Rosamund Hill

**Rosamund Hill** is the bastard daughter by Lord Hawthorne of House Hawthorne. A skilled healer, she is affiliated with Ser Beric Yew and his Rangers, operating mainly out of the Westerlands as a result and had participated in most of the Second War of Reclamation in a purely support role. She is a reasonably accomplished archer, and has a companion in the form of the dog Bramble.

## Appearance

Rosamund takes after her mother, with the same red hair and brown eyes. It's unclear what she inherited physically from her father, as it's implied she doesn't resemble him much. She often wears dark, earthy colours, and favours loose skirts over breeches unless travelling is to occur. She almost always keeps her hair up behind her head as to be out of her way, and is scarcely seen without her archery kit or her medical supplies.

## Biography

### Childhood

Rosamund, often shortened to Rosie by her companions for simplicity, was born in 351 AC, the daughter of a miller’s daughter. That might seem relatively unimpressive, maybe not even warranting the parchment it could be written on; but, as typical in Westerosi society, one looks to the father over the mother to determine importance. And Rosamund’s father was, indeed, nothing less than a lord. A small lord, perhaps, but a lord nonetheless -- Lord Hawthorne of the Wreaths, who was sworn to Crakehall, who was sworn to the Rock. So this daughter of a miller’s daughter was also the bastard of a lord serving a lord who served another lord. And worse yet, she was one that remained unclaimed for quite some time.

As it goes, Rosamund’s mother, who was named Ella, approached Lord Hawthorne many times about his child out of wedlock, but was denied audience the same amount of times. So, without the graces of her lord father to support her, Rosie grew up smallfolk. ‘Simpler’, she would say. Unable to read or write like her noble-half siblings (If they even existed -- How was she to know?) Rosie’s time was still dedicated to learning, though it was more practical. In their small nameless settlement existed an old toothless woman who was said to heal better than a Maester. Whilst the validity of that statement is highly up for debate-- and seeing as the old bat has passed into the arms of the Stranger years ago, probably not even relevant anymore --she did know a thing or two about the medicinal arts. At first, Rosie lurked, more of a nuisance than anything. But over time she did learn from the wordless old healer, tricks and techniques that would serve as a backbone for her more in-depth education later in life.

### Adolescence

Rosie would be 13 when her life finally took a turn from the strange mundane she existed in. Her family in her village was just fine; they were not rich, but they weren’t unhappy, and Rosie loved her mother as any daughter would. But when the noblemen come calling, the common folk more often than not are the ones who sacrifice. Rosie’s father, the Lord Hawthorne, had finally taken something of an interest in his local spawn and took her back to the Wreaths so that she might have a place among his household. As painful as it was, the girl’s mother recognized the opportunity afforded to her child by the father, and selflessly let her go. It was there, at the holdfast, she would be schooled by the Wreaths’ Maester, who had an awfully hard time teaching the girl her basics in education. Not only was it harder learning later in life to read and write, but Rosie seemed to struggle particularly in the literary areas as she seemingly would jumble letters up in her head needlessly when trying to interpret. Regardless, she did learn, even if not particularly well. Those late evenings spent with the Maester are what would lead to the completion of Rosie’s education in the world of medicine, as well -- Particularly progressive of this Maester, to show and improve on such skills in a girl of all people, but she *was* his lord’s child, and perhaps it was duty rather than morality.

Not quite a noble but not quite a commoner, Rosie’s adventures in the Hawthorne household were nothing she cared to recall. The freedom of the village life were what called her; the soft hum of her mother’s voice and the laughs of her uncles and grandfather, and yet they were things she could never have again, stuck in the Wreaths. And something she would never experience again too -- News reached the Wreaths in 366 AC of a terrible fire that took an entire hamlet with it, and not a member of Rosie’s smallfolk family was spared. Grieving and, in her eyes, isolated now, Rosamund fell into monotony in the household. Not an equal in the house by any means, Rosie lived with the servants and tried her best to avoid her noble family, though sometimes it was impossible as she was pulled around at various small gatherings of local nobility and such. She would spend her adolescence and even young adulthood serving this different side, until war, as it does, would send things spinning out of control.

