Chapter Text
Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove was bored. He’d been bored for some time now. In his youth he’d dreamed of becoming a travelling bard. He’d even focused his time in Oxenfurt on the liberal arts and had graduated quite successfully from the academy, but before he’d even begun his journey to becoming renowned troubadour, he’d been called back to his family home. The news of his father’s death had been an unfortunate one and he’d been forced to step up and become head of his vast estate.
There had been a moment, in the dead of night, witching hour, when he’d very nearly picked up his lute and fled.
He hadn’t.
He’d turned over and gone back to sleep. He did have a rather luxurious bed and he’d not been short of company to fill it with. He often wondered what would have become of him if he had run away that night, at barely eighteen. He often dreamed of the songs he could have written, the people he could have met, the adventures he could have had.
A deep part of him sorely regretted the path not taken.
Instead he drowned his sorrows in the most delicious wine from Toussaint and lured beautiful people to his bedchamber. He was determined to enjoy the few pleasures left to him in gluttonous amounts.
He gazed out of the window of his study into the gardens. They were stunning at this time of year. They weren’t the most well kept gardens, but he liked that. He enjoyed the wild long grass and the litany of yellow, white and purple weeds that sprung up in the summer. The sounds of bees filled the air, a constant low buzzing that he found both soothing and wildly distracting. He enjoyed a long stroll in the gardens when he wasn’t buried under paperwork. Quite frankly he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the different silk sheets used in the guest bedrooms or whether the local houses were paying their taxes in time. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all of that diplomatic nonsense just disappeared?
Poverty could become a thing of the past. He’d given away vast amounts of his fortune whenever he could convince his lawyers to let the assets go but his estate only thrived more as the farmers, workers and merchants were able to work more efficiently and invested more funding into their livelihoods.
He couldn’t begrudge them that but he felt guilty for owning so much when they lived on so little so he kept feeding his money back into the surrounding villages and they kept growing and expanding their homes and businesses.
None of the surrounding lords or barons could understand how he did it.
He couldn’t exactly explain it himself.
He had been hoping to run his estate into the ground so he could run off and have the heroic adventures that he’d always dreamed of. Perhaps he would even run into one of those witchers. He was fascinated by witchers. He always had been, ever since he was a boy and he’d heard the rumours of the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. The rumours were that the man had slaughtered an entire village with his bare hands in some kind of blood-fuelled frenzy.
Julian didn’t believe that for a second.
He’d snuck down to the library and buried himself under books, scrolls and parchments, anything in his father’s great library with even the whiff of a witcher. He’d read bestiaries and fairytales, utterly bewitched by the tales of fae, vampires and werewolves. He devoured everything he could by candlelight. It was what had driven him to his chosen career as a bard. He wanted to experience those stories himself, he needed to live it. His thirst for knowledge and innate curiosity had seen him through Oxenfurt with ease. He’d been able to spend far too long in taverns and brothels whilst his peers studied books and manuscripts that he’d read within the first months of attending the famous school. The library had been enviable and he’d been unable to stay away for months.
He sighed dramatically. It had all been a fucking waste of time. He closed the leather-bound book he’d been scrawling in, even after all these years he couldn’t help the flashes of creative inspiration that hit him. It was like a vampire’s thirst, burning in his throat and heart. He had to write, he had to play and sing and dance. He ran his fingers along the underside of his writing desk until he heard a faint click and a drawer popped open. He tucked the book neatly into the draw beneath the pressed dandelion.
Dandelion.
It was to be his stage name had he followed through with his plans.
He’d kept the pressed yellow flower as a reminder. He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers before sighing loudly.
“Master Dandelion, renowned troubadour and poet.” He pouted before gently returning the flower to its cage and closing the drawer shut, it vanished into the wooden desk without a trace. “I supposed it is quite poetic,” He whined. “I am like the flower trapped in my own cage from which I cannot escape. The flower which holds my name and soul shares my fate.”
He groaned and bumped his head against the desk. The long feather in his hat flopped down, tickling his nose. He promptly sneezed.
“Ah. To the gods! Even my own hat hates me.” He moaned.
Thankfully he was pulled from his self-pity by a knock at the door. He jumped to his feet and straightened his hat, tucking the treacherous heron feather back into place.
“Come in!” He trilled.
Annabelle, a pretty redhead and one of his longest serving maids entered the room. “ Lord Lettenhove.” Annabelle curtsied.
Julian rolled his eyes and pulled the girl to her feet. “Annabelle, dearest, how many times must I ask you to call me Julian and none of this grovelling nonsense. Tell me, how are your family? Your mother was sick, is she feeling any better? I trust she received the medicine I sent.”
Annabelle blushed and smiled up at him. “Yes Lord Let - Lord Julian. Thank you very much. You are too kind to us.”
