

[facelos]

it  is  with  the  briefest  of  glances,   sped  by  feigned  nervousness  as  his  gaze  flits  to  hers  then  away,   that  their  connection  is  actually  established.   and  he  shifts  his  footing  again,   leaning  his  weight  one  way  then  another,   centering  himself.   when  at  last  fenn  speaks  anew,   his  broad  voice  his  more  hushed.   “ the  people  talk.   never  liked  the  man   —   never  could  trust  ‘im  as  far  as  a  giant’d  throw  ‘im. ”

          as  a  gesture  of  his  discomfort,   his  free  hand  rises  to  scratch  at  his  temple  with  strong  gloved  fingers.   “ some  of  the  folk  ’ere  remember  how  he  was  with  your  mother;   they  say  he's  an  arrow  that's  bounced  to  a  new  target.   they  worry  about  you,   is  all. ”   ( is  any  of  this  true?   are  the  simple  folk  really  saying  such  things? )

          corbus  appears  lost  in  thought  for  a  moment  or  two,   and  then  remembers  himself.   he  clears  his  throat.   “ yer  a  capable  woman,   lady  stark.   sure  y' can  handle  yerself  far  better  than  people  with  loud  opinions  here  think.   but,   uh   — ”   what's  that  expression  that  dances  across  his  features?   some  shame,   perhaps,   or  rogue  bashfulness  at  his  own  worth.   “ —  i'm  here  t' protect  you,   so…   doesn't  matter  who  it  is.   y' just  have  to  say  the  word,   and  i'll  act. ”

          he  can  speak  so  freely  where  another  guard  may  fear  the  repercussions  of  littlefinger's  spying   ( or  be  naive  to  its  existence  at  all ).   baelish  thinks  he  knows  every  happening  in  the  castle.   well,   there's  one  thing  he  hasn't  accounted  for   —   an  assassin,   a  shape-changer,   a  priest  in  disguise  with  unknowable  intentions.

𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 , unsuspecting folk who hold all the desired wisdom. sansa knew better than to brush aside what someone knows simply because of status ( or lack of ). king's landing proved to be a vicious spider web , a game of besting the next person , holding information over their head. it is , perhaps , what cost her father his head. it is also the very same thing that helped her escape ( unsuspecting men with unsuspecting information ).

she is not quick to dismiss the man before her , for he has said something that grabs her attention. his opinion on little finger , likely unfavorable , though shocks her that is brought up. sansa is no fool , there could be spies within these very halls , even within her own home. little finger managed to give the walls and floors of winterfell ears , yet dire desperation to hear outside perspective tempts her to flirt with fate.

❝ no apologies are necessary , ❞ she begins , turning to face her companion. blue eyes watch , cautious , though inviting. ❝ do speak freely , for i would not call for your tongue. i often find people notice things i , myself , may not recognize. ❞

[facelos]

† . ˊˎ random  starter  for  an  old  friend .   ♡  ┊  @acomplication

they  catch  each  other’s  eyes  across  stone-floored  rooms;   pass  each  other  feigning  unfamiliarity  in  narrow  corridors;   conceal  their  curiosities  where  the  other’s  scent  lingers  in  a  place  they’d  not  typically  be  found.   and  this  is  how  it  continues  for  many  weeks,   the  leaves  finally  turning  the  rusty  shades  of  autumn  outside  the  red  keep’s  many  windows.   jaqen  knows  this  castle  well   —   he’s  been  here  before,   disguised  under  a  myriad  of  alternative  forms   ( most  recently  posing  as  a  water  dancer  to  train  a  northern  lord’s  fascinating  daughter,   before  circumstances  necessitated  another  guise ).   and  shae,   too,   appears  to  have  knowledge  of  her  surroundings  that  surpasses  her  role  here.   they  share  plenty  in  common.

