Interlude I: "My Freedom is my Song"
Give a man bread, and he will not go hungry for a day. But teach a man to farm, and he will not go hungry for a lifetime.
It was a common saying in the Land of Wind, even written in the Codex Favonius. It is not uncommon that foreigners would ask why they have such zealous belief in their god even if said god was never present. Jean would answer with that saying, and so would every Mondstadter, Windriic, Dawntoner, Dornman and every person from the Land of Wind.
Why would Barbatos need to rule us, when he had already taught us to rule ourselves?
Jean held no small amount of pride in being a believer of Lord Barbatos, even if she doesn't fully adhere to the Favonius Church. As such, she holds the saying close to her heart, and tries to live by it.
But sometimes, on some days, she wishes she had been given bread instead of a hoe.
Days just like this day.
She barely held in another groan when she watched a page dump another stack of papers on her desk. No, she would not say anything, that would be unbecoming of her. But she could most certainly think that this was ridiculous. Alright, so she had been absent for over a moon, but even then her work should not be piling up like so!
What in seven hells was Kaeya doing all this time!?
There was a reason why the title of Deputy Grandmaster exists, she bemoaned, it was to ensure the Grandmaster wouldn't die of overexhaustion - that and so his orders would be more efficiently carried out, but that wasn't the point. Only problem was, Jean is the Deputy Grandmaster, and the actual Grandmaster was out fighting a war in the Northern Wastes.
So who was to be her Deputy Grandmaster?
Well, no one - because it appeared the first Lionfang Knight never thought that far ahead. And no one wants to volunteer either, because unlike the title of Deputy Grandmaster, whatever placement they would have volunteered for would be temporary and powerless.
At least she had assistants; a rotating cadre of pages and squires volunteering to take on the extra work for credit. Lord bless their souls, if even she had this much work, she could only wonder on in horror how much work they had.
Jean mindlessly brought another parchment in front of her, reading its contents - impressively cursive ink swimming in her eyes. Lord, what kind of gods-damned person would write so beautifully - and irritatingly hard to read!?
That's right, the Kreideprinz.
She didn't like Albedo very much, nor his assistant Sucrose for that matter. That wasn't to say she did not respect their work, they and their research were very much invaluable to the Order - but they still unnerved her. At least Albedo was more upfront about his abnormality, Sucrose, however.
The young lady was incredibly polite to her whenever they crossed paths, to the point where Jean would dare say afraid even. And yet when she once visited Sucrose's lab she found the young lady giggling unnervingly, hunched over a workbench - jars of pickled organs adorning the shelves and bones and skulls strewn about the desks.
Jean left without being noticed, and resolved to never go there again.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and leaned back to fade away the migraine, before hunching back over her desk and taking a better look at the letter.
It was a request - when the Dragon of the East's wing was first retrieved, it was incredibly volatile. As such, the mage corps had extracted all the Anemo energies from it to make the wing inert. Now, all that excess Anemo was sitting around collecting dust - well, that was inaccurate, the mages were actually running experiments with the Element, but most of it still went unused.
So the Kreideprinz was requesting some of that Anemo be sent to his own alchemist corps so that it would find better use.
Jean retrieved her six-winged seal, rolled, and sealed the order with approval, before moving the parchment to another basket for collection.
Next was a request from the Church to begin stockpiling materials for the upcoming Windblume Festival. Well, it was less of a request, more that they were informing her they were going to start doing so - but her approval would make the process much easier. She stamped it and rung the bell at her desk.
After a few moments, a page rushed in, saluting.
"Present, Grandmaster."
"Take this form to Sir Albedo," she passed them one parchment, "And take this form the Dame Hertha for certification."
She passed them the Church's request. Dame Hertha was in charge of all logistics, if the Church wanted materials, they would have to ask her - she only stamped the paper to prove the she had acknowledged the whole thing.
"Understood, Grandmaster."
"Dismissed."
Jean waited until the doors were shut, before bringing out the next parchment.
Ah, the official request from Dawnton asking for additional men to help against increasing bandit - Fatui - raids on Windic commerce. She would accept, if Dawnton allows the Knights back in the city - she wasn't one to miss the chance of reestablishing chivalric order in Ragnvindr lands. Of course, Diluc had already accepted beforehand, but she needed to make it official.
