Blessings to whoever managed to endure that summary. For reference, House Hornwood is an actual Noble house in the books and show that I decided to elaborate on.
Disclaimer: I do not own GoT/asoiaf.
Prologue
One could be forgiven for forgetting the existence of House Hornwood for it was largely unassuming and situated between two much more influential houses with White Harbour lying southwest and the Dreadfort north of their position. Even still, the House of Hornwood prided itself on its unwavering allegiance to House Stark, the Great house of the North and home to their Lord Paramount, Eddard Stark.
In comparison to even the Dreadfort, theirs was not a large house, nor was it overly powerful. Instead, its strengths lay in the fact that they were surrounded by forest and fertile lands that allowed them to obtain strong harvests each year despite the harsh cold of the North. The villagers were kept happy and well-fed which then allowed them to strengthen their ranks; a goal that was desperately needed after the Rebellion that took place over a decade ago. Since then, Hornwood had managed to regain its numbers but more were sure to be needed in the coming years.
Workers moved about the courtyard wheeling in grain for food and wood to stoke the fires. Boots squished against the softened ground, the mud caking to the soles. Under an alcove of the courtyard, a young girl sat, picking at the wooden table in front of her as her mind strained to remember the words of House Florent.
"First In Battle?" She guessed gingerly. Her Maester sighed softly under his breath and shook his head.
"That is House Tarly, my Lady. Try again."
Dyana pursed her lips and dug at the wood even more. Her somber expression and lack of response prompted the Maester to move his pointer to another house. The girl's brown eyes followed the direction of it to see it land on Highgarden.
"House Tyrell," prompted Maester Medrick. "Sigil?"
"A golden rose on a green field."
"And their words?"
"Growing Strong," recited Dyana, her boredom seeping into each word. She was not in the mood for her lessons. She was not in the mood for anything, not with her beloved father away fighting in a war against the Greyjoys. Seven moons had passed since he had left and with each day, Dyana's spirits faltered.
At the tender age of eight, the girl regarded her father very highly, seeing him as a personal icon. Halys Hornwood was often a jovial man that managed to brighten anyone's day. To think that he was currently fighting in a war seemed absurd and absolutely nerve-wracking to Dyana and she wished for nothing more than her father to return home safe and sound.
"Medrick?" She inquired, her voice lifting in curiosity.
"Yes, my Lady?"
"When will Father be back?"
The man breathed a sigh of resignation, the creases in his forehead growing more emphasized as his downturned eyes met hers.
"No-one can be sure, my Lady but my ravens tell me that your father is faring quite well. King Robert's success is near guaranteed and so I do not think it would be unlikely for your father to return within the next moon."
Dyana's mouth twisted, still not entirely satisfied with the answer. At the sound of wooden swords striking against one another, her eyes raised to peer across the courtyard to where her older brother Daryn was practicing with the Master-At-Arms, Ser Daymen Manderly; her mother's twin brother and a once-renowned knight. Unfortunately, his involvement in the Battle of the Bells during King Robert's Rebellion had left him with a huge scar that stretched over his face and a perpetual limp that hindered him from moving at anything other than a quick stride. Despite this, however, he remained agile and strong and was a keen mentor to her brother when he came of age to finally pick up a sword, even if it was wooden.
She watched as a focused Daryn lunged at her uncle only to be blocked and pushed back. She observed the movement of his feet and the angle of his sword as they circled one another. From her position, she heard her uncle calling out suggestions at his nephew. Her attention must've been placed on her brother and uncle sparring for much longer than intended because it caused her Maester to tap his pointer against the map to regain her attention. Huffing, Dyana looked to see the tip of the wand pointed at her own house.
Tilting her head, she stared unimpressed at her Maester. The man simply raised his brow in waiting.
"House Hornwood. Sigil: a black bullmoose on an orange field. Words: 'Righteous In Wrath'," she recited with practiced ease. Whilst she considered it quite babyish for her Maester to entertain her knowledge of her own house, Dyana understood that he was simply doing it in an attempt to lighten her spirits and take her mind off of the fate of her father.
"Very good, my Lady," praised Maester Medrick, his voice containing a humor bereft of laughter. "Shall we continue?"
.
The heavy fabric of her dress brushed against the stone floors of the castle as Dyana made her way to the hall where her mother was sure to be. With her father gone, the leadership of the house was passed to his wife who now acted as Lady Regent of Hornwood.
The interior of the castle could only be described as warm and comforting with its mix of stone and wood along with its peaked ceilings supported by beams of the strongest timber. From it hung numerous candle-lit chandeliers made up of carved antlers to represent the sigil of their house. Likewise, the constant lighting rendered the castle in a warm glow that left whoever wandered it in a state of ease.
Arriving outside the large ironwood doors, Dyana passed by two of the castle guards who each bowed their heads at her presence. Even though she was considered a Lady, Dyana thought it odd that grown men would bow for a girl not even close to half their age. Still, she regarded each of them with a warm smile before continuing forward to the head table where her mother was stood discussing with one of the kitchen maids leaving Dyana time to observe her.
Lady Donella was a comely woman, though she was hardly aging. The long straw like hair of hers resembled Dyana's as well as the rich color of chestnut. Her mother's face was thin but not gaunt and merely the product of her bone structure. She was taller than the average woman and Dyana wondered if it would be something she would inherit from her. She had yet to experience a growth spurt.
