Rowenna Nayland

Rowan Nayland, youngest son of Lord Rickart Nayland, came to Terrick's Roost from Hag's Mire six years ago, aged three and ten, a ward to bolster the fragile armistice between the fractious clans. A delicate, pretty boy in addition to being a swamp rat, he was subjected to more than his share of snipes and snubs, bullying and beatings. What he lacked in size, however, he made up a hundredfold in spirit — he never backed down, he never gave in, and through the cruel proving ground of experience, he came to win as many scrapes as he lost. Perhaps because of this, or because he naturally favored the underdog, Ser Jarod took the scrawny lad under his wing as his squire.

After years of service and inseparable comaraderie, Ser Jarod and his squire discovered irreconcilable differences, and Rowan was summarily dismissed from his service. Adopted into house Valentin of Oldstones and squired to Ser Gedeon Rivers, was released from that service as well after a handful of months. He's closed-mouthed about the circumstances in both cases, perhaps to his detriment. That he won't defend his situation may mean the truth is even worse than the rumors.

Rowan was knighted by Ser Jarod on the Iron Isles, and soon after the return to the Riverlands, revealed that he was in fact a she - Rowenna Nayland rather than Rowan, and that she and Ser Jarod were married. The rest of this page needs desperately to be updated accordingly but its author is a lazy git.

RP Hooks & Background Builders (some things your PC might have heard)

Scandal: Rowenna spent nearly six years masquerading as her brother, Rowan. From age thirteen to age nineteen, she served as a squire to Ser Jarod Rivers and, for a time, Ser Gedeon Tordane (nee Rivers). Rumors are rife that she was lovers with one, the other, or both — and as she wound up being knighted by, and married to, the former… maybe not much of a stretch. Her husband, Ser Jarod Rivers/Nayland/Half-Eagle, was cast out of his own father's service for knighting and marrying her — and for the compound sin of having known her gender for some time, but keeping it secret.

Ser Lady: Rowenna (as Rowan) won the squire's melee in Stonebridge, and was still a squire when she won her first joust (as a 'mystery knight') — though she was beaten rather badly when she attempted to melee with the full-fledged knights at the same tourney. She rode to repel the attack on Stonebridge in the first days of the Greyjoy Rebellion, was part of the siege to retake Seagard, and the subsequent invasion of the Iron Isles, where she was knighted (still a boy to the world at large). She stood vigil and was consecrated to Seven as a knight in their service by Septon Josse of Terrick's Roost, who had known her and her secret longest.

You Can Dress Her Up: But you can't really take her anywhere. Rowenna hasn't really modified her behavior since she was considered a boy. She still cusses, drinks, fights, and dresses (more often than not) like a man. She has been known to wear a dress when the occasion calls, but has also been known to fuck it up by throwing punches in the ballroom.

Ambiguous Standing: Rowenna is typically referred to as lady, except by a few who've known her long, fought beside her, and consider the title 'Ser' a thing she earned. And those are very few. Her accomplishments are generally considered dishonorable, even by her own family, since they were made possible by her lying about her gender and her identity.


Physical Features

She's pretty and fair skinned, a creature with dark, flashing eyes and lustrous, chestnut hair, standing somewhat taller than the average woman, perhaps three inches or so shy of a man. Her face is a pleasing oval; chin a bit pronounced, willful; jaw cleanly hewn and strong, saved from being masculine by a long, swan-like neck. Her nose is short and straight, set above lips curved like a bow, full and expressive, the shadow of a dimple hovering on her cheek. Her build is slender and fine-boned though uncommonly strong, arms and legs roped with graceful muscle, belly flat, posture proud. Her hands, delicate and feminine, wrists slender and fingers long, are not well cared-for enough to be those of a noble lady. Caloused and bearing a multitude of fine scars, they could easily be likened to the hands of a man accustomed to the sword and the pike.

Her hair is worn up, rolled about her crown, held in place with a fine circlet of abalbone-shell flowers. The wild ringlets that escape containment frame her face and grace the nape of her neck, their length suggesting that, overall, that dark mane does not much exceed the length of her chin. She wears a pale blue silk gown, full-sleeved and and flowing, girdled about her slender body with criss-crosses of white ribbon, from beneath her slight bosom to her narrow waist.

Recent Activity

Allies and Foes

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Maya Angelou, Still I Rise




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