          “ tensions  are  rising, ”   he  tells  her  in  hushed  tones  and  eastern  accent,   early  morning  sunlight  peeking  through  the  narrow  servant  windows.   they  stand  in  a  laundry  room;   the  workers  usually  here  are  yet  to  begin  their  daily  activities,   most  having  not  even  crawled  from  bed  yet.   and  now  his  hand  rests  to  her  upper  arm,   piercing  blue  gaze  locked  with  hers.   he  exists  forever  in  hyper-vigilance   —   if  anyone  were  to  threaten  to  intrude  on  their  meeting,   he  could  be  gone  before  their  hand  even  touched  the  handle  outside.

          “ you  must  be  careful.   our  mad  king  has  tendency  enough  for  cruelty, ”   he’s  seen  first-hand  the  scenes  joffrey  has  left  in  his  quarters,   guarding  the  room  while  evidence  was  cleared  away,   “ still  more  so  if  his  choice  of  target  can  be  used  to  torment  those  he  despises. ”

          a  faceless  man  shouldn't  worry  about  someone  like  this.   he  feels  that,   notices  it,   but  continues  anyway.   “ i’m  watching  over  you,   but  a  man  cannot  be  all  places  at  once   —   much  as  he  tries. ”

[facelos]

[facelos]

two  figures  on  the  wall,   windchill  biting  their  skin.   he's  watching  copper  leaves  begin  to  fall  and  become  trampled  under  the  feet  of  northern  loyalists;   they  stand  with  winterfell,   never  to  falter.   and  he  appears  no  different.   halberd  gripped  tightly  in  his  gloved  hand,   corbus  fenn  stands  straight-spined,   prepared  to  defend  the  red  wolf  if  and  when  necessary   —   he's  newly  recruited,   with  a  trustworthy  reputation  and  exemplary  fighting  skills.   both  were  vital  to  get  so  close  to  the  lady.   he'd  bided  his  time,   waiting  for  littlefinger  to  stop  fluttering  about  like  a  greasy  moth  to  a  flame,   and  now  they're  alone  he  lets  his  gruff  accent  flow  in  full.

          “ 'tis  a  certain  thing, ”   his  eyes  don't  drift  to  her,   even  after  she  speaks;   a  sign  of  respect,   or  of  vigilance,   unwilling  to  waver  his  attention  even  given  her  engagement.   but  he  shifts  his  feet,   re-centering  his  stance.   “ can't  pretend  to  know  about  high  courts  and  the  like,   but  to  peasantry,   it  looks  like  there's  precious  few  chances  to  act  true  to  y'self  beside  nobles.   the  poor  envy  many  things,   but  not  that. ”

          what  is  the  game  a  faceless  man  is  playing,   here?

          “ not  t'speak  out  of  turn,   my  lady.   just  couldn't  imagine  standin'  to  attention  all  day  without  chasin'  it  up  with  raucous  friends  and  plenty  of  ale,   that's  all.   an'  the  lord  baelish  — ”    a  faux  falter,   and  the  guard  readjusts  his  halberd,   as  if  uncomfortable   ( as  though  he's  said  too  much ).   he  shakes  his  head.   “ apologies,   lady  stark.   y'don't  want  to  hear  my  witterin'. ”

" the more time you spend with someone , the harder it becomes to hide who you really are . " // @facelos

𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 , sansa knows this more than anyone , she thinks. for so many years were spent confined within the red keep , pretending to be anyone but herself.ᴹʸ ᶠᴬᵀᴴᴱᴿ ᵂᴬˢ ᴬ ᵀᴿᴬᴵᵀᴼᴿ , ᴹʸ ᴮᴿᴼᵀᴴᴱᴿ ᴬ ᵀᴿᴬᴵᵀᴼᴿ , ᴵ ᴴᴬⱽᴱ ᵀᴿᴬᴵᵀᴼᴿ'ˢ ᴮᴸᴼᴼᴰ. how she'd say these words with false convictions , how she hoped if she said them enough others would believe her , even if she didn't believe herself.

eventually , the facade would fall , the longer she remained , times her act would slip. retorts from a sharp tongue , not guarded soundly. confessions in tyrells , whether wise or not, shae ──── even tyrion. if it were not for these few refuges , she was unsure how long she'd be able to keep this act up. or if she were able to , would she convince herself of these lies ?

