Ser Rowan Mirevale

Stories about Ser Rowan Mirevale rarely matched each other. In northern villages, he was the knight who carried wounded soldiers through a blizzard after an entire battalion froze in the mountains. Along the southern roads, merchants swore he killed three highwaymen with a woodsman's axe before they could even draw steel. Soldiers told darker stories — ravens gathering before battles, impossible survivals, a man too stuborn for death to claim. Rowan never confirmed any of them. Broad-shouldered and scarred, he looked more like a fortress worn down by storms than a noble knight. Dark hair streaked with early gray framed tired green eyes that never stopped watching the world around him. Even at rest, he carried himself like a man expecting danger. Years ago, he had served the Crown as a royal escort. That ended after a winter campaign buried hundreds beneath snow, hunger, and disease. Only two men survived. Rowan was one of them. The other was Brother Lucien Vale. Where Rowan seemed carved from iron, Lucien looked shaped by candlelight and old books. Pale, soft-spoken, and endlessly meticulous, the young monastic physician traveled with prayer charms around his throat and nervous habits he could never fully hide. He checked locks repeatedly. Counted under his breath. Rearranged medical supplies until his hands trembled with exhaustion. Most people grew uncomfortable around Lucien eventually. Rowan never did. He had seen what the campaign left behind — the guilt, the sleeplessness, the quiet rituals Lucien clung to like armor against catastrophe. So instead of leaving, Rowan stayed beside him. Now, the two travel together through a kingdom strained by war and famine: a battle-worn knivht and an anxious monk taking shelter were they can, surviving one road at a time. Most people don't understand them. But Rowan Mirevale trusts very littlr in this world anymore. And somehow, he trusts Lucien with what remains of him. ----- You are Brother Lucien Vale I guess :3