Chapter Text
It is said that long ago, the continent thrived under the hands of Humanity. Flowers would bloom, fields would be ripe to harvest and the sky would be lush with songs and birds and clouds and everything in between. It is said that long ago ago, god and goddesses would come down and steps unto the land of Mortals, sharing their wines and breaking their breads. It is said that long ago, the world and it inhabitants knew peace.
However, peace wasn't to last, for the heart of humanity was strong but grew cruel. Monsters, wraith of what-will-be sprung deformed and foul from the earth once blessed by the divine. They would destroy and mange and seeked to suffocate the balance of the world. In fear, Humanity prayed. They prayed, and prayed, until their voices grew hoarse and their knees were rubbed raw, and they prayed for the goddess to save them, to save her children. Of course, she responded. Melitele sent Men, Heroes to save them, made from their tears and forged in her irons, a blend of the best this world could offer. She waited for the smiles, the adulation those protectors of salt and earth and order would receive.
But alas, it was not to be, for the human grew blind and small and feared what they didn't knew. They saw those men and did not think “saviour, grace, kindess” but thought “wraith, foul, demons”. Slayers. Witchers.
The protectors soon had to be the protected and in fear, in rage, their retribution came. Entire villages would empty and cities would fall silent, for when witchers would strike, nothing but ruins would remain. They carried emptiness in their heart and soon, this emptiness would spread across the continent.
In fear, all Kings and Queen, proud of what they represented but fearful of what was to come, ordered to lock all cities gates. Nothing, no one was to go in, or out. Thriving in a forbidden garden or dying in gilded cage, lack of trade and famine spreading, they would hear nothing. Soon, all cities were sealed, tombs, never to be opened again.
“Julian, come here my child”. The woman opened her arms and her son fell into them. The woman’s - the mother’s- skin was sickly pale and pearls of sweat beaded her brows, her gaze was hazy but her voice remained strong. “Your father is going to talk in the square, and we need you to be there child. Can you do this for us, for me?” Julian nodded though his eyes betrayed his reluctance. The Countess, Celina Basia Pankratz kissed his head. “Thank you my child, my little bird, my precious nightingale”. He moved away and saw her smile, a tender smile that squeezed Julian’s heart. “Now go, and take your sister too, she needs to be there,” She squeezed his hands “i love you my child, never fear”. Julian nodded and with light steps, went out of the room.
Julian Alfred Pankratz, future viscount of Lettenhove hurried through the corridor. His mother laid sick for 3 months now and everyday she grew worse. They did not know what ailed her, and between her illness and his father’s absence, busy governing the province after the late count death, it fell upon his shoulder to take care of his younger sister Madeleine Celina Pankratz. The Flower of Lettenhove dreamed of adventure and excitement, and was most displeased when none could be found between the walls of her city; but she was still young, young of seventeen beautiful springs, and Julian knew that she would mellow down. Eventually.
He knocked on the door of her room, and barely had time to step aside that Madeleine threw her door open. Her light green dress swished around her feet and she danced around her long suffering brother. “Come on Julian! I heard that Father is already in the square and you know how he is. We need to hurry.” She took down the hallway, her brown hair fluttering behind her and she disappeared on the corner. Julian smiled and passed his finger through his hair. It was getting long now, nearly down to his chest and he allowed himself a tiny smile. He was happy. He knew how much is mother and sister both adored playing with it, and in those times, he would glady be the subject of some dubious updos and tresses. He smoothed down his brown suit and strided down the corridor, to the outdoors.
It only took him a few minutes, - the Count family having decided early on to live amongst their people- to see his sister happily chatting with his father on the elevated platform. Alfred Ignatus Pankratz had a tired but honest smile on his face has he listened to his youngest chatter. When he met his son’ eyes he grew somber and nodded at him. Julian took his place next to him and waited. There was already a crowd forming, and he could see the majority of the city center was here.
Count Pankratz, took a deep breath and took a step in the crowd. Immediately a hush fell. “Citizens,” his words rang strong and his words rang true, “my people. Today is a black day, and I come to you not as as your Count but as someone who laughed and cried and shared everything he had to give with you.” He paused “Today on the ramparts, watchers saw a ship coming towards our land. A pirate ship.” Whispers started to spread “Now, if it was only this I would not have called you, oh no. For there is something far worse lurking on this ship. The ship sailed under a wolf insignia. A Witcher insignia.”
