kit harington, homosexual, male + he/him → is that not AREN RHAEN BROOK? i have seen them bearing the crest of KALERIS LYSAIN, their loyalty worn plain upon their garb. they are said to have lived for THIRTY-FIVE winters and are of the WEREWOLF folk, shaped by blood and custom alike. by birth, choice, or circumstance, they walk the path of KALERIS' BASTARD PRINCE LORD COMMANDER OF LYSAIN, a place they now hold in the world. those who speak of them name them both DISCIPLINED and OBSERVING, though not without flaw, for they are likewise WITHDRAWN and GUARDED.
look closer still, and you will find their tastes laid bare: SHADOWED CORRIDORS AND EMPTY COURTYARDS, LEATHER ARMOR SCENTED WITH SMOKE AND COLD STEEL, MOONLIGHT GLINTING IN THE EYES OF A WATCHFUL WOLF — small signs of who they truly are.
BASIC INFORMATION
FULL NAME: [ AREN RHAEN BROOK ] NICKNAME: [ ARI, RHAE, BASTARD ] AGE: [ 35 ] GENDER, PRONOUNS: [ MALE, HE/HIM ] TITLE: [ LORD COMMANDER / BASTARD PRINCE ] SPECIES: [ WEREWOLF ] KINGDOM: [ KALERIS LYSAIN ] HOUSE WORDS: [ IN SHADOW AND CUNNING, WE PREVAIL ] CASTLE NAME: [ SERPENT'S WATCH ] OCCUPATION: [ LORD COMMANDER OF THE SERPENT GUARD ] RELIGION: [ THE EVERLIGHT / THE OLD GODS ] LANGUAGE: [ COMMON, LYSAIN ] ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: [ HOMOROMANTIC ] SEXUAL ORIENTATION: [ HOMOSEXUAL ] SEXUAL TEMPERAMENT: [ SUBMISSIVE ] SEXUAL POSITION: [ BOTTOM ]
RELATIONSHIPS
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: [ TBA ] CHILDREN: [ NONE ] PARENTS: [ RHAENA DUSKRYN + KALERIS' KING ] SIBLINGS: [ (HALF-SIBLINGS) LANCELOT, EDWYN, ELRIK OF HOUSE LAURENTUS ] FRIENDS: [ TBA ]
PHYSICAL TRAITS
FACE CLAIM: [ KIT HARINGTON ] EYE COLOUR: [ BLACK ] HAIR COLOUR: [ DARK BROWN / BLACK ] HEIGHT: [ 1.73 METRES / 5'8 FT ] BODY BUILD: [ SHORT-ISH BUT BEEFY ] FACIAL HAIR: [ SHORT, WELL-KEPT FULL BEARD; THICK AND DARK, TRIMMED CLOSE ALONG THE JAW WITH NATURAL FULLNESS AROUND THE CHIN AND UPPER LIP. ] TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: [ UNKNOWN MARK ON HIS WRIST (SIGN OF THE CURSE), LYSAIN'S CREST SNAKE ON HIS OTHER ARM. ] NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: [ SCARS SCATTERED ACROSS HIS BODY FROM FIGHTS, TRAINING ETC. PERMANENT CHAFFING ON HIS THROAT (USUALLY HIDDEN BY A PELT WORN ON HIS SHOULDERS) ]
PHOBIAS AND DISORDERS
PHOBIAS/FEARS: [ HURTING THE WRONG PEOPLE, NEVER BEING ACCEPTED/LOVED, NEVER TRULY FEELING LIKE HE BELONGS. ] MENTAL DISORDERS: [ ANXIETY. ]
PERSONALITY
INTELLIGENCE: [ NOT THE SMARTEST PER SE, BUT TACTICALLY GIFTED, HIGH SITUATIONAL AWARENESS. ] LIKES: [ THE SMELL OF GRASS IN THE EARLY MORNING HOURS, SILENCE BEFORE DAWN, COLD AIR IN HIS LUNGS, HORSES THAT DON'T SCARE EASILY, HONESTY EVEN WHEN IT HURTS. ] DISLIKES: [ COURT WHISPERS, PITY, CRUELTY, LOSING CONTROL, PEOPLE WHO WIELD POWER CARELESSLY, FALSE LOYALTY . ] POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ DISCIPLINED, OBSERVING, LOYAL, PROTECTIVE, RESILIENT: ] NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ SELF-SACRIFICING, DISTRUSTFUL, OVERCONTROLLING, ISOLATING, STUBBORN ]
AESTHETICS
AESTHETICS: [ MOONLIGHT SETTLING OVER SCARRED SHOULDERS, DARK CURLS DAMP WITH RAIN, LEATHER GLOVES PULLED TIGHT TO HIDE TREMBLING HANDS, QUIET WATCHTOWERS BEFORE DAWN, THE LOW RUMBLE OF A RESTLESS WOLF BEHIND RIBS, BREATH FOGGING IN COLD AIR AS SOLDIERS STAND AT ATTENTION, BOOTS ECHOING THROUGH STONE CORRIDORS LONG AFTER MIDNIGHT. ] INSPO: [ SOLDIER BY AURORA, IRON BY WOODKID, TAKE ME TO WAR BY THE CRANE WIVES, RUN BOY RUN BY WOODKID, CONTROL BY HALSEY, I FOUND BY AMBER RUN, WAY DOWN WE GO BY KALEO, SATURN BY SLEEPING AT LAST, BLOOD UPON THE SNOW BY HOZIER 6 BEAR MCCREARY, DEMONS BY IMAGINE DRAGONS, ELASTIC HEART BY SIA, LOGAN, DIN DJARIN, JON SNOW, ARAGORN, BRUCE WAYNE, GERALT OF RIVIA, REMUS LUPIN ]
KINKS
KINKS: [ BREEDING. SCENT PLAY. COLLARS. VERBAL FEMINISATION. PRAISE. WORSHIP. SOMNOPHILIA. FACE FUCKING. TEASING. AFFECTION. MARKING. POWER PLAY. BLINDFOLDS. MORE TBA (FRESH MUSE WHO DIS). ] ANTI-KINKS: [ VORE. SCAT. INFANTILISM. ]
BIOGRAPHY
aren rhaen brook was not born beneath a sky of blessing, nor with banners waiting to unfurl in his name. there were no songs in the halls of kaleris the night he came into the world — only hushed voices, shuttered windows and a storm that pressed heavy against the gilded plume as if the gods themselves bore witness in silence.