After writing it down, she stamped the parchment and moved it to the side, assigning five-hundred knights with all their squires and pages to the task. The Church would surely protest once they heard, but the Church protests at just about anything the Knights do.
Next was a request for an expedition to Dragonspine. Jean nearly scoffed, an expedition to Dragonspine, in the middle of winter? But then she scanned the contents to make sense of the foolhardy request, and make sense she did. Fatui bands had grouped together and escaped into the depths of the mountain, posing a threat to the inhabitants of Lagersberg - a sizable town located at the base of Dragonspine, and regional capital.
Jean paused to muse over the issue, before coming up with a solution.
Dipping her quill in ink, she signed an executive order to the Knights' branch in Lagersberg; surround and block all exits out of Dragonspine. It was the middle of winter, let the Snezhnayans starve or freeze to death; their bodies would feed the animals there after the snow thawed. Any who somehow survive the season could be sweeped out after winter ends.
She rolled up the order and sealed it, calling in another page.
"Bring this to Sir Gerhard," she passed them the order to go to Dawnton, "And send this to the ravenry, the destination is Lagersberg."
"Understood, ma'am!"
"Dismissed."
Nodding in satisfaction, Jean waited until they left before pulling out the next parchment.
A request from Dame Lawrence to use lethal force against the Fatui- what?
Jean nearly leapt from her seat, but instead composed herself and rang the bell at her desk.
After what felt like an agonising eternity, but was more likely a few short moments, a squire entered her office.
"Present-"
"There was a page who just left here, headed for the ravenry," she told him, "Catch him, and bring him to me!"
The squire immediately snapped to alertness at the urgency in her voice, immediately snapping off a wordless salute and rushing out of the door.
In the meantime, Jean massaged her temples as she read through Eula's request. The knight captain had even cited the Codex; any attack against people of our land must be considered an attack against the state. She demands that retribution be dispensed forthwith, and tells of her knights eager for battle, awaiting orders.
Jean wanted to conclude the affair as peacefully as possible - because they had the upper hand. Zapolyarny Palace relies on Windic grain to feed their people - if the Union and Snezhnaya were forced to the negotiating table, she could demand exorbitant compensation for losses incurred by the Fatui. However, if they counterattacked with physical force, then all that negotiating power would be nullified.
It could even start a war neither nation could afford.
To the eyes of most, the Windic Union was a squabbling, disparate union of individual nation-states incapable of any united military affairs. But Snezhnaya knows better than most; in the Sixth Crusade, some eighty-thousand men marched into Snezhnaya and laid waste to leagues upon leagues of Snezhnayan settlements, farmlands and even cities. The war was so ruinous that the land which they razed was now known as the Northern Wastes.
All because of a single attempt by Zapolyarny Palace to invade the Land of Wind and take a certain Black Castle on the border.
It was the single greatest unifying event in the Land of Wind since the Union was even founded - and since then, three more crusades have been fought. Two of them were failures, admittedly, with the Seventh Crusade in particular being such a massive disaster that it led to Lord Barbatos descending and taking command of what armies remained, leading to the victorious Eighth Crusade which wiped Khaenri'ah off the map.
Grandmaster Arundolyn, who led the Seventh Crusade, was a polarising figure - and Jean was one of those people who could not decide whether he was a bumbling fool or a great hero.
In any case, she was trapped between a rock and a hard place. For all her wish for a peaceful outcome, it wasn't to say violence was necessarily a terrible decision. Eula was clearly standing at a noble's point of view, because for she spoke of rebelling against the aristocracy, she was a born and bred aristocrat herself.
Eula Lawrence was proud.
And pride dictated they must gouge out an eye for an eye. If the Order retaliates against the Fatui with bloodshed, then they will carve a place for themselves on the continental stage - it will be a statement; we still have our teeth, do not expect us to bend over so easily.
The other nations would surely side with the Union in the case of political conflict. Zapolyarny Palace has thus far relied on a policy of aggressive - even extortionate - diplomacy, and that has made them many enemies. The Union, meanwhile, has been an amiable business partner to all - Snezhnaya, Liyue and Natlan all import grain from the Land of Wind's vast, fertile farmlands.