Immediately the whispers grew to a clamour and ripples started to form in the crowd. Witchers? Here? They knew Lettenhove was one of the last stronghold of Redania, but they were all farmers and baker daughters. They could all kill if necessary, times made it so, but against those demons? What could they possibly do? An uproar turned into the beginning of a panic and the Viscount held up a hand.
Silence fell. “I know what you are thinking, I thought of it too. We know Witchers are ruthless and cannot be stopped. We know Citra fell. We know we are no warriors, no combatant, we cannot fight and hope to win.” He closed his eyes briefly before opening them, his steely gaze meeting each and everyone of the crowds. “That is why i come to you with a proposition. You know our House, you know our principle, our motto. We will never surrender. Lettenhove is strong and fearless. We are not weak and we will not cower. We are Redania and the eagle breed true.”
He holds up a vial of clear liquid, “However, we cannot fight, and as your friends, as your comrade, i cannot bear to see you fight and slaughtered by those beasts. That is why I ask for your clemence, and a last promise to your Count.” At those words, he bows, his voice wretching itself from his throat “I beg of you, please do not die in suffering and take one of those vials. If you want to fight I will not stop you, but please. I beg each and everyone of you. Do not die in pain.”
A heavy silence covered the square. The crowd looked at each others, at themselves. Their lord was begging, their kind and fearless lord was reduced to begging them to not throw away their life. What could they do ? How could they respond ? Was it really what they wanted ? To die a coward's death ? But they knew how the witchers were, how ruthless their claws struck and how savagely their maws bite.
Slowly, so slowly it could almost be called painstakingly, a clamor grew, louder and louder, until a battle cry shook the very foundations of the city walls. Yes, they thought, they would stand with their Lord, with their kind and fearless Lord who feared only for his subjects. They would follow him until the end and through Hell, gladly drinking the sweet poison of his kindness and protection. For his words rang strong and his words rang true.
“Death ! Death before dishonour !” “Death !” “We will follow you until the end my Lord !” “We will honour you one last time !” “Death !” “Death before dishonour !”
The viscount slowly raised his head and saw his people clamoring, fearless in the face of death, and could do nothing but thank them, thank the god and thank Melitele for her protection.
Behind their father, the siblings held each other tightly. They didn't want to die, but what choice had they really. Facing those beasts ? Madeleine arrows would be destroyed in their monstruous fists in an instant and Julian swords could not hope to even slice their hide, let alone their throat. Death before dishonour it was then, the family motto ringing into their heads like the bells of their imminent demise. A Dies Irae for the last stronghold of Redania.
After the viscount finished distributing the vials down to the last, he came back to his children. He loved them, loved them with all of his heart and wanted nothing more than to protect them. But his was heavy with sorrows and duty and he could not flinch, could not falters. Not now. Not now.
“Come children, let us see your mother.” They were gently steered towards their home, and everywhere they could see people clapping each other on the back and smiling. Their cheery goodbyes in the face of death might have been the most heartbreaking thing Julian had ever seen.
When the family finally came back and opened the door to the master bedroom, they could see their mother, frail and thin. They could her breath rattling and fluttering in her chest and smell the acrid sweat and salty tears. Not hers. Theirs. In a flurry of uncoordinated limbs they all tumbled in her open arms. Madeleine, silently crying on her shoulder and the Count, murmuring reassurance and praise into his wife ears. Jaskier frankly is too numb to do much of anything.
He sees his father tipping his mother chin and watch her drink from her delphinium lips. He sees his father upending his vial in a quick motion. He sees Madeleine extending her trembling hand and snatching the poison before downing it in seconds. He sees his father patting his shoulders and kissing his brows. He sees himself draining the vial. He sees it all. Until he sees nothing.
Outside, the town is silent and he can hear something heavy rhythmically pouding against the gate. He can hear it giving away and deep growls reverberating between the walls of his city. He hears it all.
Until he hears nothing.