❝ wise words , ❞ sansa begins , cautiously treading. she is unsure of this stranger , not sure what words could be said or hidden away. it's tiresome , living in a way where she cannot trust anyone. everyone is your enemy , everyone is your friend. little finger had taught her this , and while she cannot stomach that man , it is a necessary lesson , nonetheless. ❝ and the longer you are someone you are not , the harder it is to find yourself true in all the webs of lies. ❞

[facelos]

† . ˊˎ continued from here . ┊ @korzion

The first thing she noticed upon coming to was that her head was pounding. The second, that there was something warm and wet trickling down the side of her face. When she moved to lift a hand to wipe at it, she discovered a third thing-her arms were bound at the wrists behind her back by heavy chains. She felt a surge of confusion at the sight of her bindings, the reason for which she had the irons clapped on was unknown. The confusion turned to fear when she lifted her head and found herself in a stone cell, and that fear threatened to turn to panic as she strained against the chains. "Hello?" She called into the darkness that ebbed outside the bars in front of her. "Anyone? There has to have been a mistake, I don't belong in here..." She couldn't.

a  faceless  man's  purpose  is  ineffable.   they  flow  along  the  tides  and  the  winds,   their  feet  making  steady  progress  toward  their  goals,   arrows  loosed  from  braavosi  bowstring  to  carry  out  the  many-faced  god's  will.   and  now  one  finds  their  way  to  the  dark  cells,   blending  into  the  shadows,   back  touching  the  frigid  stone  wall.   once  the  captive  awakens,   a  man  steps  forth  into  the  drenching  candlelight.   “ a  lady  will  keep  quiet...   if  she  wants  to  be  freed  of  this  place. ”

          slim  hand  rises  to  his  lips;   a  single  finger  covers  them,   urging  her  towards  stillness  and  silence.   the  sounds  of  lorath  spill  off  his  tongue,   exotic  to  westerosi  ears  but  occasionally  heard  in  western  essos. 

          then his  hand  dips  out  of  sight,   into  the  folds  of  his  clothing,   and  draws  out  thin  strands  of  metal;   tools  for  lock-picking,   normally  kept  from  prying  eyes  but  now  held  in  full  view.   i'll  set  you  free,   the  gesture  reads,   if  i  feel  i  can  trust  you.   an  ironic  choice,   considering  his  appearance,   considering  her  own  situation   —   who  could  trust  such  a  man,   though  choices  are  thin  on  the  cold  ground?

          “ for  what  reason  could  the  never-queen  have  found  herself  in  chains?   this  is  a  curious  thing. ”   pale  blues  examine  her  features,   flashing  interest.   “ these  cells  are  reserved  for  heinous  criminals   —   or  traitors. ”   ... then  which  is  he?

@korzion

[facelos]

taelala‌:

sir, that’s my emotional support beloved minor background character

[facelos]

 i  have  to  say,   i  really  enjoy  the  theory  that  syrio  forel  and  jaqen  h'ghar  are  one  and  the  same,   or  at  least  that  he  was  a  faceless  man.   like,

“ a  man  does  not  choose  his  companions  in  the  black  cells, ”   the  handsome  one  with  the  red-and-white  hair  said.   something  about  the  way  he  talked  reminded  her  of  syrio;   it  was  the  same,   yet  different  too. — a clash of kings

and

the  man  syrio  forel  had  come  with  an  excellent  reputation,   and  his  flamboyant  braavosi  style  was  well  suited  to  arya’s  slender  blade,   yet  still  .  .  .   a  few  days  ago,   she  had  been  wandering  around  with  a  swatch  of  black  silk  tied  over  her  eyes.   syrio  was  teaching  her  to  see  with  her  ears  and  her  nose  and  her  skin,   she  told  him. — a game of thrones

