Ser Nymor Jordayne Birth Name Nymor Jordayne Titles Ser, Gender Male Date Of Birth 397AC Location The Tor Culture Dornish Religion The Faith of the Seven Status Alive Occupation Castellan Affiliation House Jordayne Physical Information Eye Color Brown Hair Color Brown Build Broad Height 6' Relations Father Franklyn Ladybright Mother Ysilla Jordayne Siblings Deziel Jordayne (d.439), Myriah Jordayne, Nalah Sand, Trebor Jordayne Liege Lady Casella Jordayne

Nymor Jordayne is the second son of Lady Ysilla Jordayne and Franklyn Ladybright, and uncle to Lady Casella Jordayne. He serves as The Tor's castellan and is his niece's primary advisor.

Appearance and Character

Nymor is a stern, imperious man, his features almost never sport a smile. Although he has begun to age, his build is still tall and broad through years of hard work, this however has also begun to take its toll on his body, where he once was an esteemed spearman, he is now plagued by joints that fail him more often than not.

While mainly stern and imperious in his outward emotions, on the inside he is a kind man who cares greatly for his family. As Casella still learns the intricacies of Ladyship Nymor remains close by her side, giving her council every step of the way.

History

Nymor was born a year into the War of the Three Thieves and it showed in his youth. The vast majority of it was defined by war and any and all preparation for it.

Almost as soon as he was able to he started learning the art of fighting with a spear and often tells he does not even remember how it was to not always have one by his side. Hours on end did he practice sequences and variations on them, one day even going as far as working himself to unconsciousness through exhaustion. Any time not spent with a spear in his hand he spent studying the accounts of battles and wars, making anything martial as much autonomous as breathing. Whenever he had his spear in hand, Nymor’s face showed a smile as wicked as it was contagious, never truly seeming happy except for those moments.

By the time of his thirteenth nameday a two wars and a winter had passed, the Seven Kingdoms were weary under the tyrannical rule of Queen Visaera. Nymor however thrived, now a squire to the Lord of Godsgrace he made progress at almost an unnatural pace. The spear was an appendage to his body as much as his arms and legs were. At one point even commenting he’d rather lose a foot than his spear. In the company of Lord Allyrion, who felt he alone was not enough to train the boy further, he travelled around Dorne, rising to challenge all to a test of skill. It was not until he returned home to the Tor that Nymor suffered his first defeat to the hand of his uncle, Ser Mathis, an event that humbled him greatly. Records tell that this was when he was last seen smiling publicly, having a stern look cast upon his face ever since.

As Nymors squirehood came to a close and he was knighted as Ser Nymor Jordayne he became unsure of his role. He had little care for assisting his family in ruling the lands and his uncle had commanding the armies and training the man more than covered. So once more he roamed Dorne, making a living as a simple hedge knight despite his status. When he eventually found himself in Sunspear however he decided to settle and join House Martell’s guard.

Being on duty that day, Nymor was a witness firsthand to Prince Aerion’s defeat at the hand of Nymeria Uller. The boy had a lot to learn, that much was clear, and in his mind there was nobody better to teach the young Dragon than himself. That same day Nymor went to Morgan Martell with his proposition, who agreed as long as it did not interfere with the duties of either of them. And thus began a fruitful mentorship. Four years of near daily training sessions commenced not only for Aerion, but also for Nymor. He knew little of those north of Dorne and their ways, he had heard of the bare basics of course but had taken little interest beyond that. His interactions with Aerion felt eye opening on the matter, while he still remained glad and proud to be Dornish he grew more aware of not only the differences with the rest of the realm but also the similarities. As such, the two eventually garnered a great amount of respect towards one another and despite the Targaryen’s young age Nymor had begun to consider him one of his peers. When Aerion eventually departed to return to King’s Landing, Nymor finally returned home to the Tor, a changed man as much as his protegé. When he arrived he found the holding more empty than when he left, his father having breathed his last during his absence. He mourned quietly by himself for two days straight before showing himself to his family once more. After reconciliation with his family he vowed to stay home in servitude of his brother in whatever role he may deem necessary. Little did he know that vow would eventually lead to only more time away from his place of birth. It was six years later, in 434AC that hell broke loose in Dorne. While the rest of the realm had sunk into civil war two years prior, Dorne had remained spared. Until Tommen Blackmont saw it fit to start a war fueled by resent against the Martells and the followers of R’hllor. While Nymor didn’t agree with the ways of the Vulture King, there was a certain charm to the man’s conviction. This sentiment however did not stop Nymor from striking down all those he could during the campaign against him. He may not have been present for the legendary defense at the Siege of the Tor, but he was present for the Battle of Godsgrace.

He and his men fought valiantly in the shadow cast upon the battlefield by his old friend Aerion atop Vhaegon. Nymor could barely recall the number of men that had fallen by his spear, but he noticed something else during the fight, something concerning; Where his motions once had been fluid like a mountain stream they were now sluggish. He’d felt it before, but had cast aside the feeling with the thought of it being an off day, but it was more than that. As the battle went on a stinging pain formed in his joints until eventually he was unable to move. Had it not been for the men by his side he’d have died then and there, trampled under the movements of battle.

He was forced to sit out what little war there was still to fight, his brother ever by his side with a pitiful look on his face. Nymor was disgusted by himself, a man born and raised to be a warmonger now unable to perform even to most simple of sequences with a spear. His family around him pressed for him to move on, reinvent himself, settle down and marry, despite his old age. Nymor however had other plans, while he could no longer fight, he could still be an advisor. As time went on, he grew comfortably into the position of Castellan in his late uncle’s place. Ever at the Tor to share his mind when the situation required it.

Now with his niece, the Lady of the Tor, in King’s Landing for the Grand Council, Nymor was left to manage the holding in her absence.