The Golden Oak Grows: Round Table Chronicles I

[KBR 2046]

 

The Golden Oak Grows: Round Table Chronicles I

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The Krak des Châtaigne

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Dawn broke above the mountains that loomed over Alba, its light climbing toward the Krak des Châtaigne where Sir Lothar d’Amaury, Count of Metz, stood upon the battlements. His gaze rose from the squire, ward, and men-at-arms that ran their morning laps and to the streets of Little Lorraine below whose businesses began to bustle with activity even in the early hours. The Dragon-Knight smiled, for he had come from nothing to this.

Yet still he yearned for more

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From the Chronicles of Lorraine, as recorded by Count Lothar d'Amaury

 

Those who knew me as a squire understood ambition. Those who stood beside me as a Knight of the Dragon learned its cost. Those who stand with me now as Count of Metz know that this – all of this – is only the beginning.  

When my brothers and I landed in Grense, we had nothing but each other, and the years ahead of us as we gave our blood and sweat to the Militarum. Launfal and Morgause came first, believing in this vision of mine. They stood at my side when I confronted my cousin, Elis d'Amaury, then Countess of Rhoswood, and declared that I would be the future of House d'Amaury. It was not what I possessed that decided my victory, but the future I would build.

Years of service followed , marches, musters, the quiet work of proving ourselves where the Empire needed us most. For that service, the Crown granted me the Krak des Chantaigne while I yet remained a Knight. A meager keep, fit for a captain and his retinue, but stone enough to build upon.

At the Round Table, I told the Châtillons – a family of chevalliers, warriors to their core – what I will tell any who ask: I will not build a Lorraine of feasts and pomposity, nor one that forgets what forged it. Our people are warriors; they will remain warriors. The Golden Oak will rise to the standards once set by the Golden Spur. When they heard this, Rafael and his brothers did not hesitate. They swore themselves to a Knight with nothing but vision and a borrowed keep - not to promises of comfort, but to a standard worth upholding.

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The Pour House's Effect

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Though my banners rose, a realm cannot be made of warriors alone. Victory secures land; it does not make it live. I met Gennad var Vigo during his hunt for eggs and learned to see past the mustache and eccentricities to the passion beneath. Where Gennad dreams, his brother Jannis ensures we can afford them. Together, the var Vigo brothers became Lorraine's economic engine, breathing life back into the Capital's neglected quarters.

For this – the bannermen who swore themselves, the coin that began to flow, the proof that a vision could take root – Emperor Hadrian granted me the County of Metz.

Lady Cassia Mareno arrived at my table as an advisor. She remained as my betrothed. Where I saw vision, she saw structure. Where I pushed forward, she ensured we did not overextend. The Mareno name carries weight in this Empire, but it was her mind - sharp, calculating, unflinching - that earned her place at the Round Table. As the future Consort of Lorraine, she does not simply stand beside me. She shapes what Lorraine will become.

The Krak was a beginning. Little Lorraine, a foundation. But foundations are meant to be built upon. New lands await, places where the Lothringian people may plant roots that cannot be uprooted. When that time comes, Lorraine will rise not as a county, but as something greater: a realm built by those who bled for it, a shield for the Empire, a home for those who refuse to settle for survival when they could claim legacy.

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I do not need men who kneel. I need men who build.

Lorraine offers no easy path. There will be no idle feasts, no titles handed out like festival favors. What I offer instead is this: a place to forge something that outlasts us. Recognition earned through deed, not purchased through bloodline. A seat at a table where your voice carries weight if you have proven it worthy of being heard.

I sit among my men, not above them. I have bled beside them, eaten beside them, planned beside them. This is not charity, it is the price of building something real.

In return, I require action over words. Loyalty proven through sweat and steel, not promised in flowery oaths that evaporate when tested. Ambition will find fertile ground here, I reward those who earn it, but ambition without discipline builds nothing but ruin.

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Dawn had given way to morning when Lothar turned from the battlements. Below, the work continued, hammers on stone, voices in the marketplace, steel ringing in the training yard. Little Lorraine lived, and with it the promise of something greater.

The Golden Oak grows. Its roots run deep, its branches reach toward the sky. Lorraine rises – not in isolation, but as part of something larger. A shield for the Empire. A home for those who refuse to settle.

The question is not whether Lorraine will rise. The question is who will rise with it.

 

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[Croangutan 224]

 

And so Henri Carnelle for once in his life finally begged God. That his ambition would match the one of his Liege, Sir Lothar d’Amaury. That he could perhaps at least be a footnote in the man’s life and doing.

 

Edited January 14 by Croangutan