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random-imagines-blog · 6 months ago

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Poison Oak {Jaqen H’Ghar x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3568 Summary: You travel in disguise to visit a fellow no one. Along the way, you become a someone. Notes: It is Jaqen and follows the show, so there will be death mentioned.

The armor, these ‘uniforms’ that the Lannister men wear had to be more uncomfortable than the most grizzled of faces. The squeakiness of the metal, the weight of it. A woman does not complain, though she wears something that was not made for her. A woman does not let anyone else know that she is not a man. You wore the face of a man for now, becoming one in manner, voice, and appearance. That was a gift from the Many-Faced God. You were no one behind the face. You were simply ‘A woman’ when you did not wear it, no name of your own, no past, only freedom, only unlimited skies. You were not currently on a job; you had no target near you that you were meant to assassinate. You were here for the company, despite the troublesome circumstances. You were a woman coming to meet a man.

“Jaqen H’Ghar,” you said, your eyes catching onto those of your friend. A Faceless man recognizes another, and for a second, you see that his own eyes brighten up. You were always able to read his faces better than any book in the Citadel library. Every little twitch, glint in the eye, even the way that his nostrils would flare. Whatever face that he wore, you would be able to tell. That was a gift from the Many-Faced God.

His head bowed to you, and he turned a corner into a corridor leading into the great castle. A quiet place, where we could talk alone. Despite the desolation of the castle, it’s near ruin, and the rumors of it being a cursed place - quiet was hard to find here. Echoes of those being tortured by ‘the Tickler’ were often bouncing around, reaching the ears of everyone, no matter how hard they held their hands to try to attain silence. “You’ve used this face before,” He hummed, firelight bouncing off of his red hair.

“It is one of my favorites,” You admitted, your smile pulling at the hollowed cheeks of the person you were wearing. “Do you remember when I wore it last?”

“Raventree Hall,” He nodded. “A man does not forget a kill. Especially when it is a team effort.”

To others outside of you and him, this might sound like a stiff conversation. To the point. Almost impersonal. But your heart was beating fast beneath all of this metal, flesh and bone. Feeling first and thinking later was not the way that the Faceless Men operated - all except for you. Feelings were the only reason you were here.

“A job well done, in my books. It may be foolish for a woman to believe in luck, and yet I find this face to be the ... a charm for me. And it has worked again.”

“Who are you?” Jaqen asked, curiously. The two of you could do this all day. Coming up with backgrounds and names for the faces that you wore, weaving together a life that could be discarded and forgotten at any moment. That was the thrill of it. It was such a short time to be someone, before returning to being no one.

“My name is Barrish Falwell,” you said, in a low and gravelly voice that matched the face. “I grew up in Gulltown, the son of a fisherman, and became a sailor meself, having my first fishing boat by the time I was thirteen. I found there was more money in transportin’ than in Fishing, so I made my livin by ferryin’ people to and fro, across the waters. I found me a wife, an’ I had two daughters, the most precious people in my life they’ll forever be - though they were drowned during a storm, and I had no more love for the sea. I gave up my vocation to become a soldier for the Lannisters, who I’ve chosen to give my loyalty to, as I have no love for the Starks or the Baratheon brothers. Joffrey is and should be the one true king by right, and it is only what’s right that keeps the world goin’ round. If I should die for them, I’ll be back with my family, and it will be the most noble way to die.”

“What made Barrish so interested in the line of inheritance to the throne?” Jaqen asked, as if testing. I had an answer for everything, though. I paid close attention to my story. Details were my strong suit.

“I once had the displeasure of ferrying Stannis across a short way. He paid me poorly for the pleasure. Did not even give a tip, not the flash of an extra coin. A man like that should not be in any sort of power. He’ll cheat all the common man. But not the Lannisters. No, it is in their motto. t’s only right that a boy raised with those values continue to sit on the throne. Bring the Seven Kingdoms to prosperity by payin’ everyone who is loyal to them.”