Either way, there are benefits and drawbacks.
However, Jean was ignoring one massive factor - the people. The people crave vengeance, the aristocrats crave vengeance, the Church and the Knights crave vengeance. They had just evicted the Fatui from their cities, and now they must want to evict the Fatui from their lands entirely.
The door opened, and the two squires walked through.
"Hand me the letter meant for Sir Gerhard," she ordered.
"Ah- ah! Yes, of course, ma'am."
"Alright, now go."
"Huh-?"
"You are dismissed, squire," she repeated, "The both of you still have tasks to complete no? Do not let me retain you, leave."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Yes, Grandmaster!"
Jean watched as they left, before bringing the sealed letter to a candle and burned it.
She brought out a fresh sheet of parchment, dipping her quill in ink. She must be thorough, there was no better time than now to cleanse Mondstadt from the roots. If they were to follow through with violence, then they must prepare for any response Snezhnaya might have.
And that meant ripping out every hook Zapolyarny Palace has in them - every merchant, every spy, every informant, and every traitor.
Jean leaned back and opened a drawer, pulling out a sheet of parchment Kaeya had sent to her on her return. As the Quartermaster, he was in charge of all internal affairs in both Mondstadt and the Knights - and from time to time, he would give her a list of names.
There is no better enemy than one close to the heart - her mother told her that once - because you could stab them as easily as they could stab you.
She hasn't forgotten.
How do you clean a building of rats? First, you get a cat.
Jean penned an executive order to every Knights' branch in the realm, to every captain currently in the field - and one more for Dawnton.
Second, you find their rathole.
Jean penned an order to Kaeya and Albedo, for their departments were most suited for this order.
Third, you set their dwelling alight.
Jean penned a letter for the Church. Their open secret has been kept at bay for too long, and wild hounds will chafe with a leash on - time to let them hunt. Furthermore, she has no doubt that the following events will be in stark contradiction to the Codex Favonius - the Church and the Knights must put their differences aside to fully purify the Land of Wind.
She has no doubt the Church will agree.
Lastly, and most importantly, you must block their exit.
Jean penned a letter to Amber, for the outrider now must ride longer and harder than she has ever ridden before. She has no doubt the young lady would be up to the challenge.
The Lionfang Knight rang the bell, and a squire rushed in.
"You are… Noelle, yes?"
"That's me- I mean, yes, Grandmaster!"
"Mm," she hummed, before handing her the basket, "These small letters are to be sent to the ravenry, there are nine of them. These two letters are for Sir Kaeya and Sir Albedo. This one is for the Church, and this one is for Dame Amber."
Noelle mumbled under her breath as she recounted all her orders, "Ravenry… Sirs Kaeya, Albedo… Church… Amber. Yes, understood, Grandmaster!"
"Good," she nodded, "Deliver these directly into the hands of the recipients, no one else, understood? The letter for the Church must be received by a cardinal, understood?"
"Understood!"
"Under no circumstance should any other person other than yourself and them even touch these letters, understood?"
"Understood!"
"Good girl," Jean smiled, "Dame Amber should be with Dame Eula. After you have completed this task, join Dame Eula's company- allow me a moment."
Jean hastily penned another letter for Eula, before rolling it up, sealing it, and handing it to the trustworthy arms of Noelle.
"Give her that when you join her," she told the girl, "If Dame Eula acknowledges that you have shown exemplary performance on the field, then she has my permission to knight you on the spot."
Noelle's eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the basket then and there - but hastily recovered her bearings. Jean noticed that the squire was gripping the basket so tightly her knuckles were stark white.
"Understood?" Jean asked slowly.
"U-Understood!"
"Good, dismissed."
She watched as the squire all but ran out of the room to carry out her tasks. Noelle was a capable hand, but whether that was enough to be a knight… well, she would trust Eula's judgement on that matter.
Sighing deeply, Jean leaned back in her seat, feeling refreshed yet nervous at the same time.
The die was cast, and there was nothing more to be done about it.