“ you  have  five  senses, ”   the  kindly  man  said.   “ learn  to  use  the  other  four,   you  will  have  fewer  cuts  and  scrapes  and  scabs. ”   she  could  feel  air  currents  on  her  skin  now.   she  could  find  the  kitchens  by  their  smell,   tell  men  from  women  by  their  scents.   she  knew  umma  and  the  servants  and  the  acolytes  by  the  pattern  of  their  footfalls,   could  tell  one  from  the  other  before  they  got  close  enough  to  smell. — a feast for crows

also

it  took  all  her  strength  to  remain  still  and  silent,   the  way  syrio  forel  had  taught  her,  to  stand  there  like  a  stick  of  furniture. — a clash of kings

“ when  you  are  not  pouring,   you  must  stand  as  still  as  if  you  had  been  carved  of  stone, ”   the  kindly  man  told  her.   “ can  you  do  that? ”   “ yes. ”   before  you  can  learn  to  move  you  must  learn  to  be  still,   syrio  forel  had  taught  her  long  ago  at  king’s  landing,   and  she  had. — a feast for crows

not to mention

“ you  told  me  that  if  i  left,   i  couldn’t  come  back. ”   “ just  so. ”   those  words  made  her  sad.   syrio  used  to  say  that  too,   arya  remembered.   he  said  it  all  the  time.   syrio  forel  had  taught  her  needlework  and  died  for  her.  — a feast for crows

i  think  i'll  add  syrio  to  my  identities  page.

[facelos]

AS SAID BY JOSEPHINE MONTILYET *  assorted and adapted dialogue from dragon age inquisition

do kiss me again.

sometimes i must remind myself that i'm required to share you with the rest of the world.

how many outfits does one man need?

when i first laid eyes on you, i hadn't an inkling we'd become so close.

i would not object to a closer relationship between us. if that sounds agreeable to you.

i could have danced with you for hours. we must do it again sometime.

if you meant to draw a blush to my cheeks, you've completely succeeded.

i didn't wish to presume you harbored any tender feelings for me.

might we discuss this somewhere more private?

i've never thought your intentions were overly romantic.

forgive me, i don't believe i ever thanked you for helping me with this.

given that you're in one piece, body and dignity, i forgive you.

i need you! yet you threw yourself into danger!

we haven't even known each other a few short months.

how can you declare this liking for me after such a brief time together?

we cannot be seen in a compromising situation.

it was worth the struggle.

i was so worried for you, but at the same time... well, it was the most exciting thing i've seen in ages.

why do this? why risk everything we've built? why risk your life?

is there anything i can do? can i get you anything? a drink, perhaps?

we have better things to do than throw enormous parties. for now.

who left this on my desk?

if you want to attend the soiree, you must find a decent shirt.

what does that even mean?

please convey my thanks.

that does explain a few things.

we cannot replace it with velvet right now.

i'll see to it right away.

his hunches are usually correct.

how can one elf eat so much jam?

i want new locks on that room.

your penmanship is atrocious.

what did they say?

you are rarely dramatic without cause.

don't mention my name!

this is an inopportune time.

we face a dark time, [name].

we've been acquainted for quite some time.

i hope to guide us down smoother paths.

please excuse me. i've much work to do before the day is done.

i don't recall seeing you at any of them.

diplomacy is essential to our credibility.

we are becoming a challenge.

really, you give me too much credit.

while you're here, i do have a question.

if it were up to you, how would you reply?

do let me know if you change your mind.

i wanted to think it was a blessing.

does it... hurt?

i wouldn't wish to impose.

there are a few potential alliances it would be good to discuss...

who does such a thing in front of their guests?

can you not find a single overshirt without mustard stains on it?

have we been here an hour already?

i didn't intend to go on for so long.

you must think me quite the gossip.

i'm glad i haven't wasted your day.

there's no longer a price on my life.

we fought. or perhaps "scrapped" is the better word.

you can imagine the result.

i feel i'm the last to judge whether or not he would have actually used his blade.

i've been looking all over for you.

i've never witnessed such a lovely sight.

sometimes your words are so sweet, they ache.

[facelos]

blows  dust  off  this  blog.   i  just  almost  cut  my  'following'  list  in  half  by  unfollowing  all  blogs  that  haven't  updated  in  2  years  or  over.   that  was...   a  lot,   apparently.

