Chapter 51.2

Chapter 51.2: First Anniversary Celebrations

…

Third POV

Moments earlier, Richard had donned his clothing for the first anniversary celebration. The clothes were personally commissioned from his house tailor.

The black and gold of his attire mirrored the colors of his house, similar to Alicent's dress. 

The suit he wore was a work of art, crafted with meticulous care. Its fabric shimmered faintly in the low light, a rich brocade of black and gold. The jacket, tailored to perfection, emphasized his broad shoulders and lean frame.

A satin-black cravat rested neatly at his neck, spilling into the double-breasted vest beneath it. Ornate golden buttons gleamed on the vest. 

The trousers, just as finely made, fit snugly against his long legs, their embroidery of golden vines curling elegantly down the fabric. 

Seated in his expansive solar, Richard sifted through a stack of papers on his desk—requests from prominent members of the Lionheart family, each seeking his favor. 

More than fifty letters had been delivered to him, but Richard had agreed to meet with only three petitioners today. 

His time was valuable, and besides, he wanted the rest of the day to celebrate with Alicent—a rare indulgence he refused to let these matters interrupt.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three knocks broke the quiet hum of the room. Richard's gaze lifted from the parchment, and his voice, deep and commanding, rang out.

"Come in."

The door creaked open, A young knight, clad in polished dark armor with a golden lion crest on his breastplate could be seen.

The young knight, aged sixteen, was Ser Alfred Parren, the son of Ellara Parren. He had golden hair and black eyes, and stood taller than most his age.

Alfred entered, bowing as he stepped into the solar. His face bore a mixture of pride and deference, a reflection of both his achievements and his youth.

Alfred's path to knighthood had been an unconventional one. 

It was through Ellara that Alfred's name had first reached Richard, accompanied by a request. 

Ellara had asked Alicent to convince Richard to personally train her son into a knight.

Richard had refused outright at first, disliking the idea of personal favoritism. But the request had sparked a different idea. 

It was then that he developed the concept of the knight program—a rigorous six-month training camp designed to mold ordinary young men into versatile warriors capable of fighting on land and sea.

The program had been announced a while back across Richard's lands, drawing nearly five hundred eager recruits to the camp. 

Only thirty-nine had emerged from the grueling boot camp, having proven themselves worthy of knighthood. 

Richard himself had knighted each one in a solemn ceremony, and Alfred had been among the few who passed.

Now, Alfred stood before him, his armor gleaming faintly in the lantern light.

"Arron and Tya are here," Alfred announced, his tone steady but respectful.

Richard gave a curt nod, setting the stack of papers aside. "Let them in," he commanded.

Alfred stepped outside, offering a brief gesture to summon the visitors. 

A moment later, Arron and Tya entered the solar. 

Arron, a former innkeeper turned Lionheart soldier, entered the grand solar with steady steps. His weathered face carried a mix of gratitude and reverence, his years of hard work etched into his features. 

Beside him walked Tya, his daughter, a young woman with a shy yet earnest demeanor. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the imposing sight of Richard seated at his desk.

They stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply. "Lord Neméos," Arron greeted, his voice steady but warm. "It is an honor to stand before you."

Richard inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable but not unkind. "Speak your purpose," he said, his tone calm and measured.

Arron straightened, clearing his throat before beginning. "First of all, I wished to thank you, my lord, for your generosity. The donation you provided transformed my shabby inn into a respectable establishment."

Richard leaned back in his chair, the faintest narrowing of his piercing green eyes as he studied the man before him. 

"It was the least I could do," he replied, his voice softened by an uncharacteristic hint of candor. 

"You gave Alicent and me shelter when we were nothing more than children on the streets. Consider this repayment of an old debt," Richard said sincerely.

Arron bowed again, gratitude plain on his face. "Even so, my lord, I remain thankful."

After a moment of hesitation, Arron glanced at his daughter before continuing. "The matter I'm here for is not of me… but my daughter."

Richard nodded, listening carefully.

Arron gestured toward Tya, who stepped forward with a graceful curtsy, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She swallowed nervously before her father resumed.

"My lord, I wish to ask for my daughter to serve as a lady-in-waiting to Lady Alicent," Arron explained, his voice steady yet hopeful. 

"She is my only child and the future successor to my hotel. I believe such a role would allow her to be of good service to Lady Alicent while gaining the etiquette and skills befitting a member of the Lionheart family," Arron concluded sincerely.

Richard's sharp eyes shifted to Tya, studying her in silence. The room seemed to grow still as his gaze lingered. 

Tya held her ground despite the weight of his scrutiny, her expression determined despite the nervous energy in her clasped hands.

Finally, Richard nodded once. "Very well. Alicent would welcome you."

Tya's face lit up, her smile bright with relief and joy. "Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice soft but earnest.

Arron bowed deeply, his gratitude spilling over. "You honor us, my lord. Thank you."

Father and daughter bowed again, their murmured thanks carrying them to the door. 

Richard watched them go, his gaze lingering on the closed door for a brief moment before he leaned back in his chair. His thoughts had already shifted forward, preparing for the next audience.

The door opened again to reveal a familiar figure—Corlos, the blacksmith. Beside him stood a young woman and a young man, their expressions poised yet slightly nervous.

The young man, with red hair and blue eyes, was clad in a red and white tunic. Beside him stood the young woman, wearing a modest gray dress that complemented her dark hair and warm brown eyes—features that mirrored Corlos.

Corlos stepped forward, his weathered face lighting up with gratitude and pride. "Lord Neméos," he began, inclining his head respectfully, "I wish you fortune and give my thanks for accepting my request."