“And you believe you’ll be paid for this?”

“Aye, I do. A Lannister always pays his debts, so surely, I would be paid for my loyalty and hard work, no?” You said, your voice still gravelly. You sounded pathetically naive. You sounded like just the kind of man that a Lannister would let into his service willingly. And to give one of the shit jobs that no one cares about. There were more than enough men to watch over the castle, without having some slim ferryman like you around.

“Hello, Barrish Falwell,” Jaqen said with a small smirk, leaning against the stone wall. “Do you miss your wife?”

“Very much so, friend. She was the mos’ amazing woman that I’ve ever met. I was quite the lucky man to have her. Enith, her name was. The jewel of our town too, the prettiest pearl that ever lived. Aye, that she was.”

“I once knew a woman like that myself,” Jaqen said, his eyes darting over your playfully.

“An’ what happened to her?” You asked, your own shining brightly through the face that you were wearing. It was so unlike your own. Such masculine features to cover any feminine that you had. Even your body seemed to transform in the garb that you were wearing, in the way that you walked, your mannerisms, had all become that of a weary widowed man just trying to get through the day.

“She became no one,” Jaqen said, a rare smile crossing his handsome face. His true face, on this occasion, was the one that you admired the most.

“What a beautiful thing to happen,” you said. Though it wasn’t entirely the truth. To be truly no one - one must have no attachments, no past, no future. You had one attachment, and he was standing in front of you. To be attached to a man with no attachments - it was a torturous way to live. But you could not help yourself - you were not just a woman, but you were a woman in love.

The sound of approaching footsteps, more like clanks in the armor, came to your attention and you and Jaqen both straightened up, faces serious, looking like men on duty. A soldier walked past with barely a look at the two of you. “It is dangerous for a woman to be here,” Jaqen said, that slight hint of joviality in his eyes gone.

“It’s dangerous for anyone to be here, there’s a war,” you said, your own mouth in a straight line. “Why do you stick around so? There’s much work to be done back in Braavos. Prices are high during these dire times.”

“A debt needs to be paid, and I must stay until it is done,” Jaqen said, and with those words, you knew that there was nothing that was going to get him to leave.

“To the Red God?” You asked in a low tone.

“To the Red God,” He affirmed.

“A woman understands. If a debt is to be paid, then a debt is to be paid,” you said with a nod. “I will stay until your business is over.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and moved in closer, his breath warm against your worn face. “Why does a woman choose to stay?” He asked you. “It is perilous, even for us. Faces - they cannot save us from this war.”

“Death will come when it comes,” you said, shrugging that off. “A woman is no coward to it. But it is dangerous to travel alone in these times, so I shall wait for you. And then we shall set back together.”

After a moment, he nods. “I can agree to this. Be careful - we are not the only ones who do not belong here. I will signal you when the debts are paid.”

“Excellent,” you said, right as a feeling of cold goes through you, his breath removed, Jaqen gone down the hallway to attend to his duties - those of a Faceless man, and those of the soldier that he was pretending to be. You breathed out yourself, and then set off, one foot in front of the other, to a soldier’s patrol, blending in seamlessly.

This face got you through the next while. No one suspected you of a thing, and not even the slightest about being an outsider here. You were never apart from this face, not when you slept among the rest of the men, not when you thought you were alone, not for a second. You lived and breathed being Barrish Falwell. You were flawless in this, truly becoming the man, moaning out his dead wife’s name in his sleep to the displeasure of the others around, taking part in the drinking of ale and having a preference for sitting close to the fire, and even talking dirty about women, making sickening jokes.

