Work Text:
The Wanderer:
Ai, hope is lost.
The Golux:
What’s that?— oh yes, I know it now.
A tale lies within my brow
Of hope not lost, though one might think
It’s gone within a rush of ink.
I heard it once from cousin dear,
Or perhaps a friend so near—
Or my mother? I don’t recall.
The point is this: hope does not fall.
I shall tell you in a moment
Of how escape may yet foment—
But first, a warning.
Beware the lake of mirror-glass
That tells the truth of all that’s past.
If you do dare to look within,
You may not like the tale it spins—
Unless, of course, you know yourself!
For one who leaves their sins on shelf
Of things not seen, and thus forgot
May find themselves rememb’ring aught
That they wish not to know.
The Wanderer:
I see no lakes. You speak in riddles, friend.
The Golux:
Let me think. A story I’ll tell
Of flight from long-unrival’d Hell.
A bard who ‘neath Hell’s bowers stole,
In search of lost forsaken soul.
In land which Melitel forgot,
Where hearts Eternal Flame had bought,
He came before the Devil’s throne,
An made a call for those who groan.
Then did the great lieutenant come
To sing to him of battles won—
The Wanderer:
Won?!
The Golux:
Hush, and heed. This was his song.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
Upon one winter’s ev’ning,
Two elven sons did stray,
Into our shadow’d reaches,
Where crueler things hold sway.
As guests we did invite them
Into our darken’d halls,
“But we fear we’ll ne’er return,
If we pass within those walls.”
A hundred eyes watch’d coldly
As they pass’d the gates of Hell.
Soft they swore they would be true;
No secrets they would tell.
But oh, what sad misfortune
Did greet those weary cries!
For they’d already been betrayed
By their mother’s weeping eyes.
We heard her pleas for mercy,
For her sons’ lives she plead.
“Please, do with me as ye will—
Let me suffer in their stead.”
My Lord is e’er merciful,
An she did reason see.
We ask’d to hear her secrets,
An she gave them all to me.
And then — far be it from us
To renege on what we swore!
Ne’er did her sons come to harm,
E’en trembling midst the roar.
But…
Their cries had conjur’d blood-lust
In our host so brave and scarred.
An how could we deny them?
They had earn’d their just reward.
Jaskier, interrupting:
Upon one winter’s longest night,
Without a star, nor hint of light,
Two straying sons of elvish blood
Were lost within the darkest wood.
No gracious host did find them there,
No kindly ear did hear their prayer,
Or did they?—
I’ve heard them say an old friend came
Swift to their aid, to stake a claim.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
Bold are your words! So tell me, then:
What saving sight is it you ken?
What helping hand could find them here,
An from this hellish fate them steer?
The brand is placed. You come too late
To save them from their cruel fate.
Foolish songster — you must know well
That none can save from burning Hell
A soul that’s sworn into our service.
For when they saw the fate we wrought
Upon their mother’s mercied thought
They threw themselves upon the pyre
Of glorious Eternal Fire,
An swore their souls in hopeless plea
To service of Hell’s mastery.
Jaskier:
The sons whose souls you hold in hand
On their hearts bear another’s brand.
Their mother too, for of her flesh
They were born, and she enmeshed
Within their fate, their hopeless mire—
But not that of Eternal Fire.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
Such foolishness is this I hear.
Stupidity, it bleeds the ear.
Yet since you came, I shall you tell
Why none escape from burning Hell.
All’s lost in the Eternal Flame,
Of love, of life, and even name.
All pledges being broken thus,
All promises made now to us,
All sacred vows, all sweet romance,
Are brought to naught within our grasp.
Ev’ry hope, we turn to dust,
So tell me: what could hold them thus?
What friendly fate could them enfold,
That still persists despite our hold?
Jaskier:
Though all the land be wreath’d in flame,
Not all heads bow before your name.
Some yet remain beyond your reach,
The Flame Eternal ne’er to teach.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
You speak then of the change in season?
Nature’s law heeds not our reason.
Though all the land be burning bright,
Still time remains, and nature’s right.
The snow still falls in spite of flame,
The song of birds heeds not our name,
The harvest comes in our despite…
But none is relevant to your plight.
Jaskier:
My plight? No. Look once more.
You cannot hold me on this shore.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
I see the truth within your eyes,
Of fairy blood, which I despise.
On you, I cannot lay the brand
Of our lost, forsaken land.
