Prompt!fic: Seeing Things [Discworld, G]
Title: Seeing Things
Author: Jay (jaythenerdkid/bewarethespork)
Fandom: Discworld
Characters/pairings: Esmeralda Margaret Note Spelling, King Verence of Lancre, Queen Magrat of Lancre, Granny Weatherwax
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: All the Discworld Witch books up to Carpe Jugulum (I think)
Prompt: From
gehayi: Discworld, Queen Magrat's daughter (Esmeralda Margaret Note Spelling). I'd like to know what Em is like. Is she a witch? Is she anything like Magrat or Verence, or is she completely different? How does she get on with her mother? With the other witches? Has she ever had any adventures? If so, what?
Disclaimer: These are not the copyright holders you were looking for.
Author's Notes/Summary: Em has a question, but nobody seems to be able to help her answer it.
The moment I read the prompt, this idea hit me and just wouldn't let go. I hope it satisfies.
***
The question first comes to her when she is five. She is walking through the portrait hall, looking up at the faces of men and women who lived so long ago that the only remaining memory of them hangs on these walls, coated in a layer of dust. Look at her, tiny feet pattering down the cold flagstones, dragging her blankie behind her, stray wisps of hair framing her face. One day, this will be the Queen of Lancre, but for now, she is just a little girl with a slightly tatty blanket, and she is about to be ask herself the question that she will spend years trying to answer. It comes to her as she stares up at the dusty portraits in their tarnished frames. Who will you be?, they seem to ask. When you are dead and gone and your picture is up here gathering dust, how will they remember you?
Maybe it's too much for a five-year-old gel to take in, but when her mother finds her and drags her back to her bedroom, reprimanding her for being out of bed this late, the question sticks with her:
Who will I be?
***
Em's mother is a witch and a queen and a healer, which sounds very glamorous but mostly seems to consist of going down to the village at odd hours of the night to mend people's broken bones and give them nasty-smelling poultices. When Em is old enough to fetch and carry things for her mother without getting underfoot, she comes along on some of these expeditions. At first, it's exciting, this business of having to ride out of the castle in the middle of the night, but after a while, Em learns what every doctor's apprentice on every world knows: being the assistant is boring. She fetches things when asked and hands over the right bundles of herbs when she's told and occasionally gets to help unwrap people's bandages, but none of these things require even a fraction of Em's (rather formidable, for a ten-year-old) intelligence. So she spends most of her time watching people, and learning about them.
This is what she has learned:
That her mother, while she might wear a crown and occasionally agree to put on expensive dresses, is much happier when she gets to forget that she's the Queen.
That the villagers are still a little surprised by her mother's competence, even after all these years.
That it takes a lot of scumble to sedate Jason Ogg to the point that her mother can set his broken arm without him squealing.
That she gets very, very queasy at the sight of blood.
Em doesn't think she'll ever be a healer, but she thinks she likes the idea of learning to help people all the same. She just needs to find the right way.
***
Em's father is the King of Lancre, but he used to be a member of the Fools' Guild, which is (so her mother tells her) why he doesn't have much in the way of a sense of humour. He is a small, serious man who spends most of his time worrying about things like crop rotations and irrigation and aqueducts - big, important things.
Em knows that she will be Queen one day, so once she's old enough to understand at least some of the words the King uses, she tries following her father around as he does kingly things. Mostly, what she learns is that being King involves thinking a lot about ways of fixing things that most people didn't even realise were broken and ordering a lot of books written by dwarves from Ankh-Morpork.
She supposes it's important, all that thinking and reading and fixing, but all the same, she's not sure that's the sort of Queen she wants to be.
***
Em's namesake is not a King or a Queen, but rather an elderly lady who lives in a cottage just outside the village.
