NAN
Mad Nan, simple Nan, foolish Nan, Nan the simpleton, Nan Wool the bastard of unkown parentage, found one morning under a lambing ewe, half dead in the early spring frost but for the warmth of the newborn lamb. Poor Nan that could not learn and could only be trusted with the most simple tasks, and had to be cared for like the very young or the very old.
Poor, stupid Nan indeed who spent her days lazing near the fire in winter and by the window in summer, while the ladies knitted and crocheted with bent backs, sore eyes and aching fingers. Poor stupid Nan who slipped to the kitchen and sat with her foolish vacuous smile when cook was baking and never asked. Oh no! poor stupid Nan never asked, because if you asked they wondered what you were doing, idling when everyone else was busy and they would scold and kick you out of the kitchen. But if you said nothing and sat looking at Cook like a dog with huge, empty eyes and bubbles coming from the corner of your mouth, she would shake her head and mutter about unnatural parents who left their children to die in the open. And then she would sigh and murmur ”Poor lamb, poor shorn lamb, with thy poor frozen brains” and feed her sweetmeats and savoury scraps. And when poor Nan looked at the garments the ladies had made and pointed at them with childish glee, warbling ”Pretty ! Pretty !”, someone would take pity on her and give her something warm to wear, so that poor stupid Nan was never cold. Never cold, never hungry, never tired.
Because she was thought a simpleton, no one really paid attention. They saw what the expected to see. It had not taken Nan long to realize it.
Once, it was a windy summer day, the girls had wandered to the cliff with their knitwork to look over the sea at the ships. Nan had sat as usual doing nothing, or weaving crowns of flowers, rejoicing in the warm sunshine and the cool breeze. Then suddenly she had noticed a child coming perilously close to the edge as she followed a seabird, unconscious of the danger. The bird flapped its wings and hopped about, while the child clapped her hands and crowed in delight. It was one of those moments when Nan regretted her nothing-but-yelps-and-drool policy. She toyed with the idea of speaking out and later shrugging it off as a miracle, but years of silence were not broken so easily. So she had jumped up and down with frantic whimpers, rolling her eyes and pointing at the child with a wildly flaying arm, whimpering : ”Baby ! Baby !” But before they were aware of the danger it was too late. They saw the child disappear over the edge. Everyone one rushed to peer over the cliff top, and there she was, her fall arrested by a clump of broom on a small rock outcrop jutting out from the cliff, screaming her lungs out, bruised and shocked but alive.
The outcrop was some fifty feet below, at the bottom of a sheer wall of grey rock. If the child had been older, she could easily have reached a narrow path a bit further down, but she was still almost a baby. If she moved the wrong way, she would simply crash down into the jaggy outcrops of granite at the bottom of the cliff. Everyone was shouting instructions at her, telling her not to move, to wait for someone, that it was all right as long as she stayed there, but the hysteria of the voices belied their reassurances. The child, who had sat screaming but motionless, now stood up and stretched her arms toward the faces peering at her. She was still rather wobbly on her legs, and there were yells of pure terror as she tottered backward. No one seemed to have any idea what to do.
Nan peered at the cliff face, and saw a small tree growing from a crevice in the vertical wall. It was small but old and tough, battered by storms and winds. Nan knew that its wood was flexible, otherwise its branches would have broken. She climbed gingerly down, testing the rubble of rocks with her foot before she put it firmly down. Then she reached the small tree and swarmed up the low trunk until she sat astride a long branch overhanging the precipice. Cautiously, she moved forward, clamping the branch with her thighs and using her hands to push herself forward. She did not look at the child. If she fell, there was nothing she could do. As she had hoped, the branch bent under her weight, but she could hear no ominous crack so she inched slowly forward, until her weight brought the tip of the bough close enough to the ledge were the child was still standing, watching her progress with round eyes, her sobs the only sound she made. A gust of wind blew the branch against the cliff, and Nan held for dear life as it started swinging wildly. She needed it to be still so she could let go and land straight on the ledge, not to close to the edge in case the impetus of her fall sent her reeling off.