[facelos]

† THE GOD OF MANY FACES  —-         independent  &  selective  roleplay blog  for  jaqen  h'ghar  from  the  asoiaf  franchise   ;  the  faceless  man,   priest  of  the  many-faced  god  .  heavily  headcanon-based  .  triggers  include  :  violence  ,  mutilation  ,  lost identity ,  cults ,  abuse  ,  and  more.  est  . 2017 .  re - established july 2024 .  (  written  lovingly  by  winter  ,  formerly  kary  ,  she  /  her  ,  21  +  ,  minors  dni  !!  )

    —-    CARRD   .   best viewed via desktop / pc .

“ a  man  pays  his  debts.   a  man  owes  three.   the  red  god  has  his  due,   sweet  girl,   and  only  death  may  pay  for  life.   this  girl  took  three  that  were  his.   this  girl  must  give  three  in  their  places.   speak  the  names,  and  a  man  will  do  the  rest.   three  lives  you  shall  have  of  me   —   three,   and  we  are  done.   so  a  girl  must  ponder.   but  not  too  long. ”   by  the  time  arya  lit  her  stub  of  a  candle,   only  a  faint  smell  remained  of  him,   a  whiff  of  ginger  and  cloves  lingering  in  the  air.

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ;

[facelos]

members of the house of black and white would be arcane trickster rogues and trickster clerics in dnd/bg. that's all. that's my input.

[facelos]

winterstark·:

arya stark is that of an old tale,    now.     she is gone.     what remains:   a boy,     named arry.         not worthy of anything,   not worth a minute of time.     yet,   a man is observant of cut hair and deepened voice;       how these wash away once revealed.     cheeks are drained of warmth as the scraps of bread and butter eaten hours ago decay in small stomach.     staring upward to the man in silver,     glaring…       almost angry.     he speaks with a strange sensation on his face,     it looks like he’s enjoying the purge of arya’s list as it unfolds in front of him.         “   is a girl worth a second chance?   ”         spoken by jaqen h’ghar,    @facelos.                      ❛❛        [ pleading, brows begin to furrow, daunting the idea of what could go wrong. ]    please,     just let me say another name.     it was a mistake,     [ almost 10 seconds pass. she sees nothing is working, but hopefully this will. ]     i take it back!         ❜❜

expression doesn’t waver one inch as he listens to the girl’s pleas  ( is he even listening at all?  does it make a difference? ).  the truth shows itself a while later,  having considered all that’s been said,  having viewed the  PANIC  in her eyes.  ❝ the gods are not mocked,  girl.  a life,  once taken,  cannot be  ‘ taken back ’. ❞  but he breaks eye contact,  looking up and above her head,  scanning the muddy surroundings of harrenhal.  the guards patrolling the wall.  the peasants carrying their limited bounty from the fields through into the castle’s grounds.  ❝ the red god has his due, ❞  not the many-faced,  he is not a faceless man here  —  he is a man from lorath,  a worshipper of  R’HLLOR,  and he’s sticking firmly to that story.  but can he deny such a promising potential recruit a favour?  ❝ give a name  —  but only one.  and this time,  a girl must think about it,  carefully.  second chances are not promised,  but third chances do not exist. ❞

[facelos]

inspireswar​:

sleep had not come easy to the she-wolf at the absence of her husband and her ever wandering thoughts that when her lady in waiting entered her shared chambers she was already awake. and had been for hours in truth. “good morning, briggita, breakfast smells wonderful this morning as always.”

there is nothing lyanna hates more than being robert’s wife, he has made her nothing more than a joke among those in the castle. just as he has last night when he did not come to her bed and she can only assume he found his way into another.

“please, briggita.” she sighs wearily, perhaps some sun will help brighten her mood. though she doubts opening the curtains will do much of anything, she at least has to try. there will be much that requires her attention now that her husband is more than likely indisposed for the remainder of the day, starting with something for whichever serving girl robert found his way to.

she raises from her bed with a frown already upon her face, a look that has become nearly permanent since she married robert and he began finding other beds at night. “will you have the maesters prepare a moon tea?” she knew that she would not need to mention what or who for, no doubt the whole castle already knows. but she cannot allow robert to sire a bastard on another woman before he sires at least one son with her, as much as it pains her to do so. she did not need nor want anymore rumors surrounding her.

