Arc Two: Settling In

Chapter 09: The Cards You've Been Dealt


Author's Note

Take a moment, and imagine.

Thousands of years ago, in the Dawn Age, the First Men came to Westeros. A land without men. A land at both times different and familiar. Place yourselves in their shoes as they stood upon these hills and forests, meeting the Children of the Forests for the first time. The Children, unfamiliar to your kind, are curious and full of questions. "Describe to us your land, your language, your culture. Speak to us of this land called Essos. Tell us all that you can."

What do you tell them? What can you, in your knowledge, say of the lands from which you came? Could you describe the great Empires of Valyrian and Yi Ti? Would you teach the tongues of Old Ghiscari and Lhazareen? Describe at length the architecture of Qarth, the spells taught in Asshai by the Shadow, or the trading routes of the Ibbenese? Think on these questions, and answer with humility.

I ask you these questions to reveal two truths. The first, to show that humanity contains in it the capacity to create all of these marvelous things described. We can build civilizations. Create and re-shape the world as we see fit. Our ability to innovate is second only to our capacity for imagination.

The second, however, is that these accomplishments are a product of civilization, and not of individuals. True, we may credit a singular person for these feats, as Bran the Builder was so for the creation of Winterfell, the Citadel, and the Wall, among others. Yet he did not lay each stone by hand. For these wonders were built by the hands of many. Humankind working together under the bonds of camaraderie to create something greater than themselves.

The reason I present these ideas to you, my dear reader, is to offer not only a philosophy, but an explanation. For I do not hail from Westeros. Nor Essos. Nor Sothoryos. My home cannot be found in any map from the Citadel to Asshai. It's name is unknown to your sailors and traders. In truth, I may well be the first of my people to have ventured to this land. A shipwrecked traveler found floating in the Sunset Sea.

As you read this, you may be finding yourself standing in the place of the Children. Mind full of questions and wonder. Could I describe to you my land in its entirety, from the various architectures and innovations to its languages and cultures? The simple answer is no, I cannot.

It doesn't mean that I won't try.


Jasmine's eyes shifted over the words in careful inspection. Assessing the layout of the metallic script as the ink dried over the pages. Nodding to herself slowly in satisfaction.

"These came out well. You did a great job." The complement was barely audible over the sound of the leather beaters. A young lad of nine pounding the leather with all of his might over rows of metal inlays. The boy stopped to catch his breath. Sweat mopping down strands of strawberry blond hair.

"Does this mean I can stop?" The boy asked.

"I'd like to finish this copy of the Author's Note first. Though if you're tired, Norwin, I can finish beating the ink in and you can retrieve my sheets for Lady Sybelle's appointment."

The boy groaned in distaste. "I have to do more chores?"

"That's what you get for trampling all over my experiments. It was that or a lashing from the Septa. Be glad I offered you a way out." She took the beaters off his hands and flashed him a cheshire grin. "Besides, Lord Damon said you had to help in any way you can."

"Arg!" Norwin stomped away, but hesitated to move on to the next task. Jasmine, meanwhile, set herself over the frame of metal letters. Checking over spots that needed more ink. From her side she heard the boy shout. "It's unfair! Why is Damion allowed to go off to tourneys, while I have to stay here and fetch sheets like a laundry maid?"

"He's a squire. You're a page." she said as she begun to beat at the frame.

"Two years ago you didn't know the difference between the two."

"Two years ago I was too busy studying to care."

There was silence from the boy and Jasmine continued the work. Twisting and pounding the fat, circular stamps in order to make as even a distribution as possible. When the work looked satisfactory she laid the beaters to the side, and gently covered the metal inlays with a wooden frame holding a long sheet of parchment. Locking the two frames closed, she pushed them into the wooden structure they were connected to. A tall thing that in some ways resembled a guillotine and in others like a gutted upright piano. Save for a heavy, flat slab of metal that sat at the heart of it; held into the air by a large screw and lever system. She grabbed hold of lever and pushed as hard as she could. The force of it pushed the metal slab downward, pressing the parchment over the ink. Satisfied in its force, she pulled the lever back and lifted the metal slab off of the parchment. From there the parchment was freed of the frame and left out to dry.

The process was repeated twice over with new frames of metal inlays. Further explanation of the author's intentions, including mentions of footnotes and the conflict of viewpoints bound to occur between the people of her land and the book's readers. It was a tedious task, for sure; yet, after spending many a night pouring over sketches, notes, and layouts for the manuscript, it felt prudent to offer her future readers some form of guidance. (After all, one person can only do so much, whereas progress can achieved by a collective. Given the proper instruction, of course.) There were also plans to add in a table of contents and list of images, but that would have to wait for the rest of the manuscript to finish the editing process. A process which could take anywhere from months to years to complete, weather permitted.

With the last sheet left to dry, Jasmine took a moment of rest to walk to a window and open the shutters. The slightest of breezes entered the room. Cool and crisp and without snow. Jasmine breathed in the air and released a happy sigh. Her third Winter in Westeros was coming to an end. Short and sweet, as had all of its past seasons. An end of Winter meant Spring; and Spring meant that her favourite projects could continue at last.

Thoughts of Spring were interrupted by a sound of footsteps entering the room. Jasmine turned to find young Norwin half-hidden by piles of sheets atop a laundry basket. His feet somewhat off balance and stumbling.

The woman suppressed an urge to laugh, and closed the shutters before turning back to the boy. "Here, let me help you with that." She came to his aide and lifted the basket from his fingers. Hoisting it up in a well practiced motion and let it rest on her hip. "Come, now. You can head out for the day after we finish setting up the studio."