Her mother was dressed in warm furs and heavy fabrics the color of burnt orange as an homage to their House. Before marrying her father, she had been Lady Donella Manderly and the first-cousin of Lord Wyman Manderly. Her branch of the family had held control over many of the city's guard towers and military defense making them a keen asset. Donella had grown up alongside her cousins and formed a close bond to the point where they regarded each other as siblings rather than anything else. This meant that Dyana's mother often made trips to White Harbour to visit her family which was always fun for her children who enjoyed accompanying her.
When the kitchen maid was finally dismissed, Donella turned and surveyed the room, her eyes catching on her daughter. The lines of her face softened as her thin lips spread into a warm smile.
"Sweet girl," she said, gesturing for her to come forward. Dyana wasted no time rushing into her mother's arms where she felt them encircle her securely. Her hands formed tight fists in the fabric of her mother's dress. "What troubles you, my child?"
"I miss Father."
Donella tutted under her breath before pulling her daughter closer. A hand stroked her soft hair. "I miss him too."
"Maester Medrick said he could be back within the next moon," said Dyana, pulling her face back to squint at her mother. "Do you think that he's right?"
Donella's mouth pinched in thought. After a long moment, she released a sigh and raked her hands through the chestnut tendrils soothingly. "I do not know, my love. War is unpredictable."
The Lady of the House had first-hand experience herself after losing two more brothers in the Rebellion. Those had been dark days for her family and the deaths had weighed heavily on the remaining members, but none more so than her father. For Donella, seeing her husband ride away to fight somebody else's war had been difficult enough the first time. Never in her life had she prayed so rigorously for the safe return of her brothers and the husband of her children. Yes, they were dark days indeed.
"Will Daryn have to go to war?" Asked Dyana, reclaiming her mother's attention. The light brown of her eyes shone upwards eliciting a small but sad smile from Donella.
"I should hope not but we can never know. Still, it is always best to stay prepared."
"Will I be prepared?"
Donella cupped her daughter's cheeks and bowed her face so that it was level with hers. "I will make sure of it, my sweet." Tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear, the Lady leaned forward to drop a kiss on her head.
.
Dinner that evening lacked joy despite the warmth of the candles around the room. Dyana sat brooding throughout, her fork merely moving around the roasted potatoes rather than eating them. Beside her, Daryn talked animatedly with his mother about sword practice that day and how he had even managed to catch Uncle Daymen at one point.
"He said I have the makings of a great soldier," said Daryn, the width of his grin nearly splitting his face. At ten, the boy was already beginning to develop into a man. His light-brown hair fell over his eyes so much that his mother would constantly threaten to take him to get it cut and his warm honey-colored eyes matched Dyana's.
"That's lovely, my dear."
"How was your day, Ana?" He asked, glancing sideways at his sister. Her cheek was propped up by her elbow and she gave no indication that she had heard him, having been too lost in her own thoughts.
"Your sister is feeling a little down today, that's all," explained Lady Donella.
Daryn pressed his lips before tapping Dyana on the shoulder. Coming out of her daze, her eyes flicked to his sad ones.
"Is it because of Father?"
"How did you know?" She frowned.
"Because I'm worried about him too. It's been years since he's fought but I have faith that he'll be home before you know it."
"And what if he doesn't?"
The answer to her question was interrupted by the sound of the doors to the hall opening. All eyes turned to see Maester Medrick ambling towards them waving a small scroll in his hand. At the sight of it, Lady Donella scraped back her chair rather unceremoniously.
"My Lady," puffed the old man. "A raven from your Lord husband."
No sooner had he uttered the words before the scroll was taken from his hand and unfurled hurriedly. Dyana and Daryn watched with baited breath as their mother scanned each word. The crease in their mother's brow lessened with each passing second until she wore the ghost of a smile. Lifting her eyes, she smiled fully at her children.
"Your father is on his way home. King Robert has won."
A gasp fell from Dyana's lips as she clapped her hands together joyously. Beside her, Daryn reached around her shoulder and shook her whilst grinning cheekily.
"I told you he would be back," he said causing his sister to roll her eyes in response. She was simply glad that her father was safe and, most importantly, alive.
The news that her husband would be returning home soon left Lady Donella in a frenzied state of excitement. Gone was her desire to finish her dinner and instead, she got to work planning a large welcoming feast. Kissing each of her children on the cheeks, the woman then accompanied Maester Medrick out of the hall leaving the children alone and the raven scroll on the table.
Curious, Dyana reached for it and unfurled the scroll to see exactly what her father had written.
My love,
Balon has knelt. The war is over. I shall be home within a fortnight and there is much to tell you, so much that I can barely contain myself. I pray that you and the children fare well.
Halys.
"What do you suppose Father's news is?" Spoke Daryn, causing his sister to jump. Her face turned to see him leaning across to read the scroll. With a sigh, she shrugged and placed the letter back on the table.
"Who knows?"
Dyana could only wonder what sort of things her father had to tell, though, from the sound of his letter, it was important and something the Lord was quite proud of. By the end of the fortnight, her questions were answered.
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