“My darling, I simply have nothing better to do with my fortune than ensure my staff are well looked after. How’s the little one, Eleanor if I remember correctly?”
“Yes, Lord Julian. She’s growing up fast. My sister told me she started to crawl yesterday.” Annabelle answered meekly.
Julian gasped and put his hand to his chest. “And you missed it! Oh my dear, my sincerest apologies.”
Annabelle shook her head. “I love my job, Lord Julian. There is no reason to apologise. You’ve already done far too much for my family.”
It was Julian’s time to blush. He hated how much his staff revered him, didn’t they realise his motivations were purely selfish? He just wanted to get out of this house! He wanted to leave them. They just didn’t see any of that but he didn’t let his frustration show. “Now now, they’ll be time to sing my praises later, my dear, what was it that you needed? We are not due another order from the farms yet are we?”
The girl laughed quietly. “No, nothing like that. Forgive me, Lord Julian, I don’t mean to make assumptions.”
She shuffled awkwardly on her feet. “Well go on! Don’t keep me in suspense like this.” He pouted with a hand on his hips.
“There’s a rumour going round, Lord Julian.” She blushed. “About a witcher in one of the outer villages. They were having problems on the full moon. Mysterious and gruesome murders.”
Julian wanted to jump for joy.
A real witcher.
On his land.
“Oh my!” He clapped his hands together. “We must send for him at once!” He ran to his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Now tell me Annabelle what monsters are more enticing to a monster hunter, vampires or werewolves?” He scoffed before she could answer. “No no, that’s too obvious, and unbearably dull. Nekkers? Oooh, what about a draconid? A forktail perhaps?”
Annabelle kept opening and closing her mouth but there was no interrupting Julian when he got like this. He barely even noticed he still had company.
“Or a wraith!” He laughed gaily. “Oh yes that will do nicely! A wraith haunting the attic! Then we may get to see the witcher in action, oh the tales I could write! Maybe I could publish them under a pseudonym, Master Dandelion may yet still live!”
His hands flew over the paper as he scrawled as quickly and elegantly as he could. Once he was finished he read it over quickly, cornflower blue eyes scanning over the words quick as lightning.
My dear witcher,
On behalf of Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, I would like to thank you for offering your services to assist our villagers with their furry little problem. I write this letter before the news of your success has reached me but I have no doubt that you will succeed in your quest! You must tell me whether you have slain the beast or cured it of the lycanthropy. I await the tale of your heroic adventure with great anticipation.
The Lord Lettenhove requests your presence at his estate. You see, my dearest witcher, we have a little pest problem of our own. A wraith haunts the house and our poor chambermaids are quite at their wits end with fright.
I beseech you. Don’t delay.
Yours, Dandelion.
He chuckled at the name. He was going to have a lot of fun with this witcher, whoever it maybe, and he didn’t need the witcher knowing exactly who he was just yet. He sealed the letter swiftly and all but shoved poor Annabelle from the room so that she could deliver it hastily.
He followed after her and practically ran down the corridor and up the stairs to the master bedroom. He flung open his wardrobe as he hummed a new melody under his breath. He needed to choose an outfit. Something that was less Viscount and more genius bard.
He stripped off his golden doublet and trousers in exchange for his favourite plum set. It had intricate embroidery around the collar that he just adored. He paired the doublet with a white undershirt with lace around the cuffs and collar.
He took off his hat and twirled a strand of his soft golden blond hair in between his fingers. He’d been growing it out lately, he was really just so bored, and he’d been considering experimenting with some curling irons like he’d seen his cook use. He was certain that Hanna would show him how to use them if he asked nicely.
But did he have enough time for that?
He still needed to set up his wraith problem, and it needed to be convincing enough to keep the witcher around long enough to get to know him, perhaps he could even lure the man to his bedroom if he were that way inclined.
Gods he hoped he was.
It had been too long since Julian, no, Dandelion, had had a male lover.
Well, if he was planning to seduce the man then he really should look his best but first he needed to make sure that they stage was set. He picked up his old forgotten lute from the corner of the bedroom, gently trailing a finger down the neck of the instrument before quickly plucking at the strings and fiddling with the pegs to make sure she was still in tune.
“I am so sorry darling.” He cooed to the instrument. “It’s been too long.”
He tucked her into his old lute case and appraised his reflection in his mirror.
“Hmm…” He stuck his tongue out as he concentrated. “Not quite right. Oh yes! My hat!” He swiped up a matching plum coloured bonnet and pinned a feather in place because plopping it onto his head. He looked back at his reflection with a furrowed brow and then inspiration hit him and he tilted his hat so he fell slightly to one side. “Perfect!”
He giggled and bowed dramatically to his reflection. “Master Dandelion, at your service!” He grinned seductively.
Oh this witcher would have no idea what hit him.