Richard gave a slight nod, gesturing for him to continue.

"This is my daughter, Elissa, and her husband, Ser Hugh," Corlos introduced, his tone thick with fatherly pride.

Richard's sharp green eyes shifted to Elissa. He remembered her past all too well—a girl who had once been taken advantage of by a hedge knight.

From that ordeal, Corlos had come to Richard seeking justice. Richard had delivered, and ever since, Corlos had become a loyal member of the Lionheart family, rising to the rank of Capo, the oldest to hold the position at age 44.

Elissa had endured much, but it was clear now that she had recovered. She stood with quiet strength, her hands clasped protectively in front of her, her face calm and serene.

Ser Hugh, standing at her side, was from a knightly house of Vikary. A third son with little inheritance, he had chosen to forge his own path through valor and merit. 

His earnestness was palpable as he kept a protective yet gentle presence beside his wife. 

Richard recalled hearing of Hugh's persistent care and kindness, qualities that had eventually won Elissa's heart despite her initial hesitations born of trauma.

Corlos cleared his throat. "My lord, I come with a humble request," he said, glancing fondly at his daughter. "I wish for you to bless my grandchild."

At this, Richard's gaze sharpened, settling on Elissa. Though her modest dress concealed it well, he could see the faint swell of her abdomen—a subtle but unmistakable sign of life growing within her.

"Congratulations," Richard said, rising from his chair with deliberate grace. His towering frame, standing at 6'4, seemed to dominate the room as he approached them.

"I'll be more than happy to bless your grandchild. Your loyalty has earned it," Richard said to Corlos, his voice steady and authoritative.

He then extended his hand toward the couple, the gold ring on his right hand glinting faintly in the lantern light.

For a moment the couple were in awe of the majestic figure of Richard.

Corlos gestured to his daughter and her husband. "Go on," he urged gently, snapping them out of their frozen state.

Elissa stepped forward first, her movements careful and reverent. She knelt slightly and pressed a kiss to the crest of the lion engraved on the ring Richard extended, a symbol of his power and protection.

Ser Hugh followed, bowing low before placing a respectful kiss on the ring as well.

Richard regarded them both for a moment, his typically stoic expression softening slightly. 

He placed a firm but gentle hand on each of their shoulders, his touch steady and reassuring. "May your child be born healthy and strong," he said, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity. 

"May you both find joy and peace in the family you are building." Richard continued.

"When the child is born, bring it here, I'll give it a ceremony." Richard ended with a smile.

A faint smile touched his lips, a rare gesture that seemed to ease the tension in the room.

"Thank you, my lord," Corlos said, his voice thick with emotion. Elissa and Hugh echoed his gratitude, their faces alight with relief and happiness.

Richard watched as the three of them departed, their steps lighter than when they had entered.

As the door closed behind them, he returned to his seat, his expression once again composed, his mind already shifting to the next matter at hand.

The door creaked open once more, and in walked a young man clad in modest but well-crafted armor. Ser Erwin, a former smallfolk knighted by Richard himself, strode forward. 

He was one of thirty-nine men to survive the grueling military program Richard had established—a testament to his skill and determination. At twenty years old, he stood six feet tall, with brown hair and earnest eyes.

Now a sheriff, Erwin commanded his own men, tasked with protecting the villages in the northern reaches of Richard's territory.

As Erwin stopped halfway, and dropped to one knee, his head bowed low. His face bore a shadow of anguish, a weight of failure etched deeply into his expression.

Richard leaned forward, his sharp green eyes studying the young knight. "What seems to trouble you, Ser Erwin?" he asked, his voice steady and commanding.

Erwin's words came quickly, laden with guilt. He began, his voice trembling slightly. "I have failed you my lord. Bandits have been overrunning the roads near the villages under my jurisdiction."

He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "We've done all we can to track them, but they slip away into the forests to the north—into Westerling lands. My men and I can't pursue them beyond your borders without inciting trouble." He ended with disappointment.

Richard's eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his fingers steepled in contemplation. "And have the Westerlings done anything to address the matter?"

"No, my lord," Erwin admitted, his tone bitter. "Me and my men sent words to the knight responsible for those lands, where the bandits had hidden, but he refused to act."

"What is this knight's name?" Richard asked immediately, his voice quiet but tinged with an edge that promised consequences.

"Ser Jamond, my lord," Erwin said.

Richard leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant for a moment as he considered the information. The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the lanterns.

Finally, Richard's voice broke the stillness, calm but resolute. "I have heard what you've said, Ser Erwin." He let the words hang for a moment before continuing, his tone sharper. "I will handle it."

Erwin looked up, his eyes wide with gratitude and relief. "Thank you, my lord," he said, bowing his head once more.

Richard gave a slight nod, dismissing the knight with a gesture. Erwin rose to his feet, saluted with a fist to his chest, and turned to leave. The door shut quietly behind him.

With that the meetings were finished. Richard stood up and stretched himself. 

It was now time to head to the halls where hundreds of important lionheart members had gathered. With his presence the first anniversary celebration would commence.

…

Note: Hello Y'all, here is part two of chapter 51. This part was more than 2,000 words, and took me a while to revise. As you can see I'm developing the world so things would make more sense in the future chapters.

There will be a part 3, dedicated to Richard and Alicent, which will be another 2000 words. The draft is finished, but I gotta revise it. All in all the intro chapter of volume two has balloon to 6'000 words.

I aced my practical exam, now just one more exam to go. After I finish I'm going to lock in on my updates.

Appreciate y'all.