Technically, Em isn't supposed to go out to the village on her own, but she reasons that if she's old enough to listen to her father talking about aqueducts and stay awake the whole time, she's probably old enough to go and visit Granny Weatherwax by herself. All the same, she can't help but feel a slight twinge of trepidation as she approaches the old, ramshackle cottage. She can hear the bees buzzing around in their hives at the back, their droning a counterpoint to the incessant twittering of the birds in the nearby woods.
She's never been here alone before. Her previous visits were short affairs, supervised by her mother, back when she was quite a bit younger and able to hide behind Queen Magrat's skirts. Her mother came to Granny Weatherwax for advice, and as much as the older witch pretended to find these visits a nuisance, Em had the sneaking suspicion that Granny Weatherwax actually liked being the one everyone else came to for advice.
She wonders whom Granny goes to for advice, if she ever needs it.
Now Em is standing outside the cottage door, hoping to find the answer to a question she's been asking herself for years now, ever since she stood, barefoot and in her nightgown, in the portrait hall that night, so many years ago. Swallowing nervously, she reaches out and knocks on the door.
Silence.
She tries again.
No response.
"No point knocking on the door when there's nobody inside, I should think."
Em jumps and turns, startled, to find Granny Weatherwax looking down her long nose at her, a thoughtful look in her eyes.
"I - "
"I wondered how long it would take you to come here," Granny Weatherwax says. She is a tall, intimidating woman, and for a second, Em entertains the idea of fleeing. But there is something in her voice - an invitation, maybe - that keeps her standing where she is.
"I was just about to go in and make myself a pot of tea," Granny continues. "Why don't you join me?"
Nervously, Em nods her acceptance, and Granny sweeps past her, unlatches the cottage door and ushers her inside and on to a rickety chair in the kitchen. Fascinated, Em watches as Granny bustles around the kitchen, grabbing down mugs and emptying a small family of mice out of the teapot. (Em is sure her mother would have something to say about the hygiene concerns associated with mice living in one's kitchenware, but Em is not her mother and is therefore wise enough to stay silent.)
Granny doesn't speak as she pours tea into the mugs and sets them down on a small table before Em, nor as she somehow spoons exactly the amount of sugar and cream Em likes into her mug and stirs it in briskly. She remains silent as she takes her seat in a chair opposite Em and brings her own mug of tea to her lips and takes a sip. She seems to be waiting for Em to speak, but Em doesn't know what she wants to say.
"You're not your mother, or your father," Granny says abruptly. "You don't have your mother's heart, or your father's head. Don't have their silliness, neither, mark you."
Em doesn't even ask how Granny knows why she's here. The entire village - probably the entire kingdom, which is much the same thing - knows that Granny Weatherwax can see into your mind and know your thoughts.
"Don't be daft, I can't read minds," Granny says, again in response to Em's unvoiced question. "I've just got eyes, me. And so do you - good ones, ones that see what's really there. You've got First Sight," she adds, as though this explains everything, and that is what finally prompts Em to speak.
"Don't you mean - "
"Second Sight? No, that's all nonsense. Anyone can see things what isn't there," Granny scoffs. "It takes someone with a real good set of eyes to see what's really in front of them. That's witching work, it is."
"But I - "
"I didn't say all people with First Sight became witches," Granny interrupts. She takes another sip of her tea. "Some of them become damn good Kings and Queens."
That takes a while to sink in. "So," Em says a little nervously, "you think that I'll be good, then? At being Queen, that is. One day."
Granny shrugs. "I don't predict the future," she replies, thus disproving at least one folk superstition on the spot. "I don't make prophecies. But I do watch. And I've watched you - watched you tagging along with your mother, watched you sitting at your father's meetings when you were bored out of your skull. You watch people, and you learn about them. Them as are good at watching are them as may be good rulers, some day. If they make note to keep watching, and to learn from what they see."
"Will you help me?" Em blurts. "Learning to see, I mean. The way you do. Proper seeing. It's important, being good at being Queen. I don't want to let people down." She doesn't say it, but she thinks, I don't want to let you down, not when my mother named me after you.