“i am sure we have much to do today.” much that she is not looking forward to facing with the way her husband has scorned her. often she pretends that briggita does not hear the rumors that float around the castle, merely to pretend that at least one person does not gossip behind her back. that she has one friend here so far away from home.

at the lady's request,  briggita heads efficiently to the windows,  pulling back the curtains and securing them neatly to each side.  despite the  CLOUDS,  an amount of sunlight streams through.  in the distance,  in clear weather,  shipbreaker bay is easily visible from this side of the castle.  ❝ it's a lovely day, ❞  she comments,  though offers something of a smile as she returns to pour the tea into a single teacup.  ❝ at least,  it isn't raining yet. ❞

          she catches lyanna's eyes briefly at the mention of the moon tea,  and nods.  ❝ the maester is preparing some as we speak, ❞  though she wouldn't have arranged for the dose to be delivered to the serving girl without prior approval,  it's not difficult to see that bastard children could lead to much unnecessary unrest.  she’d sent the request to the maester before heading over here,  herself.  ❝ there are many within the castle who hold your best interests at heart,  my lady. ❞

          maybe not as many as she'd like,  but  SOME  is better than none at all.

          ❝ is there anything more i can do for you?  i can leave you to rise and breakfast in peace,  if you'd like.  as you say,  there are a few things for you to arrange today. ❞  certain things that,  as the lady of the stormlands,  she may have to take over from her hungover husband while he’s out of action.  it’s an unfair situation,  but jaqen knows he’s seen worse;  even briggita had,  before her death,  judging from the memories awakened upon assuming her likeness.  different kinds of unfair,  still  UNJUST  no matter how you look at it.

          ❝ ... it is certainly not my place to say,  my lady,  but...  i can’t help wondering  — ❞  gentle hands,  though worn by work,  clasp in front of herself.  she kneads them,  as if a little anxious.  ❝ —  have you not written to your brother about your...  predicament? ❞

          that subtle fishing for details,  something the faceless men have learnt through their arduous training.  it may be of use to know what the lord eddard knows of his sister’s current situation,  or indeed,  WHOM  he’d choose to support in the matter.

[facelos]

Game of Thrones (2011–2019)

[facelos]

dracharenae·:

✹ —  RHAENYS IS MORE THAN CAPABLE OF SILENCE.  she had buried her face into the armored chest of the knight who rescued her from the red keep was being sacked.  not even a whimper parted from her, even as screams and bloodshed resounded around her  …  she understood the importance of silence.  she still does.  beyond the alleyway where they are briefly settled, she can hear the sound of armored men running together, and she feels beat of her heart start to accelerate.  they are coming.  they are so close.  she swallows, attempting to undo the fear and the nerves riled inside of her.  it does not help that she is straddled with a stranger.

       more so, he is very strange in general.  there is something not quite right about him. it may very well have something to do with his eyes  …  they are deep, too deep, and there seems to be something else lurking in them.  his smile, so filled with excitement and his easy nature amidst this chaos, cast her with doubt.  but, as is, he is the only thing keeping her alive in this strange place, as she is being hunted  …  such a precarious situation she has found herself in, and how fortunate she is to have a seemingly capable ally.  “ this is not the first time i have evaded death.  nor shall it be the last.  i know this dance well, ”  she says, adjusting her head scarf so it covers over her nose.  her violet eyes stare intently up at the man.  “ bring me to safety, and you will be rewarded greatly.  a king’s fortune, i would say.  and a story. ”

❝ this makes things easier.  but i am not in need of a fortune  —  the story will make a fine reward. ❞  his gloved hand rises up once again in front of her,  preventing her from making any movements past him should she get the urge,  as just one guard strolls past.  the chase has ended,  realising that running about the city like headless chickens isn't helping their cause;  as they've lost her trail, now they're seeking a person in hiding,  better found with much quieter steps.