Jaqen was never too far, his eyes either on you, or on a masquerading girl who poured wine for Tywin Lannister. It was a wonder to you that others did not see through her short hair and boyish face to the female beneath. It was she who had saved Jaqen, and thus owed the Red God three deaths, using Jaqen to get them. The Ticker - he was the first. You knew Jaqen’s handiwork, the body lying dead in the courtyard, under the windows. What a relief, you may finally get a night’s break from the screams. Ser Amory Lorch. It was not done with the usual grace, so it must have been under extreme haste. That set Tywin on guard who starts to order the assassination of many of his own men. Although Jaqen seemed safe, it seemed as if time was running out for you. You kept your head down, keeping to yourself, still giving off the appearance of a man who was too loyal to do this, too scared of Tywin to do something like this, too pathetic to kill someone of his own volition. But it felt as if eyes were ever on you.

It would be only too easy to remove the guise of Barrish Falwell. To rid yourself of the face and slip on another, become someone else. But a newcomer now would only be under more suspicion. A woman had to be smart, smarter than any man in order to survive this. But you were running low on ideas. You had gotten the call - Tywin wished to see you and three other soldiers that night, after dinner.

As you were thinking, silently having your stew and your ale, a slight nudge on your back told you everything that you needed to know. It was calculated. It was purposeful. It was the signal that something was to happen. Your eyes darted to the back of Jaqen as he walked through the tables to his own, sitting down with some of the other men. His own blue eyes looked back at you, and you turned back to your bowl.

It would not be your death given to the Red God today. He would make sure of that.

An escape plan had been forged. Jaqen had wordlessly met you after the sun had gone down, when you were meant to be making your way to Tywin. Instead of going to where you were supposed to be, you walked with Jaqen towards the gates, and silently dispatched the guards there. Killing was as easy to you as eating, as drinking water from a fresh stream. Blade through the flesh and move on. The Red God would be happy with your offering. Jaqen pinned them in place with their own spears to not arouse suspicion until the morning shift came around to relieve them, giving plenty of time to escape. You left with him in the hills, leaving Barrish behind. Your own skin was touched by the wind for the first time in days, a sigh of relief escaping from your lips.

“So, a girl has given you your name?” You asked towards Jaqen as you walked away from the girl and her companions. “That is quite a cruel twist. A girl will go far in life.”

Jaqen looked grumpy as he remembered the sound of his name coming out of the lips of Arya Stark. The girl had pushed him into doing more than he had intended to do. Killed more than the God had required. “I would have had to do it.”

“I know, you’re a killer with honor,” you said, looking amused, nonetheless. “If such a thing exists, it is surely you.”

Despite the heavy armor that you were stuck wearing - there was not much else that would protect you if you were to come across others on the road back to the Braavos - you were walking quickly, near skipping, energy in your stride. You held your hands behind you, walking a short distance ahead of Jaqen, turning your head to face him. His blue eyes looked at you and then down at the ground, and if you didn’t know better, you would almost think that he was blushing.

“A man is,” He nodded, his eyes continuing to look down at the worn trail that you were taking. It was not a road; you were both avoiding those. Besides - the roads took too long, creating detours. “Has to be, when a girl lacks it.”

“Has it left a bitter taste in your mouth?” You teased.

“Like poison oak,” He stated.

“And yet you have given her the coin, our codeword,” You reminded him. “I think that you secretly saw something in her. More of that poison oak that you could help grow, to spread towards targets.”

“There was something there,” He admitted, more so to himself than to you. “A potential, yes. Sometimes it can be found in the most unlikely of places.”

“It almost sounds as if a man has a heart,” you said, tilting your head towards him as you walked.

“A man has never said that he hasn’t,” He retorted, making you smile. And making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like you were sitting by a fire after coming out of the rain. It felt as if he were flirting with you. Almost too good to be true.

And when things are too good to be true - they usually were. Because all of a sudden, his arm shoved you away from him, hard, sending you falling onto the ground. Your head hits one of the rocks, causing your vision to grow fuzzy. You were struggling to hang onto it, to stay conscious. Your hand went to the back of your head and pulled away with crimson on your fingers. You had seen enough blood to know exactly what it was. And you had also caused enough head injuries to know that it wasn’t a good thing at all.