Zapolyarny Palace has made their move by the hand of a Harbinger. Now, it was the Favonian Order's turn, and there would be the Lord's justice dispensed.
In this, the Lionfang Knight would suffer no compromise.
Sara arranged the last slices of meat onto the tray.
"Cold cut platter!" she hollered.
"Oh- that's ours!"
She hefted the platter onto a palm and went around the counter to the patrons, and slid the tray onto the table. Extending a hand, the patrons dropped a few mora to pay for their meal. Sara nodded in satisfaction and pocketed the mora, returning to the counter.
"Boss, we got a sweet madame here!" a voice from the kitchen called.
"Hand it over to Hans, it's his shift now!" she shouted back.
Sara leaned over the counter, watching her clients enjoy their food. The Good Hunter was an open-air restaurant located at the end of the main street, right on the side of the central plaza. As such, they had good business, catering to both locals and foreigners - many foreigners, in fact, who come to try authentic Mondstadter cuisine.
On a good day, every seat and table would be filled. The Good Hunter also serves as a gathering point, since tables are open to anyone - even if clients aren't in a group. As such, when the Sun falls, those who dislike the atmosphere of taverns usually come to the Good Hunter.
And yet, business was falling. Sara could see many empty tables - even now, after the evening bell, at peak hour. It was not as if she could do anything about it anyway, the entire city has been gripped by an odd bout of tension.
Anxiety filled the air everywhere she walked, the languid, relaxed Mondstadt she knew was now a thing of the past.
A fortnight ago, the Lion's Gate was shut for the first time in five centuries. The entire city was locked down, and if the rumours were to be proved true, then Mondstadt was not an exception. All across the Land of Wind, cities were shutting their gates - not allowing any person to enter or leave.
Back then, everyone was nervous about the new predicament. Because even the knights were anxious, not even they knew what was happening - only following orders. Now, however, neighbours were looking at each other with suspicion, friends have become enemies. Nobody knew who they could trust.
Because anyone could be a traitor to the state.
Just a sennight ago, a strict curfew was imposed by the Knights. All must be in their homes by the midnight bell, or they would be arrested. Sara was not the only person who expected the Church to protest, but to their collective surprise the Church actually supported the Knights.
"Hey, have you heard?" Sara's attention snapped to a nearby table, where two clients were conversing in hushed tones.
"What is it?"
"Last night, Marjorie was arrested because she was suspected of treason."
"What? The same Marjorie from With Wind Comes Glory?"
"Yeah, apparently her neighbour reported her because she was suspicious."
"So that's why her shop wasn't open today… hells, who's next?"
"Well-"
"Oy!" Sara roared, "The both of you shut your gods-damned traps now! If you want to talk about this, do it somewhere you won't implicate any of us!"
The two men jerked in their seats, swivelling their heads around in panic. Patrons around them were leaning away, as if afraid that just by hearing them talk they could get arrested too - and Sara wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.
When the town crier first announced that there were spies and traitors in the city, no one took them seriously. Until the next day, twelve men and women were arrested on charges of treason. After that, six women working in a brothel were arrested as they were foreign spies.
Then, the entire establishment was forcefully shut down for having less than savoury business, and the owners imprisoned.
Suffice to say that after that, everyone in the city was on high alert. It was considered an uneventful day if less than ten people were arrested by the evening bell. People were reported for just about anything - even saying the wrong thing - and the knights would drag them off with no questions.
Sara would not risk the Good Hunter for two drunk men with loose lips.
She knew the current acting Grandmaster, Jean Gunnhildr. When Sara was a child, she would see the then-knight bring her friends to eat at the Good Hunter on their breaks. Even after Jean was promoted, she would sometimes visit the restaurant for a nostalgic meal.
Sara would not consider them friends, but she was quite certain she knew who Jean was as a person.
Which was why she was so shocked - even horrified - at just how merciless the Knights have been. Though she had to admit, Jean had always been a thorough, single-minded person - if she was to complete a task, she would carry it through the end, and not a single detail would be missed.
In fact, there was quite the spectacle the other day - which she had the pleasure of witnessing with her two eyes. The Quartermaster's men had stormed the Adventurer's Guild, forcing all the lower ranked adventurers to be laid off and slapping chains on the officials. She was there - just outside in the crowd - when squads of knights dragged out crates upon crates of paperwork.
