Fanfiction: Lessons in Soup and Hands

A pair of washers, a maester, and two mothers in the aftermath of the accusations following Queen Jaehaera’s death. https://archiveofourown.org/works/72728771

​------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“One of the queen’s bedmaids also came under suspicion, when it was found that she had stolen two of Jaehaera’s dolls and a pearl necklace. A serving boy who had spilled soup on the little queen the year before, and been beaten for it, was accused. Both of these were put to question by the Lord Confessor, and finally declared innocent (though the boy died under questioning and the girl lost a hand for theft).”

-Fire and Blood, “Under the Regents: War and Peace and Cattle Shows”

Lesson One: Speak Quietly, Work Quickly

“Do you think it wrong?”

“Shush. You never know who listens.”

“Who cares for the whispers of two washers?”

“The Lord Confessor might.”

“That boy, though…they say he was innocent.”

“It does little to think of it. He is beyond our help.”

“All for a drop of soup?”

“He ought to have been more careful. The poor Little Queen.”

“And the girl…”

“She stole from a royal. She is fortunate a hand is all she lost.”

“I fear…”

“You must harden yourself. Remember where you are. Let us work quickly.”

~~~

The girl’s screams and sobs clash against your ears as your hands weave white bandages across her bloody wrist. A maester, you are called. Knowledge is your domain, and, yes, much knowledge you keep. You cover the girl’s jagged stump, the reminder she will carry for life.

“Hush,” you say. “You will live.”

And on she weeps. Her wails shake against your ears, although your hands remain steady. You are a maester, and knowledge is your domain, and knowledge you will keep.

Lesson Two: Clean Spotlessly, Weep Soundlessly

Nell washed her son’s bruised and bloodied skin. It was softening now as bodies did over time. She knew death. Had seen it through war, riot, fever, and peace. The Winter Fever had passed only moons ago. Her husband six years ago. Nell had lost parent, friend, sibling, niece, nephew, but never child. Not until now. Miraculously, all six of her children had prevailed through the clashes between her and her husband, had survived the war and riots three years past (although they gained an unexpected brother), and had endured the sickness and hunger that followed. You have been blessed by the Mother, her neighbors whispered to her. No, she would tell them. I am blessed by the cunning of my brother and the skill of his needlewoman wife.

And she had been, until this morning, when her brother had come to her door, not with the coin he usually brought her, but her eldest son tucked in his arms. “I should not have brought him with me to the castle,” her brother spoke to her through sobs. “I should not have gotten him that job.” She had never seen Chester so distraught. “I will dig him a grave,” he had said and then left, leaving her with her boy.

So Nell cleaned her son’s body. Her other children sat around her, staring in shock and weeping soundlessly. There was Margie, her eldest, hugging poor little Jesse, only three. Tears streamed down Jonah’s and Ellie’s pale faces. They were the oldest now after Margie. Then there was Billy and Tallie, mature enough to see death but still youthful enough not to understand it truly. 

And, Benji, dead now. He had been quiet in life, always lost in a daydream. I should have known better than to let him go to the castle. Nell’s eyes tightened with pressure. I should never have let Chester make him into a serving boy. She blinked. She could not lose herself in the what-ifs. She washed her son’s body.

~~~

Susie, I failed you as a mother. I should have taught you to keep your head down, to understand our lot in life. Your father is a kind man, a soft man. He does not understand our lives. I had wanted you to be strong. I had wanted you to succeed and be proud. You were my first child to live. And, now, you come home to me, to your father, to your three living siblings. Rose and Mabel look up to you. Owen, although only four, adores you. But you are one-handed now. How will you sew? How will you clean and cook? No man will take you as wife. You will be cast to the streets once your father and I are gone. I should have taught you that people like us cannot take. But now you have learned your lesson in hands.