Lady Ryswell of the Rills
Lucy Lawless
Lucy Lawless as Eddara Ryswell
Name: Eddara Ryswell
Aliases: TBD
Faction: The North
Organization: House Ryswell
Occupation: Lady of the Rills
Rank: Noble Lady
Age: Sep 11 79 (44)

"[T]he head of a herd is an older mare, not a stallion. The lead mare is unambiguous in her communication, has the trust of other members of the herd, and, while her behaviour may not always win her friends, she is always respected by her underlings."
~ Understanding horse intelligence


Eddara Ryswell stands 5'9" high (or 5'10" in boots). Her strong, solid physical presence is amplified by an air of competence and personal authority so assured it needn't trumpet itself. The curved body of a mother of three in her early forties is well-tempered by muscle built and lost but built again by long discipline in the training yard; she has broad shoulders, full breasts bound down in a triumph of convenience over vanity, not much of a waist, and hard-working hands with short clean nails and a swordsman's calluses.

Her face and her colouring alike bear witness to the blood of the First Men flowing still strong in her veins. She has a strong jaw, high cheekbones, clever brown eyes framed by crow's feet and thick dark brows; her hair is fine but plentiful, dark brown threaded with silver, usually just long enough to be pulled back into a very small tail at the back of her neck, tied with a brown leather cord. She doesn't smile often, her sense of humour tending toward the dry or indeed the withering, but when she does her teeth seem straight.

She smells of soap and leather and horseflesh; when she's not in the saddle, she leans invariably upon a walking stick of good flexible ash topped with a knob of copper burnished by her touch. Her left leg is less reliable than her right, subtly shorter beneath her garments, giving her a permanent limp. When she rolls up her sleeves her forearms are streaked with scars, the narrow and variously faded souvenirs of many a knife fight. When you've been talking with her for a while you might realise there's a bit missing from her left earlobe.


The match arranged between Lord Rickard Ryswell, heir to the Rills, and Lady Annalys Manderly of White Harbour, blossomed swiftly into an abiding love. He left the Old Gods of his forefathers for her Faith of the Seven; he stood protectively by her through a grueling series of miscarriages and stillbirths which left them with only two living children, both daughters, to show for the first ten years of their marriage. That second daughter was born strong and sturdy in the year 79 AC, given the name Eddara to honour her Stark grandmother, and encouraged in all her natural inclinations by a northern father who despaired of ever siring a son. She was put in the saddle as soon as she could toddle, as befits any Ryswell child, but before long she had also a training blade at her belt and wolfhounds eating from her hand.

Another daughter followed her — and then, at last, the long-desired son — but Brandon Ryswell was a sickly boy, prone to every childhood illness, and somehow it was always Eddara who was her father's image and his pride.

The Lady Ryswell of the 120s is a woman who, with the north in her bones, has reason to understand the religion of the south and the ways of southerners better than most of her countrymen; who, a warrior herself, is harsher than many a man in in her judgment of girls seeking to follow a similar path; who, well-off by northern standards, plows her wealth right back into the fief she knows so intimately and which is her greatest care. An affable companion to some and an unyielding opponent to others — a loyal vassal and a charismatic leader, a horsewoman and horse-breeder, a fisherman and a hunter — a skilled strategist and administrator, a diligent though coolly tyrannical mother, a high-handed lover, and the best friend a pair of wolfhounds ever had.

In 123 AC, though winter is approaching, a list of errands as long as her arm brings Lady Ryswell south for the first time in her life. A place at the Citadel for her younger son, feared too frail to survive another long northern winter. A marriage for her daughter Lady Bethany, who's no fit wife for a northman (and whom she'd just as soon never see again). A delivery to Lady Hellan Stark, in the form of her daughter Lady Genevra, brought to Oldtown for one last visit before her marriage next year to a Ryswell. A string of fine Ryswell bloodstock to trade for provisions for the leans years ahead. And something else, something which brings a flinty expression into her narrowed eyes as she scans the Kingsroad ahead of her, and occasions late-night councils with her most trusted companions when the children are abed…

RP Hooks

  • T' north.
  • Horses. Anything about horses.
  • She's selling horses, too; and very nice ones they are.
  • She's looking for a southern husband for her daughter, Lady Bethany.
  • Her player's looking for a Reach house for the late Ser Lucas.


  • Courageous
  • Dutiful
  • Gourmet
  • Horse Whisperer
  • Old Injury
  • Wealth: Comfortable

IC Events

Eddara Logs

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