his mother, rhaena duskryn, had once walked those same halls as a maid; raven-haired, soft-spoken, too young for the kind of attention that found her. the king had promised her protection, comfort, a life lifted above servitude. instead, she was given whispers, a swelling belly and the quiet fury of a wounded queen.
the curse was not meant for a child.
it was meant to rid the court of a rival.
but magic does not always listen to intention. it listens to opportunity.
when the high priest’s ritual reached for rhaena, it found something smaller, something forming — something defenseless. the magic coiled not around the mother, but around the unborn son. rhaena died bringing him into the world, her blood soaking into silken sheets that would be burned before dawn. the boy survived.
the king named him rhaen in tribute to the woman he had loved carelessly despite knowing better.
but he would never carry the king's name.
aren grew within stone walls that were never meant to be his. he was educated, trained, fed — but never embraced and always kept aside. dark of hair and darker of eye, he looked nothing like the golden heirs of house laurentus. servants whispered. nobles stared. children learned quickly which doors were closed to him.
he learned faster.
withdrawal became armor. observation became survival. he understood early that if he could not belong, he could (and would have to) at least become useful.
the curse revealed itself when he was six winters old.
one morning he returned to his chambers before dawn, small hands bloodied, eyes wide and uncomprehending. a stablehand had been mauled beyond recognition in the lower yards. the king saw the truth before anyone else did. rumors had reached the kingdom many decades ago, but kaleris had no from that night onward, the boy was locked away beneath the gilded plume every full moon — collared, shackled, silenced in the dark while the beast clawed at stone and howled for something it did not understand.
his father kept the secret.
not out of kindness — but out of necessity.
aren learned to fight before he learned to trust. he learned discipline as others learned prayer. sword, spear, hand-to-hand — anything that might one day allow him to restrain the monster within his own ribs. he was taught war tactics, reading battlefields as easily as corridors, sensing shifts in tension the way wolves sense approaching storms.
yet no amount of skill erased the word bastard.
by his late twenties, the walls of kaleris felt less like protection and more like confinement. he had given them loyalty. he had given them silence. he had given them blood. still, he remained an omission in royal portraits.
so he left.
lysain was heat instead of stone. sun instead of shadow. wind that carried sand through open markets and across sun-bleached rooftops. a kingdom of narrow alleyways, prayer calls at dawn and courtyards where beauty and danger were cultivated with equal care. there, strength was measured in endurance, not lineage.
he joined the serpent guard with little more than his name and a reputation that preceded him in murmurs. many expected the king’s discarded son to fail.
he did not.
discipline made him relentless, observation made him precise. he learned to move across rooftops as easily as battlements, to read the silence of desert nights, to anticipate danger in the flicker of a curtain or the shift of a merchant’s stance. he rose through the ranks not by charm nor favor, but by standing the longest in the heat, by being the last blade lowered, by ensuring every soldier under his watch returned breathing when it was within his power to make it so.
when the former lord commander fell during a border skirmish, it was aren who reorganized the scattered guard mid-conflict. it was aren who anticipated the enemy’s feint and cut off their retreat. it was aren whose voice; low, controlled, unyielding — steadied men twice his age.
he was named lord commander soon after.
some called it strategy. others called it irony.
the bastard prince now commands the very guard sworn to protect a throne that was never meant for him.
at thirty-five winters, aren rhaen brook stands as something forged not by prophecy, but by survival. moonlight suits him better than sunlight, though he has learned to endure both. beneath leather armor and desert-dyed cloth, scars map a life lived between restraint and violence.
he fears hurting those he is meant to protect.
he fears never belonging anywhere fully.
yet still he stands watch before dawn; whether beneath mountain shadow or desert sky — breath steady, eyes sharp and unblinking.
in shadow and cunning, we prevail.
and aren has become very, very good at both.