But though the Seelie Court be near,
It holds no jurisdiction here.
No infringement can you claim
On that people’s ancient name.
No theft have we made of your flowers,
Nor of knowledge in your towers.
So tell me then, O songster lost,
Think you that this was worth the cost?
I cannot lay a brand, ‘tis true,
But war is a far crueler hue!
In coming here you’ve broken peace,
Undone a truce in your caprice.
In coming days, perhaps I’ll let
You live, to see your sad regret
For coming here, to strive with me,
Vainly challenging Hell’s mastery.
Jaskier:
‘Tis not in vain. I tell you now,
You have made theft from our endow.
The two whose souls you’ve taken hence
Came from within our circling fence.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
How so?
None of your blood have I espied
In their lost, forsaken eyes.
Jaskier:
I need no blood to make my claim
Of ownership upon their name.
Our food I’ve fed them in the past,
An set in them a bond to last
Beyond all fear of mortal fate,
Beyond your flame’s enchaining hate.
Now yield them forth, and I’ll forget
The threat which you upon me set.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
Not so fast.
The bonds ye make, they do not last
If your folk fail to hold them fast
Enchain’d within your court so fair
Far from the hope of freeing air.
You let them from your table hence,
To come and fall at our behest.
If their safety you’d desire,
You should have kept them from our fire.
Foolish fairy. Do you not see
How you yourself gave them to me?
If in friendship’s name you give
Them freedom to choose how they live
You cannot then return and say
I have no right of them to sway.
Jaskier:
In that case, I propose a game.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
How typical. Now, why should I accept the same?
Jaskier:
I’ll stake upon it my true name.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
I’m listening.
Jaskier:
If you into my snare do fall,
The ones you hold in your enthrall
Whose names upon my heart are writ
At once from you shall be remit.
And if I fail in my task,
I’ll give to you my fairy’s mask.
The truest name known to my heart,
I’ll give unto your merciless art,
For when true names we render hence,
We suffer bonds in consequence.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
What game do you propose?
Jaskier:
I cannot say its name in prose.
Instructions lie within the lake
Of mirror-glass, where I shall take
Us both, if willing you would be
To chance your loss of mastery.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
I see your trick, you stupid fool.
You’d have me look into the pool
Where the truth of all that’s past
Is render’d forth in mirror-glass.
Think you that I would not yet know
The legend of those waters’ woe?
I accept.
If it is true you have a game
Which may yet keep me from your name,
I would suggest you send your friends
Now swiftly to the water’s edge
To write its terms within the silt
That I’ll behold, for I feel no guilt.
Now, come!
Jaskier:
One moment—!
The three whose lives I came to save
Do not yet lie within your grave!
Bring them with us, or forfeit now
Our game, whose terms you do avow.
Bad faith can never binding be
In any game you make with me.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
So loud you cry! Fine. Just as well.
Since you’ll not save them from this Hell,
They might as well see your defeat,
An see my victory complete.
—But who are these?
The ones who stand upon the shores,
Bearing upon their backs two swords?
How strange. I have not seen its like.
One sword should be enough to strike.
Jaskier:
Outcasts they are, who seek to guard
The land which you’ve so cruelly marred.
The Devil’s Lieutenant:
Fascinating. I do not mind
That they should see your fate unkind.
I’ll look now in the mirror-glass,
An see the truth of all that’s—
Jaskier:
…Past?
The Wanderer:
What happened, then?
The Golux:
Into the fen the witchers came,
An broke the captives from their chains.
Away with them the bard did go,
Lieutenant frozen in his woe—
For in the lake of mirror-glass,
He saw his name, and cried “Alas!”
He thought he knew his sins’ full score,
But did not know that once of yore
He’d been himself a captive too,
That lost his name in flaming hue.
His love, his life, his heart he’d lost,
Ne’er knowing what had been the cost.
The heart he’d lost restor’d at last,
He cried for love he’d thought was past.
A hundred days and nights he wept,
For what he’d done, the lives he’d spent,
Ne’er knowing what from him was kept.
But soft you now! I do believe
That even now he’s taken leave
Of those sad shores, an now returns—
The Wanderer:
Returns?! Oh, woe is me!
He’ll now renew my misery—
The Golux:
Not so!
It’s true that he does come apace,
But won’t resume his former place.
He comes now with new friends in tow,
The same he’d once sought to bring low.
An with this purpose they return:
To see th’ Eternal Fire burn.