          ❝ you,  there  — ❞  as the guard's voice sounds,  and lazadhor's eyes,  still locked with rhaenys',  intensify to convey reassurance  ( i know what i'm doing,  and will not let you come to harm ).

          he turns,  now facing out of the alleyway with back to the former princess,  and addresses the guard.  his tone is smooth,  unconcerned,  even friendly.  the free city’s accent,  rich with tapped rs and leaning vowels,  is unmistakable.  ❝ ah  —  the city's finest.  can i help? ❞

          ❝ ... we're searching for a woman.  think she ran down here.  have you seen anyone suspicious? ❞

          ❝ not that i can think of.  how long since? ❞

          despite his best efforts,  it's difficult to hide that he is keeping a woman directly behind him...  in fact,  the more he tries,  the guiltier he looks.  a complication,  certainly,  but shoulders do not tense,  nor does voice waver.  there’s no hesitation as the man begins to execute a different plan on the fly.

          ❝ is that her? ❞

          he points across the street,  just buying enough time and lack of attention to act.  it's a simple enough move,  well-known to many,  but as he'd expected,  the guard is on high alert;  too much to realise the ploy.  foolish,  he breaks from his suspicions and whips around  —  and seemingly from nowhere,  that gesturing hand produces a small item,  a glint of sharpness.

          within moments,  the guard collapses backwards into the alleyway,  caught by strong braavosi arms  ( a dart dangles from his neck,  its concoction injected firmly into major artery ).  ❝ unconscious, ❞  jaqen lazadhor confirms to his companion,  answering a question as yet unasked.  the soldier has not been killed;  he'll wake up in an hour or so,  head banging,  but very much alive.

          ❝ come, ❞  once his victim has been propped neatly against the wall between barrels and sacks,  he holds out a hand.  ❝ we must go. ❞

[facelos]

10 FAVORITE CHARACTERS FROM 10 DIFFERENT FANDOMS.      ( in no particular order.  )

wendy darling : peter pan 

zack fair : final fantasy vii 

will turner : pirates of the caribbean

jaqen h’ghar / the faceless men in general lbr : asoiaf/got

frodo baggins : lord of the rings

wednesday addams : the addams family

inigo montoya : the princess bride

inara serra : firefly

princess hilda : legend of zelda  ( link between worlds )

edward elric : fullmetal alchemist 

tagged by :    stolen from @1ionness  :))) tagging:  anyone who wants to steal it!

[facelos]

dracharenae·:

✹ —  “ BEGIN A STORY AT A TIME LIKE this ? ? ?  you must be a bard  … ”  rhaenys presses her back against the wall, practically holding her breath as she hears the clinking of the guards’ armor, and the steady march of their formations.  it trickles something within her mind, a memory she keeps buried for her own sake  …  the memories of a city aflame, of lannister soldiers clad in crimson and covered in blood, and a knight whisking her away to freedom.  all the while screams resound around her.  her hands clench at her sides.  “ if it is my story you covet, then let us first find someplace safer to hide.  there’s nothing worse than cutting off a good story, isn’t there ? ? ?  especially when it involves blades. ”

@facelos·

❝ as you wish. ❞  in truth,  he’d been comfortable enough to stay where they were at least for a short length of time  ( likely enough for the story to be relayed before they began their escape ),  but even he can understand the woman’s anxieties.  it’s difficult to be comfortable when hunted,  particularly without the breadth of training he’d received at the temple.  quiet,  quiet.  that’s a secret to be revealed only when necessary  —  or,  when particularly interesting.

          a tanned hand rises,  index finger resting over his lips in a signal for silence.  ❝ you must stay quiet,  my lady,  and do exactly as i say.  if you waver,  you will be caught.  is that understood? ❞  deep eyes,  the colour of freshly brewed coffee,  glint with something akin to excitement.  jaqen’s plans,  whatever they are,  are going well.  the metal of chainmail and plate sounds as three more guards hurry past the alleyway’s opening.  ❝ if you follow my lead,  you will reach safety with barely a soul knowing of it.  this,  i promise you. ❞  but can she trust a complete stranger?  that has yet to be seen.