Granny is silent for a while, watching Em over the rim of her mug. Em takes a nervous gulp of her tea - two sugars, extra cream, exactly how she likes it, how did Granny know? - and waits.
Eventually, Granny sets down her mug. "There are things as can't be taught," she says. "Things as can only be seen. I can't help with those."
Em's heart sinks.
Granny, seeing her expression, holds up a finger. "I ain't done," she snaps.
Em schools her face to calmness, the way she's seen her father do.
Mollified, Granny continues. "There have been witches in these mountains for longer than most folk can remember," she says. "A witch lived in this cottage before me, and one before her, and one before her, as far back as there was a Lancre and further still. We care for the land, and it cares for us. We help the folk in these mountains and ask for nothing back, and in return we have their respect and thanks."
Em thinks she is starting to understand what Granny is trying to say, but she stays politely silent.
"As long as there has been a King in Lancre, there have been witches to advise him. I expect that when you become Queen, there'll always be a witch here, should one be required. Not to teach, mind," Granny says, "but to - "
" - to be here," Em finishes quietly. "When I need advice, you'll be here."
Granny doesn't smile, but Em thinks she sees her eyes twinkle. "A good King or Queen knows when is the time for kinging and queening and when's the time for witches. Maybe when you become Queen, you'll remember that."
Em nods. "I will," she says. She drinks the rest of her lukewarm tea in a gulp and stands. "Thank you, Mistress Weatherwax," she says, curtseying politely. "For the tea. And - for being here."
"Them as knows me call me Granny," Granny Weatherwax replies. Em knows from her mother what an honour this is, so she curtseys again before leaving the cottage, feeling Granny's eyes on her the entire way out the door.
***
That night, Em walks again through the dusty portrait hall. Look at her, feet pattering on the cold flagstones, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Not a witch, but something like it.
She stares into the eyes of her ancestors, and once again, she hears the question:
Who will you be?
And this time, she knows.
This is a crosspost from Dreamwidth. You can reply over there using your DW account or OpenID.
comment(s) so far.
Author: Jay (jaythenerdkid/bewarethespork)
Fandom: Discworld
Characters/pairings: Esmeralda Margaret Note Spelling, King Verence of Lancre, Queen Magrat of Lancre, Granny Weatherwax
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: All the Discworld Witch books up to Carpe Jugulum (I think)
Prompt: From
gehayi: Discworld, Queen Magrat's daughter (Esmeralda Margaret Note Spelling). I'd like to know what Em is like. Is she a witch? Is she anything like Magrat or Verence, or is she completely different? How does she get on with her mother? With the other witches? Has she ever had any adventures? If so, what?
Disclaimer: These are not the copyright holders you were looking for.
Author's Notes/Summary: Em has a question, but nobody seems to be able to help her answer it.
The moment I read the prompt, this idea hit me and just wouldn't let go. I hope it satisfies.
***
The question first comes to her when she is five. She is walking through the portrait hall, looking up at the faces of men and women who lived so long ago that the only remaining memory of them hangs on these walls, coated in a layer of dust. Look at her, tiny feet pattering down the cold flagstones, dragging her blankie behind her, stray wisps of hair framing her face. One day, this will be the Queen of Lancre, but for now, she is just a little girl with a slightly tatty blanket, and she is about to be ask herself the question that she will spend years trying to answer. It comes to her as she stares up at the dusty portraits in their tarnished frames. Who will you be?, they seem to ask. When you are dead and gone and your picture is up here gathering dust, how will they remember you?
Maybe it's too much for a five-year-old gel to take in, but when her mother finds her and drags her back to her bedroom, reprimanding her for being out of bed this late, the question sticks with her:
Who will I be?