There was silence from above. All she could hear was the crash of the surf below, the calls of the seagulls, the whisper of the wind. She fastened her arms around the branch, slipped her legs off, slowly working her body down until she hung suspended, waiting for the best moment to let go. In the end it was quite the anticlimax as she fell a few feet into a thick thicket of broom that cushioned her fall. She picked up the child, filtering out the shouts from above. Cautiously she made her way down the rocky incline, reaching the path without mishap. She put the child down, and started walking toward the village below. She guessed that the woman would take the long way around, and that someone would be coming to meet them. She wondered what they would say about her. Had she betrayed herself? Would they realize that she was not quite the idiot they thought?
As it turned out, she need not have worried. O, they were grateful and made much of her. But the way they told the story, Nan appeared as one of those faithful dogs that bounded down the cliffs looking for stray lambs. The episode did not shake their belief in her foolishness. They only needed to explain how it was that this particular simpleton had saved the day while other witnesses watched on helplessly. What they came up with was the conviction that anyone with half a brain would have known how dangerous it was to swing over the ledge and so have remained frozen at the top.
That, from a crowd of twenty, not one had been dispatched to the castle to ask for help was not a sign of stupidity, but evidence of the emotion that had paralyzed highly strung females. Only a perfect idiot could have rushed ahead and blithely risked her life. Nan had dashed to the rescue because she did not understand what it was she was doing. She had acted out of instinct, like an animal. And like a faithful dog she had her head patted, and her bravery praised. ”Good girl, Nan, good girl !” The baby's father had said, pulling her wild hair and scratching her ears. She was fed like a princess and went wondering to bed, pondering a series of new insights into the workings of the human brain, and trying to figure out how she could use them to her advantage.
But that was a long time ago. Now that she was nearing eighteen, Nan suspected that her days of leisure were counted. Already the men looked at her differently. She was a well-known figure about the castle, and everyone knew her, but these days, when they caught sight of her, they often did this funny double take, shaking their heads with a puzzled frown. That's not a pretty stranger! That's only foolish Nan Wool, born under a lambing ewe on a frosty spring day, what was I thinking? But when strangers saw her, they now followed her with longing eyes, sometimes with a smile, more often with a leer, when they did not whistle or try to paw her. But stupid Nan had a high sense of preservation, and if the men became too forward she would flop to the ground and thrash about with piercing shrieks utterly familiar to the inmates of castle Worsted and garanteed to send someone running to her rescue. They would help her up, and pet her, and scold the men. What were they thinking, bothering a poor idiot who did not know or understand what they wanted ? They ought to be ashamed of themselves.
Those days, when she looked at herself in a mirror – there was one in Lady Worsted's room, and no one cared if foolish Nan drooled to herself in front of it – she saw a new person being shaped from the clay of childhood. She had been a pretty child, had Nan, which had probably saved her life, for, face it, no one makes a pet out of an ugly idiot. Plain orphaned Nan would have lived a miserable life as a drudge, no one caring if she was abused or molested, but pretty Nan was a pleasant target for their charity and made them feel kind and generous. She had a round face and porcelain skin, large hazel eyes with tawny flecks that haloed her pupils like the rays of the sun on the Rambuctious coat of arms. Her hair was wild and unkempt, she saw to it, but when she had been a toddler, the girls had sometimes played dolls with her, brushing its wild tangles into wawy curls, until it became a thing of beauty that made everyone exclaim. Now she took care to wear shapeless garments to hide her growing body, walked hunched forward, face lowered, arms crossed over her stomach, muttering to herself and making faces that distorted her features. She was developing tics too, odd movements that made people uneasy so that they tended to look away.