She hadn't realised why they did so until later, when she found out the Guild was founded in Snezhnaya. That was when she realised that all of this had something to do with the Fatui.
Sighing with closed eyes, Sara felt a red glow through her eyelids, and opened them to see the Sun beginning to dip below the horizon. Curfew will be in place as it gets dark, and she still has to close up shop and clean everything up.
Well, this was nothing new now, all of them had gotten used to it. Already, the restaurant patrons were cleaning up their plates and bringing them to the counter.
Nodding her thanks, she scooped up the silverware and brought them into the back, where her employees were already cleaning up.
"Jacobs, these are the last silvers," she dropped the plates into the tub of water.
"Got it, miss!"
"All of you get back home early, I don't want to wake up tomorrow finding out any of you have gotten yourself in the gaol for messing about after curfew."
"Yes boss!"
"Miss, I'm leaving now," one of their part-timers called.
"Alright, have a safe trip back."
"Ernest, close up shop once you've cleaned up," she ordered, "Lock the door after you leave."
"Yeah yeah."
Sara took off her apron and hung it on the coat hanger at the back of the kitchen. Turning around the corner, she came across the flight of stairs that would lead into her home. The Good Hunter was a family business, and with her parents retired, she was left alone to run it - inheriting the house as well. It was no real issue, she had been working in the restaurant since she was a child, taught by her mother.
As she reached the final step, she entered the landing and unlocked the partition door, slipping inside. After taking off her shoes, she walked to the dining table and placed the leftovers on it. Crossing the floor to the bottom of the stairs leading to the third floor, she peered up the flight, noticing a faint light from the top.
"Mom, dad, I'm back!" she hollered, "Dinner's on the table!"
"Thank you, dear!" her mom shouted back down.
Alright, she thought, time to draw up a bath.
Sara threw some logs into the fireplace and hopped over into a side room where the well was. Since Mondstadt was built on top of a lake, with windmills constantly bringing up fresh lakewater, water was not a luxury. Most buildings had their own internal wells - noble or not - and was a comfort not seen in any other city. Except maybe for Fontaine, but she has never been there, so what did she know?
She began filling up a wooden bucket with water, and while it was being filled, she dragged a brass tub over to the fireplace and sat it upon the flames. Rushing back to the well to see the bucket overflowing, she hastily shut the lever and hefted up the pail, groaning in exertion. Hobbling over to the fireplace, she dumped the water into the tub.
Well, several more times to go.
As she made round trips from the well to the fireplace, Sara noticed her parents coming down the stairs and begin digging into their dinner.
"Are you not eating with us?" her dad asked.
"Later," she replied, "I gotta bathe and also think of a new menu."
He shrugged, "Suit yourself."
"Be careful not to sleep too late, dear," her mom reminded.
"I know, mom."
Pouring the last bucket of water into the tub, Sara huffed in satisfaction before turning around, heading into her room. It would take some time for the water to heat up, and then cool down - she would use that time to cook up some new meals for next week.
A rotating menu is essential for any good restaurant, because if not, then your cuisine will get stagnant. That is not to say a completely bad thing, an eatery with a stable menu will most certainly retain certain customers in the form of regulars - and that creates a more knit community. However, the same will drive away potential new customers, and that means lost business.
And lost business is unacceptable, especially for a family-run establishment like the Good Hunter.
Sara stewed at her desk into the night, scribbling new ideas into a journal. It was the most enjoyable part of running a restaurant, in her opinion, to create new dishes. As a chef, it was her delight to see her customers delight from eating her own original creations. So she sat at her desk and wrote, so immersed that she only snapped out of it hours later when her parents called her.
"Sara, how long are you going to stay in there!? Your bath is getting cold!"
"Oh, right!" she called, "I'll be out in a moment!"
"We are going back up, good night!"
"-night!"
Sara groaned as she stood, stretching her back and feeling her bones pop in relief. She ran out of her room and found her bath sitting on the extinguished fireplace. Cursing, she dragged out the tub onto the floor and threw more logs into the hearth, before relighting the fire. The faint ringing of the midnight bell could be heard, swinging from the cathedral belfry.
