The raven arrived amid the song of hammers and the smoke of the forge. It bore the seal of House Frey of the Twins, and carried with it a personal invitation addressed to Lord Halys Hornwood, lord of forest, hill, and sea coast.
"Your lordship is cordially invited to my eighteenth wedding. House Frey is honored to count its distinguished allies on this occasion of joy and politics.— Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins."
The feast stretched through the halls of the Twins, and amidst laughter and hollow promises, the eyes of Lord Walder Frey swept the high table with calculating cunning. His cup was not yet empty when he raised an eyebrow, his raspy voice cutting through the general murmur:
—Tell me, Lord Hornwood, what news is there of the betrothal between my granddaughter Marya and your young brother Robert?
Knives paused over meat for a brief moment. A few attentive ears turned toward the conversation.
Halys, clad in a cloak embroidered with silver thread in the shape of antlers, did not lose his composure. He drank slowly before responding:
—It will be a wedding worthy of both lineages, my lord. It will be held at Hornwood Castle, now restored in stone, later this year. We have chosen our ancestral seat as a symbol of the union between our houses, in lands that have risen once more through labor and alliance.
Walder nodded, pleased, though not entirely satisfied.
—I trust my emissaries will be well received. I want this wedding to be sung of in the halls of the Trident. My granddaughter deserves that... and more. And your brother —he added, with a sarcastic smile— seems made of better steel than many who call themselves knights.
—He is —Halys replied calmly—. And his arm will grow stronger with a Frey wife at his side.
Later, in private, a distant cousin of the Blackwoods, a banquet envoy, asked Halys:
—Will you attend the great tourney at Harrenhal this year? They say the king has ordered it to be the grandest in history. Gold and glory for all.
Halys merely shook his head, without hesitation.
—Gold I have in my caravans —he said with a half-smile—. And glory... in the walls of my castles and the safety of my people. I've no need to play at war when a real one is coming.
The Blackwood looked surprised but did not reply.
Halys had heard the rumors. That Rhaegar Targaryen would be present. That even Queen Rhaella and her young son Viserys might attend. That the Starks, Baratheons, Arryns, and even the Martells would bear witness. A gathering of houses, a dance of names... and perhaps, a spark for the fire.
But he would not be part of it.
—Let others ride for a rose. I'd rather forge spears.
That night, upon returning to his tent, he ordered preparations to begin for Robert and Marya Frey's wedding. He also sent a raven to his stewards: increase steel production in Horncrest, reinforce the shields, purchase more grain.
The Tourney of Harrenhal was approaching, yes. But Halys sensed something else.
A storm.
Halys laughed as he read the invitation, cup in hand, from the highest tower of Castle Horncrest, his primary stronghold. Behind him, the fields of the newly founded town at the base of the hill stretched like a human mantle, bustling and full of life. The settlement, once a handful of huts, now held ten thousand permanent souls... and prepared to receive fifty thousand more during the coming winter—refugees from villages and vassals who trusted in House Hornwood's protection.
Halys looked on with pride at the banners fluttering. The antlered stag, symbol of his house, was now recognized in the valleys, coasts, and trade routes of the North.
His efforts had borne fruit. Caravans protected by the alliance with the Freys and the Clovers now generated over 80,000 dragons a year, of which 72,000 went directly to his coffers after profit sharing with his partners. That gold had not been hoarded in chests, but invested.
In the reconstruction of Hornwood Castle, the ancestral seat of his house, now risen again in solid northern stone, with reinforced towers and a disciplined garrison:
1,000 heavy infantry, armed with spears, axes, and oak-and-iron shields.
500 longbowmen, veterans of the woods and the hunt.
400 medium cavalry, with partial armor, lances, longswords, and kite shields—more versatile than light cavalry, though less armored than heavy.
100 heavy cavalry, armed to charge like a steel wall across the field.
And Castle Horncrest, his greatest achievement, now rivaled ancestral fortresses in power and size. The expansion had not been purely military. The town at its feet flourished, with merchants, blacksmiths, carpenters, even a small sept and a permanent training barracks.
The castle's garrison reflected that power:
2,000 heavy infantry, armed with rectangular shields of ironwood, 20-centimeter steel-tipped spears, one-handed swords, and secondary axes.
500 crossbowmen, formidable on the walls.
500 longbowmen, experts in elevated combat.
500 light cavalry, swift for skirmishing and scouting.
500 medium cavalry, balanced for charge and mobility.
500 heavy cavalry, armored like moving fortresses.
Moreover, the Hornwood House Guard had grown from 300 to 500 men, all elite heavy cavalry. Equipped with full steel armor, reinforced kite shields, 30-centimeter tempered steel-tipped lances, and either longswords or greatswords according to preference, these men were no mere soldiers: they were living banners of Halys's will.
Such power had not gone unnoticed. During the wedding celebration at the Twins, Halys was received with rare honors from Lord Frey, who even joked about offering another of his many daughters to one of the Hornwood brothers, in light of the house's evident prosperity.
—"I hear your caravans are worth their weight in gold... and your knights weigh the same in steel," —Walder laughed, cup in hand—. "Perhaps one of your grandsons will sit a throne higher than mine someday."
Halys replied courteously, but without ambition. Unlike the old Frey, his gaze was not set on distant thrones... but on keeping the North strong, united, and his enemies far from the hills he had fought so hard to claim.
That night, from a balcony of the Twins, Halys gazed at the river and thought of the future. The alliances woven, the troops trained, the castles raised. Soon, times of storm would come. He felt it in the winds from the south.
But for now... the antlered stag of the North kept growing.