### Adulthood

When the Second War of Reclamation began, Rosie was nine-and-ten. She was by no means a girl or a baby. Hawthorne, as it was sworn to do, would call levies when Lord Lannister brought the west to the conflict; but there was, as it was said ‘no place in warfare for a bastard’. Which, strictly speaking, isn’t always true; but certainly is for bastards of the female persuasion. Regardless, a skilled healer and knowing she could do some good, Rosamund did *not* intend to be left behind at the Wreaths to cower with the elderly and the young. No less than two days following her lord father’s departure from the Wreaths, did Rosamund steal away on a horse, riding to join the western host of Lord Aubrey Lannister, following her father’s host and eventually assimilating among the local levy.

Under the guise of a healer she found camaraderie among the lowest of the Western army, who seemed pleased enough to have simply anyone around who could patch their wounds and offer fair company. She spent the entirely of the war like this; treating the Western wounded, some even men and boys she recognized from her childhood. Those that stuck a most painful chord with her were the smallfolk innocent, though, who often needed care too -- Women who needed moon tea after assaults, and men who had fought and lost to protect their own homesteads and families from both sides of the conflict. There was no stopping at just bipeds, as well. One creature that would touch her would be a particular canine of no particular moniker, a hound who had been injured in a fight no doubt at some point during the war. Whilst the creature was apprehensive of her and her bag of tricks, she eventually soothed it enough to treat its superficial wounds, ensuring survival. Eventually, the two bonded; she would name the ragged thing Bramble; and the rest is history for that duo.

Though, maybe not. Even with a dog counting among those she has helped, perhaps no patient would ever alter Rosamund’s course in life than that of Ser Beric Yew, the Knight of Hard Oak, and wielder of Arrogance; a bow of dragonbone. Following King Osric Stark's defeat of Aubrey Lannister and the subsequent capture of the head of the Westerland army, needless to say there was plenty of injured to go around for herself and the few others with medical expertise. Whilst her rather firm and title-disparaging nature didn’t win her many favours with the nobility in the tent, it did seem to score her some points with the man who wielded what little remained of the fierce Targaryen mount, Drogon.

Following the wind-down of the war, there was still so much to do. The Ironborn had reaved and ravaged throughout the chaos, and there were always going to be sick and unhealthy in the world that needed a quiet hand and soothing word. For around a year Rosamund would move around in the company of various different parties, avoiding danger with her pet and her medicines and finding shelter among the people she would care for; once again, among those that reminded her truly of family. Surely nobody would miss her at the Wreaths, least of all her lord father. One would assume, anyhow.

In 373 AC the gods once again spun their threads, and it just so happened that she would again cross paths with the Knight of Hard Oak. Though this time he had taken up a cause far more noble than fighting his liege’s wars constantly; and Rosamund was more than happy to join him on such a quest. Two years she has traveled with him and his southern Rangers, and in that span of time has made uncountable friendships and has also learned archery, something very handy to know for the predicaments she finds herself in.

### Present Day

#### The Dance of the Stags

Having been a part of Beric's retinue for some years now, and having formed a strong partnership with the Knight, it came a dreaded surprise to have the west's levies called to arms. They marched in the Dance of the Stags for the loyalists, and after the Battle of Haystack Hall, Rosamund in particular was affected. This affliction would continue right into the Battle of Bronzegate, where she would nearly kill an enemy commander under orders. As the army marched towards Storm's End Rosie stopped being particularly open concerning her feelings and emotions, finding more release in letting them fester within than troubling her companions with her burdens.

#### Blackstar

Before the Rangers or even Rosamund would be of use during the Siege of Storm's End, though, news came from the West -- The bandits and raiders had attacked Hard Oak's holdings and sacked it, with a man named Blackstar leading the charge.

## Personality

Raised in both the households of commoners and noblemen, Rosie is afforded a unique perspective and outlook on life as a result. She balances the viewpoints of the small and large and strives to lie in the line between them, so to be fair to both sides. Though, like anyone, she does have her tics; Rosamund can snowball from frustration to outright anger surprisingly quickly for someone of her demeanor, and tends to overthink even the most simplistic of situations.

## Thread List

Includes both created threads and those participated in. In order of occurrence.

* She Should Be On A Hill Somewhere
* The Road Turns South
* Hath No Fury
* On The Trail
* It Takes A Village
* A Fistful of Arrows
* Your Bones
* The Call
* Pawns of War
* The Bloodied Stag
* A Black Star Rises