She wriggled herself out of her clothes before lowering herself into the now-lukewarm water, sighing in contentment. Retrieving the hemp sponge, she began scrubbing herself down, ridding herself of all the sweat, dust and oil accumulated over an entire day in a blazing kitchen. Once she felt sufficiently clean, Sara climbed out of the tub and got dressed, wringing the water out of her hair. Walking around the tub to the dining table, she found the dinner left for her on the table.
Just as she was about to pull out the chair and sit down, a cold gust of wind blew into the house. Sara shivered, feeling the wind brush across her wet skin. Turning to look for the source of the breeze, she found out that the veranda door was wide open.
Cursing under her breath, Sara quickly strode forwards to shut the door. But as she reached for the handle, she swore that she caught a glimpse of something- a shadow, on the rooftop of the building opposite the plaza from hers. Someone breaking curfew? Or some rebellious youth climbing to the roof for some fresh air?
She snorted, it wasn't her problem anyways.
But then the shadows multiplied, from one, to half a dozen, to over a dozen shadows flitting in and out of the darkness. Curiosity taking over her, she stepped out onto the veranda to take a closer look. Straining her eyes, she spotted a cloaked figure swinging down from the rooftop and landing onto a balcony before sneaking through an open window.
Suddenly, she heard shouts from the distance, and Sara's eyes snapped to the origin - a massive manse in the upper city. The mansion had suddenly lit up like a star, windows glowing with intense yellow light. With the faint illumination, Sara spotted more figures crowding around the mansion - on the roof, climbing on the walls, breaking through windows and doors.
That's the Lawrence residence, she thought numbly.
With the Lawrence manse acting like a beacon, she could make out more figures on the neighbouring noble mansions - until the lights were abruptly shut off, and the upper city went dead quiet. Sara swallowed anxiously, she was certain she had just witnessed something she wasn't supposed to.
Sara hastily turned around to retreat back inside the safety of her own home, but jerked to a halt when something thudded against the wooden floor. She couldn't make out the object through the darkness.
Shaking, she bent down and picked up the object - which was firmly planted into the wooden planks. She lifted it to eye level - a throwing knife - and cold sweat ran down her back as she slowly looked up to the roof.
There was a woman there, lounging on the overhang, legs swaying over the side. With the stars shining down upon them, she could faintly make out the woman's figure. Dressed in a black habit and scapular, reminiscent of one's worn by Church sisters - except, this outfit was crafted of hard leather. She looked like a nachzehrer through the darkness, her skin so deathly pale it seemed to glow white, her face and eyes were tired - but sharp and cutting all the same.
Church Executor.
She might just die here, Sara realised, for the angel of death has befallen her. The temperature dropped, noticeable even in the winter cold, to below freezing levels. Hoarfrost crept across the wooden floor, and the windows glazed over. Sara shivered, feeling the cold dig into her bones.
Freedom through Blood - that was the Executors' creed, this was known. They were a secret branch of the Church, their purpose to carry out clandestine and covert operations - mostly to eliminate anyone or anything that opposed the Church's ideals. Despite the 'secrecy,' she would be hard-pressed to find anyone in Mondstadt who didn't know of their existence.
Sara looked down, inwardly preparing for her death.
Instead all she heard was a hush, and when she wearily looked back up, she saw the woman staring down at her with a single finger over her lips. Then, the Executor stood up and prowled off into the night, not even a single footstep to be heard despite walking on the clay-tiled roof.
Sara nearly collapsed then and there, but gathered herself enough to dash back into the safety of her house and slam the door shut behind her. She drew the curtains over the windows and impulsively extinguished any light source nearby - even picking up the bucket and scooping up water from the bath tub and throwing it onto the hearth.
The sudden cold snapped her back to her senses, and she slumped onto the floor in shock. Breathing heavily, Sara could imagine it was all just one bad dream - but felt the hard, freezing steel still tightly grasped in her shivering hands.
The knife.
This was no dream at all, but a living nightmare. And she had just looked death in the eye.
For the first time in a long while, Sara felt no appetite to eat her dinner.
Rewritten on 15/6/2022