Chapter 165 - 112 : Year 19 - 25 Birth And Death

Chapter 165: Chapter 112 : Year 19 - 25 Birth And Death

Toward the end of the twenty-first year, Lucy gave birth to a daughter, bringing another child into the Veymont family. After years marked by separation, loss, and the long struggle to recover from the war, the news was welcomed with a warmth the household had not felt in some time.

Lucian was overjoyed to have another child, and even the Count, whose health had continued to trouble those around him, received the news with genuine happiness. He had already lived long enough to see his family grow through difficult years, and the arrival of another grandchild gave him one more occasion to gather them close.

Once Lucy and the baby were well enough, Lucian arranged a celebration at the castle and invited the noble families of Veymont territory, along with neighbouring houses with whom they had long maintained ties.

The occasion brought together people who had spent years dealing with the demands of war and its aftermath. Some had lost relatives on the battlefield, others had returned to find their lands and resources diminished, and many had attended few gatherings beyond those required by duty. For once, they had a reason to come together that was not connected to military affairs or the settlement of losses.

The castle’s kitchens prepared a proper feast, servants worked to make the halls welcoming, and familiar faces gathered beneath the Veymont roof once more.

The celebration was not as grand as similar occasions might have been before the war, but no one expected it to be. There were congratulations, shared meals, and conversations that gradually grew livelier as the evening passed.

For a while, people spoke of their families, exchanged news from their territories, and allowed themselves to enjoy the company of those they had not seen in years. The losses remained part of their lives, but they did not have to occupy every conversation. For House Veymont, the birth was a welcome reminder that life had continued despite everything the family had endured.

The Count took particular pleasure in meeting his new granddaughter. His health prevented him from moving about as freely as he once had, but he spent time with the child whenever he could, watching her small movements and listening to the soft sounds she made.

The happiness she brought him was real, even if it could not lift the grief he carried or restore his former strength. For those brief moments, he could enjoy the simple comfort of seeing another generation of his family begin its life, without having to think about how much time might remain to him.

By the time the guests departed and the castle returned to its usual routine, the war’s hardships had not vanished, nor had the family forgotten those they had lost. Yet the occasion had given them something they had sorely needed: a reason to gather, to share in one another’s happiness, and to remember that their lives still held moments worth celebrating.

By the next year, the Count’s condition had deteriorated further.

The years following the war had brought little of the recovery House Veymont had hoped for. The crown itself had emerged from the conflict with its treasury badly strained, leaving it unable to compensate every house and soldier for what had been lost. Much of the burden therefore fell upon the noble families whose banners the men had served. Some lords refused to spend what remained of their wealth on those who had fought for them, but House Veymont could not bring itself to abandon the men who had laid down their lives in its service. Under the Count’s direction, and with Lucian increasingly involved in the estate’s affairs, the family provided support to the widows and children of fallen soldiers and helped those who had returned too badly wounded to earn their former livelihoods.

These obligations came on top of the cost of repairing the territory, restoring the garrisons, and bringing the damaged mines and other holdings back into operation. The family had begun the work of rebuilding, but every improvement came at a price, and the money spent on those who had served them could not also be used to replenish the household’s reserves.

House Veymont remained respected, and its lands continued to provide income, but its recovery was slower and more expensive than it might otherwise have been. The Count and Lucian had chosen to honour the family’s obligations, even when doing so meant accepting a greater financial burden.

The Count’s health declined alongside the household’s fortunes. He could no longer sustain the long hours that had once defined his days, and even the duties he continued to perform left him needing extended periods of rest. His injuries had never properly healed, and neither time nor treatment had restored the strength he had lost during the war. Those closest to him had gradually come to understand that he was unlikely to recover, though none could say precisely how much time remained.

For Lucian, the thought of losing his father was almost unbearable. He had already lost his uncle, and now the man who had raised him, guided him, and stood beside him throughout his life was slowly slipping away. Lucian had always known that one day he would have to lead House Veymont without his father’s guidance, but he had never expected that day to come so soon. Now, with each passing day, it felt less like a distant future and more like a farewell he could no longer keep at bay.

When he finally succumbed to his lingering injuries and declining health, House Veymont entered another period of mourning.

The Count died in the twenty-second year.

Lucian was forty-seven when his father died. His eldest son was eight, old enough to understand that his grandfather would never return and to feel the loss of the man who had watched him grow. He missed the time they had spent together, and although he was too young to understand everything the death meant for House Veymont, he could see the sadness it had brought to his father and the rest of the family.

His younger brother was four. He knew his grandfather was gone, but the permanence of that loss was harder for him to grasp. He might still ask about him or look for him out of habit, only to be reminded that he would not be coming back. His sadness came in brief moments, sometimes giving way to play before returning when something reminded him of his grandfather. Their one-year-old sister was too young to understand the loss, though she would grow up hearing stories of the grandfather she would never remember.

For the Count’s family, his death marked the end of a farewell that had begun when he returned from the war bearing wounds that never truly healed and the loss of the brother who had stood beside him for most of his life.

In the years that followed, the Count gradually became a shadow of the man he had once been. The strength and authority that had made him seem as immovable as a mountain slowly gave way to the frailty of an aging man who had endured too much and no longer wished to struggle against every passing day. He still found comfort in his family, and when he could, he spent time with his grandchildren, attended to what remained of his duties, and passed on the lessons he wanted Lucian to carry forward.

He was not simply surrendering his responsibilities; he was making use of the time he had left to prepare his son for the day he would have to stand alone. By then, those closest to him had known for years that his death was approaching, yet knowing it would come could not make its arrival any easier.

Lucian had lost his father, just as he had already lost his uncle. For much of his life, the three of them had shared the weight of House Veymont, with his father and uncle guiding and supporting him as he grew into his responsibilities.

Now both men were gone, and Lucian was the only one left to shoulder that burden. He had his wife and children to care for, but beyond the walls of his own household lay the wider responsibilities of the family: its lands, its vassals, its soldiers, and the people who depended on House Veymont. There was no longer an older hand beside him to offer counsel or share the hardest decisions.

The castle still stood, and its affairs could not wait for him to mourn, but the man who had once been the son and heir now had to carry the full weight of the house on his own.

There would be no more footsteps approaching from his father’s study, no familiar voice calling for a report, and no expectation that he could bring a difficult question to the Count and receive an answer shaped by decades of experience. From now on, the decisions would rest with him, and there would be no older hand to share their weight.

The responsibility was his now.

With his father’s death, Lucian inherited the title and became Count Lucian Veymont.