***
Em's mother is a witch and a queen and a healer, which sounds very glamorous but mostly seems to consist of going down to the village at odd hours of the night to mend people's broken bones and give them nasty-smelling poultices. When Em is old enough to fetch and carry things for her mother without getting underfoot, she comes along on some of these expeditions. At first, it's exciting, this business of having to ride out of the castle in the middle of the night, but after a while, Em learns what every doctor's apprentice on every world knows: being the assistant is boring. She fetches things when asked and hands over the right bundles of herbs when she's told and occasionally gets to help unwrap people's bandages, but none of these things require even a fraction of Em's (rather formidable, for a ten-year-old) intelligence. So she spends most of her time watching people, and learning about them.
This is what she has learned:
That her mother, while she might wear a crown and occasionally agree to put on expensive dresses, is much happier when she gets to forget that she's the Queen.
That the villagers are still a little surprised by her mother's competence, even after all these years.
That it takes a lot of scumble to sedate Jason Ogg to the point that her mother can set his broken arm without him squealing.
That she gets very, very queasy at the sight of blood.
Em doesn't think she'll ever be a healer, but she thinks she likes the idea of learning to help people all the same. She just needs to find the right way.
***
Em's father is the King of Lancre, but he used to be a member of the Fools' Guild, which is (so her mother tells her) why he doesn't have much in the way of a sense of humour. He is a small, serious man who spends most of his time worrying about things like crop rotations and irrigation and aqueducts - big, important things.
Em knows that she will be Queen one day, so once she's old enough to understand at least some of the words the King uses, she tries following her father around as he does kingly things. Mostly, what she learns is that being King involves thinking a lot about ways of fixing things that most people didn't even realise were broken and ordering a lot of books written by dwarves from Ankh-Morpork.
She supposes it's important, all that thinking and reading and fixing, but all the same, she's not sure that's the sort of Queen she wants to be.
***
Em's namesake is not a King or a Queen, but rather an elderly lady who lives in a cottage just outside the village.
Technically, Em isn't supposed to go out to the village on her own, but she reasons that if she's old enough to listen to her father talking about aqueducts and stay awake the whole time, she's probably old enough to go and visit Granny Weatherwax by herself. All the same, she can't help but feel a slight twinge of trepidation as she approaches the old, ramshackle cottage. She can hear the bees buzzing around in their hives at the back, their droning a counterpoint to the incessant twittering of the birds in the nearby woods.
She's never been here alone before. Her previous visits were short affairs, supervised by her mother, back when she was quite a bit younger and able to hide behind Queen Magrat's skirts. Her mother came to Granny Weatherwax for advice, and as much as the older witch pretended to find these visits a nuisance, Em had the sneaking suspicion that Granny Weatherwax actually liked being the one everyone else came to for advice.
She wonders whom Granny goes to for advice, if she ever needs it.
Now Em is standing outside the cottage door, hoping to find the answer to a question she's been asking herself for years now, ever since she stood, barefoot and in her nightgown, in the portrait hall that night, so many years ago. Swallowing nervously, she reaches out and knocks on the door.
Silence.
She tries again.
No response.
"No point knocking on the door when there's nobody inside, I should think."
Em jumps and turns, startled, to find Granny Weatherwax looking down her long nose at her, a thoughtful look in her eyes.
"I - "
"I wondered how long it would take you to come here," Granny Weatherwax says. She is a tall, intimidating woman, and for a second, Em entertains the idea of fleeing. But there is something in her voice - an invitation, maybe - that keeps her standing where she is.
"I was just about to go in and make myself a pot of tea," Granny continues. "Why don't you join me?"
Nervously, Em nods her acceptance, and Granny sweeps past her, unlatches the cottage door and ushers her inside and on to a rickety chair in the kitchen. Fascinated, Em watches as Granny bustles around the kitchen, grabbing down mugs and emptying a small family of mice out of the teapot. (Em is sure her mother would have something to say about the hygiene concerns associated with mice living in one's kitchenware, but Em is not her mother and is therefore wise enough to stay silent.)