But frankly, playing the idiot was getting to be a bore. Other people had to work for a living, but they had opportunities that a cretin did not have. As a life career, she now started to realize, being an idiot held no real prospects. Of course, she knew a lot of things and could still learn more, but how could she put this knowledge to use? She had sat with Lady Worsted's daughters and the other castle girls while they were taught how to read and write, and she had found it quite easy to learn. She even sometimes borrowed a book, and to everyone one's amusement, pretended to read with her tongue between her teeth, holding the book upside down and frowning in concentration. By the time she was six, she could read upside down with great ease.
For a time she really had believed that she was stupid, that her brains had been frozen at birth and never properly developed. But slowly she grew aware that she could understand things that other children found difficult, and gradually came to the realization that she was perhaps more intelligent than some. But she saw no point in sharing this insight. The septa who taught them was harsh and mean, she did not envy the scolds and the punishments other girls had to endure.
As an orphan child, she had found the best possible niche in the castle. As a woman grown, it might become simply intolerable. Why, even that fat ewe Purlybell who was so stupid she did not know her right from her left hand, had a more interesting life than she had. Purlybell had been to Winterfell, several times, where she had met the Starks and fallen in love with the Bastard. Everyone knew about her hopeless passion though she was so incredibly dim-witted that she thought it the best-kept secret in Castle Worsted. Nan longed to leave Worsted and travel the world. She wanted to drive along the King's Road and meet strangers, people that would not know her as stupid Nan and who would treat her like a human being, not a faithful dog. There were stories about, rumours of a girl with dragons. Riding a dragon ! Now that was something. Nan dreamt of ships sailing to far away lands, of caravans travelling the King's Road, of dragons flying around the world with a girl like her on their backs. But winter was coming, soon the roads to the North would be blocked by the snow and the roads to the South would become unsafe, full of brigands and perhaps even white walkers, if the news from the wall were true. If the winter was long, it might be another ten years before she could leave castle Worsted, and then she would be an old woman.
Some of the women had picked up Purlybell and her chair, and they had slapped her back into awareness. Purlybell now sat sniffing in a miserable way. As for the Lady Worsted, she had been plunged by the news into a deep reverie from which she now emerged with a frown.
”This will be enough for tonight. Pack your needles and knitting and go downstairs. Septa Uturn will tell Cook to serve dinner earlier tonight. I will need to consult with the bannerets tomorrow. Leave !”
There was a shuffling and a scraping of chairs as they obeyed the Lady's command.
”Not you, Purlybell. Stay with me. And someone send for Lambert. I will see him too.”
Nan was shambling towards the door when the voice called her back.
”Stay here, Nan Wool. I'll have a word with you too.”
There were surprised looks and Nan pretended to misunderstand the order, looking about her with an expression of wonder but still taking a few uncertain steps towards the door. Someone held her by the arm and turned her towards Lady Worsted, not unkindly, but firmly enough, so Nan froze, her head crooked, her mouth slack, her eyes unseeing, a monument to imbecility. For a moment no one spoke while the murmur of voices receded behind the closed door.
Lady Worsted heaved a sigh. She had pushed her veil back and her eyes were looking at Nan, as if she could see straight through her. Nan uttered a feeble giggle. Lady Worsted sighed again.
”I need you to snap out of it, Nan. Now is not the time for playacting.” Everything stood still, even Nan's heart, it seemed. She scrutinized the Lady's face, but there was no animosity there. Only a faint air of expectation and impatience. Before Nan could think of an answer, she heard Purlybell wail.
”I can't, my Lady. I'm sorry. I can't.”
”I was not talking to you, Purlybell, though you are right, I wish you would snap out of whatever it is that has you sniffling like a schoolgirl. And if you want your crush on Jon Snow to remain a secret, you had better control yourself when his name is mentioned.” Purlybell's mouth formed a perfect O as she gave a little gasp. ”Well, Nan ?”
”How – how do you know ?” Lady Worsted's lips curled in a sheepish smile.
”What are the odds for someone who cannot read their letters to be systematically seen holding a book upside down ? I never made the mistake of taking you for an idiot, Nan Wool, please do not make the mistake of taking me me for a fool.”