Where you had been standing only seconds before, an arrow was sticking out of the ground. The feathers attached to it were red - The Lannisters. They had found their dead and sent trackers after the two of you.

Jaqen managed to make quick work of them while you stayed low to the ground, putting pressure where the wound was despite the fact that it hurt. You were moaning, unable to keep it from coming out of you. The rising sun hurts your eyes, making you close them tightly. Clenching, more like.

“Y/N, are you alright?” He asked, returning to your side, using the name that you often used in your disguises. It was close to the name that you had been born with, but not close enough to bring back all of the bad memories.

“Hit my head - on the rock -” you said, pointing towards the spot where your head had made contact. There was a bit of your blood there, oxidizing in the sunshine. It would be brown soon, rather than red, but still a sign that you had been there.

“I - have pushed you too hard,” he said, using first-person speech. “I should have noticed -”

“You still saved me,” you said, opening up one of your eyes to look at him. There was more concern in his expression than you had ever seen from him before. “I would have been shot with that arrow if you hadn’t pushed me.”

“I do not owe the Red God your death,” Jaqen said, putting his arms under you and picking you up, armor and all. You winced at the movement, still holding your head. “I will not let him have it until the time is right.”

“I feel a little dizzy, Jaqen,” you said, though that was an understatement. The world was spinning, and he was spinning too. You closed your eyes again to keep yourself from growing sick, though that didn’t help the vertigo. He managed to move as stealthily as ever, while keeping his stance solid. You weren’t being jostled around inside of his arms. And then, to your surprise, you found yourself lying on soft, sweet-smelling hay.

You opened your eyes to see that you were somehow in a cart, and Jaqen was beside you. He had changed his clothes, into softer linens, no longer looking like a soldier. He pressed his finger to your lips, to stop you from speaking.

“I cannot apologize enough,” he said, looking deep into your eyes. “I never meant to hurt you. Never you.”

“Ja-” You started, but he pressed his finger a little rougher against your lips, stopping you.

“Seeing you hurt - it makes me ... it makes me want to rage against the Red God, for even attempting to take you. It is blasphemy, but I cannot help myself. I cannot help myself. Not a man-”

He looked out the back of the cart, at the road that you were on. You didn’t question whose cart you were in, or who was driving, where you were going, how Jaqen had convinced them to let you both on. All of those details were unimportant. All you could focus on, or tried to focus on as the world was spinning, were his eyes.

“I do not know when I became I - but it is because of you,” he said, his voice softer than anything that you had ever heard before. Like velvet. You could feel it like a texture over your skin. “A man has become ... a man who loves you.”

Your breath caught in your throat - if you even had any breath left. It felt like it had been pushed out of your lungs, and then all of a sudden, bellowed back in, making you breathe in deeply. A look of concern came over his face and he lightly started to look over your wound again, moving the hay beneath you to get a better view.

“It’s okay - I’m okay,” You tried to convince him, reaching up to his arm to stop him from touching the wound, from poking around it. That wasn’t your focus either. “Who are you now, tell me again.”

“A man in love,” he said, more resolutely this time, like he believed it rather than realized it.

“Ask me,” you said, weakly. His eyebrow raised at you and so you nodded at him slightly, trying to get him to do the same.

“Who are you?” He asked, in the exact same tone that he had when he asked you in the castle days ago. You had given him all the details of a false identity back then. A fake name. A fake life. A fake dead wife and children. But what you were going to say now was going to be the truth, the whole truth.

“A woman in love.” You answered him.

His coarse fingers skimmed over your forehead, caressing it in a way he made sure was nowhere near the wound on your head. And then he lowered himself down and kissed it, his lips chapped and dry but felt wonderful, nonetheless.

“We could be somebodies,” You whispered, feeling the energy draining out of you. “When I wake up - we could be somebodies together.”

“I would enjoy that,” he said, his own voice softer than touch. “When you wake up.”

“When I ... wake up...” You said again, before everything went black.

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