9th Moon, 148 AC

Castle Hornwood

Eadhelm

I am home he thought, and marveled at the thought. The ride had been slow going. Packing had taken longer, and the state of the realm had caused some lag for helping settle affairs in Winterfell. Matilda and Eadwin were riding behind, accompanied by a small contingent of family guard that had come with them to meet with Eadhelm. He rode at the front, and as they emerged from the eastern road, Eadhelm took a deep breath.

Castle Hornwood alone in that place. The Broken Branch, only a few miles from its source, ran slow along the southern side of the castle, whose three towers rose just above the trees. Eadhelm had not seen this place since he was boy, and now, as a man, it seemed so much more cold than he remembered. The walls ran high, and atop them patrolled small groups of guardsmen. Winter's ending had meant the castle town was thinning as people returned to their villages in the woodlands, or on the coast, and things would be more quiet. It was a strange thought, that this place, sullen and lonely, grew louder and livelier when the days were freezing and the fields fallow. An inversion that, Eadhelm thought, would be appreciated by someone more educated, or more poetic, than he.

The procession made its way to the front gates, which were swung open. Men at arms stood at the wait either side, forming a corridor up to the keep proper. Behind them thronged what counted as a crowd for Castle Hornwood. Perhaps a few dozen people, loosely arranged, watching wide-eyed as their new lord rode in.

A sergeant of the house, an older man Eadhelm only vaguely recognized, shouted, raised a sword and shouted, "We see our lord! Eadhelm Hornwood, son of Hrothwell, Lord of the Hornwood!" the men bowed, and so too did the peasants.

Eadhelm stopped his horse, following his gut, and stepped off, walking to the nearest man. A soldier of perhaps twenty years. Eadhelm stood in front of him for a moment, then cleared his throat. The man raised his head and stared.

The Lord of the Hornwood reached out his hand and the soldier took it, standing and locking eyes with Eadhelm.

Eadhelm smiled, "It's good to be home." He looked around to the soldiers, to the peasants, "I know it has been some time. That I have much to catch up on, and much to live up to. My father, though he had faults, was a great lord and no less a good man than any of his peers. I hope only to live up to his legacy, and to your expectations." Eadhelm paused, swallowing, "I should have it known now, to you and to all the people of these lands, that my gates will always be open, that you are my people and always welcome to my hearth, to my tables."

Eadhelm turned to Matilda, who remained on her horse, and Eadwin, who stood behind her, "This House has ruled this land for uncounted centuries with justice and a fair hand, and by the Gods I shall do the same."

Matilda nodded, approving. The soldiers and peasants all rose, clapping and cheering.

Home, he thought, and marveled at the thought, Home.

Serena

Serena Hornwood, from her place at a window overlooking the town, watched her brother speak. She could not hear his words, but saw how they echoed through the crowd. She could not help but smile when they rose and cheered. These were heavy times, times of war and mourning, but in this corner of the world there still remained some place for cheering, for celebration. She turned in and made her way to the stairs, trailing down to the inner courtyard where she stood and waited.

The inner gates opened and the procession passed through. Eadhelm walked, guiding his horse by her lead. In so many ways, Eadhelm Hornwood was the spitting image of his father during the man's younger, healthier years. There was a confidence in his stride and a firmness in his face.

"Brother!" she yelled, running to him and wrapping her arms around Eadhelm, who yelped a little and barely kept himself from falling. He returned the hug.

"We must catch up," he said, "But first. Where is father?"

Serena nodded and smiled softly, "Maester Rickard has kept him in a good state. He's laid out in the Godswood. You still remember the way, yes?"

Eadhelm nodded, then moved past and into the keep. Serena watched him, then turned back and helped her sister and nephew off their horses.

Cynedunne

Cynedunne Hornwood had been by her husband's side for weeks, only occasionally returning to her chambers for rest. Her Sisters had come and gone, most remaining in the Godswood. She had prepared her husband as best she could, and though she chafed at it, with great assistance from Maester Rickard.

A voice, familiar, called out from behind.

"Mother."

Cynedunne turned. There he stood. Her son. Eadhelm had grown so alike his father, but stood taller, broader, and with a strength that Hrothwell had never quite possessed. Cynedunne did not know what to say, or how to say it. She stared, mouth open as if to speak, but no words could muster to her lips. Eadhelm walked up and past her, going to his father's side. Hrothwell's body was laid out, hands grasping his old sword and dressed in his livery. Cynedunne watched her son stand by his father's side for a while, his face unreadable and still. She turned her eyes to the trees and saw her Sisters standing, waiting. The cold had preserved Hrothwell remarkably well, alongside an assortment of poultices, salves, and infusions, leaving the man in more or less good condition, although he had paled beyond death and the sickness of his waning days still lingered in the deep of the black under his eyes, the wrinkles on his face.

"He would have liked you to be by his side," Cynedunne finally said, uneven and unsure of herself.

"I know," Eadhelm said, expression unchanging. For a while longer they stood in silence before Eadhelm turned to her, "Could you ask someone to fetch supplies for a pyre?"

"I," Cynedunne started, wanting to object, then stopped herself, "I will ask."

Hornwood

The pyre was assembled outside of the castle, in a clearing, and the people of the castle gathered about it as the body, wrapped in cloth, was placed upon it and soaked in oil. When the sun had set and the moon rose plump and full in the sky, Eadhelm Hornwood set the pyre ablaze. Non left until long after the fire had petered out and the ashes were gathered in a small urn that Lord Hornwood took to somewhere non else saw.

Eadhelm

Eadhelm stood on the shores of the Broken Branch, his father in his hand. A moment passed, then another, and Eadhelm Hornwood opened the urn and slowly poured its contents into the waters. So Hrothwell Hornwood was placed back into the world, given to its waters and to its earth.