Granny doesn't speak as she pours tea into the mugs and sets them down on a small table before Em, nor as she somehow spoons exactly the amount of sugar and cream Em likes into her mug and stirs it in briskly. She remains silent as she takes her seat in a chair opposite Em and brings her own mug of tea to her lips and takes a sip. She seems to be waiting for Em to speak, but Em doesn't know what she wants to say.
"You're not your mother, or your father," Granny says abruptly. "You don't have your mother's heart, or your father's head. Don't have their silliness, neither, mark you."
Em doesn't even ask how Granny knows why she's here. The entire village - probably the entire kingdom, which is much the same thing - knows that Granny Weatherwax can see into your mind and know your thoughts.
"Don't be daft, I can't read minds," Granny says, again in response to Em's unvoiced question. "I've just got eyes, me. And so do you - good ones, ones that see what's really there. You've got First Sight," she adds, as though this explains everything, and that is what finally prompts Em to speak.
"Don't you mean - "
"Second Sight? No, that's all nonsense. Anyone can see things what isn't there," Granny scoffs. "It takes someone with a real good set of eyes to see what's really in front of them. That's witching work, it is."
"But I - "
"I didn't say all people with First Sight became witches," Granny interrupts. She takes another sip of her tea. "Some of them become damn good Kings and Queens."
That takes a while to sink in. "So," Em says a little nervously, "you think that I'll be good, then? At being Queen, that is. One day."
Granny shrugs. "I don't predict the future," she replies, thus disproving at least one folk superstition on the spot. "I don't make prophecies. But I do watch. And I've watched you - watched you tagging along with your mother, watched you sitting at your father's meetings when you were bored out of your skull. You watch people, and you learn about them. Them as are good at watching are them as may be good rulers, some day. If they make note to keep watching, and to learn from what they see."
"Will you help me?" Em blurts. "Learning to see, I mean. The way you do. Proper seeing. It's important, being good at being Queen. I don't want to let people down." She doesn't say it, but she thinks, I don't want to let you down, not when my mother named me after you.
Granny is silent for a while, watching Em over the rim of her mug. Em takes a nervous gulp of her tea - two sugars, extra cream, exactly how she likes it, how did Granny know? - and waits.
Eventually, Granny sets down her mug. "There are things as can't be taught," she says. "Things as can only be seen. I can't help with those."
Em's heart sinks.
Granny, seeing her expression, holds up a finger. "I ain't done," she snaps.
Em schools her face to calmness, the way she's seen her father do.
Mollified, Granny continues. "There have been witches in these mountains for longer than most folk can remember," she says. "A witch lived in this cottage before me, and one before her, and one before her, as far back as there was a Lancre and further still. We care for the land, and it cares for us. We help the folk in these mountains and ask for nothing back, and in return we have their respect and thanks."
Em thinks she is starting to understand what Granny is trying to say, but she stays politely silent.
"As long as there has been a King in Lancre, there have been witches to advise him. I expect that when you become Queen, there'll always be a witch here, should one be required. Not to teach, mind," Granny says, "but to - "
" - to be here," Em finishes quietly. "When I need advice, you'll be here."
Granny doesn't smile, but Em thinks she sees her eyes twinkle. "A good King or Queen knows when is the time for kinging and queening and when's the time for witches. Maybe when you become Queen, you'll remember that."
Em nods. "I will," she says. She drinks the rest of her lukewarm tea in a gulp and stands. "Thank you, Mistress Weatherwax," she says, curtseying politely. "For the tea. And - for being here."
"Them as knows me call me Granny," Granny Weatherwax replies. Em knows from her mother what an honour this is, so she curtseys again before leaving the cottage, feeling Granny's eyes on her the entire way out the door.
***
That night, Em walks again through the dusty portrait hall. Look at her, feet pattering on the cold flagstones, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Not a witch, but something like it.
She stares into the eyes of her ancestors, and once again, she hears the question:
Who will you be?
And this time, she knows.
This is a crosspost from Dreamwidth. You can reply over there using your DW account or OpenID.
comment(s) so far.