The studio was not a room in it's own right, but one half of her bed chambers sectioned off by a pale blue curtain. Originally she had used her first bedchamber as a business area. Though, as time moved on and traffic increased, she had been able to convince Lord Damon to switch her small guest chamber for a larger one usually reserved for low-renowned nobles. Humble enough to not offend the higher officials, yet large enough to suit her needs; and with a pleasant view of the countryside to boot.

The two of them got to work in the studio. The drawing table was put aside, along with piles of parchment and a near-full sketchbook. A wool-topped collapsible table then took its place in the centre of the room. Next came the side table, now adorn with bottles of oil and essence. As a final step, they each grabbed a side of a cotton sheet and laid it out flat over the wool-covered table.

"I wish I was a squire." Norwin thought aloud as he worked the edges of the sheet into a set of built-in hooks. "Then I could go to all of the tourneys in the Seven Kingdoms."

Jasmine gave a nonchalant hum. "Mhmm. And I wish I was working at a design firm. You can't help the cards you've been dealt with, kid."

"Cards?" His head popped up, nose scrunched at the strange phrase. "What cards?"

Jasmine silently rolled her eyes at the minor mistake. 'Oh idioms. Can't live with them, can't live without them.'

"I mean resources. Opportunities given by fate." She tucked the sheet into the hooks on her end, then gestured for the boy's attention. "Think of life as a game of cards. Each person is given a different set of cards. Some hands may be similar, some completely different. Either way, as I said before, the cards you receive can't be changed, not without some stroke of luck or cunning. What matters, however, is knowing how to use those cards to move forward in life."

The boy looked to her as he thought over the analogy. "How do I know what cards I have?"

"Well, you'll have to look at yourself and the world around you to figure it out." The look Norwin gave her spelled out pure confusion; so she opted to change tactics. "For example: I am a Switzer. My family, while large in North America, has no ties to Westeros. As a result, I have no access to any benefit that may come from that name."

She gestured the boy to take on that line of thinking. "Oh. I am Norwin Lannister. Second son to Gerold Lannister."

"Which means?"

"Which means… I can't be Lord of Casterly Rock. I'm too far down the line. Though not as far down as Damion."

"And?"

"And…"

"What does it mean to be a Lannister?"

"We are a noble House. We're rich as well."

"True. It also means that you have access to many advantages that most do not have. For example, as you grow older you may inherit land or be appointed to high positions of power."

"I'm only a second son," he complained "and my father is a third son!"

"Which brings us to the other cards in your hand. The Lannister card can be used in-combination with the others, such as knowledge and training. You can learn to fight under the eye of a master at arms, and use that to become a squire; and later a knight. You know how to read and write, and can gain additional knowledge from a maester. This can expand your ability to think strategically, and to communicate from long distances by raven or secret messages to your allies.

"Even without the privileges that come from a favourable spot in the line of succession you can accomplish quite a lot. Just look at me. I lost my family card, but have been able to put most of my other cards to use. My first education card is equal to that of any lordling under a maester. The second, though, couldn't be transferred to a title position. However, that didn't stop me from using my knowledge to work on other things that I had learned of in my homeland."

"Like the printing press?" Norwin asked.

She gave a warm smile. "Like the printing press."

Jasmine could afford some pride in that accomplishment. The machine was impressive, by this world's standards. Something that no one here had yet to create. Though the 'invention' was still a prototype. Nowhere as sophisticated as, say, a typewriter. The mechanics of such a machine were still beyond her; but that was likely to change once the distribution process began.

His eyes drifted to the table, and patted onto the sheet. "What about this?"

"Massage was my father's trade. I learned from him, and showed promise, but it wasn't something I was overly interested in pursuing back home. There were many who practiced the trade, and I didn't think I would be able to compete in the market. So the card went unused. Here, however, there is no market for it, so far as I'm aware. Which means that I can cater to wealthy clients here and in town and earn enough coin to continue my projects without much difficulty."

Norwin considered that. "I don't have a skill, though. How will that help me play my cards?"

The woman giggled. "You're young, Norwin. With plenty of growing left. I'm sure you have plenty of cards left in your hand. It's just that you don't know all of them yet or haven't worked on them long enough to be put to use. When I started here, I didn't known enough of mechanics to build, or anatomy and herblore to massage; but, look now, I can make my own oils and create tools like the press. All because I was able to study these topics and build on them. Not enough to forge a maester's link, but enough to get by. In time, you'll be able to do the same."

She walked to his side and playfully nudged him. "Plus, it doesn't help having an ally card. If it weren't for the charity of House Marbrand, and the friendships I've built here in Ashemark, none of this would have been possible."

At that moment their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Speak of the devil." She breathed. "Well, kid, looks like our time's up for the day. Get plenty of rest, and think about what I've told you."

The boy nodded and ran for the door. Letting her client inside before he sped into the corridor.


Appointments with Lady Sybelle are generally done in pleasant silence. The older woman used this time to absorb the soothing qualities of the trade. Allowing her body to relax fully under the tide of hands as they drifted through her muscles.

It was a time for peace, both for the lady and for Jasmine. Her other clients are far more talkative. Some were compelled to break the silence with idle chit-chat. Others were more prone to gossip. Others, still, used the experience to open up about themselves as though it were a therapy session.

Jasmine was familiar with each type of person. Her father had often commented how his business seemed to multitask between healer and counsellor. It was a product brought forth by the qualities of the experience, he explained. The near-nakedness met with the social craving for physical contact create a combination and contrast at the same time; where people feel both vulnerable and safe under the touch to speak their minds as they wouldn't do elsewhere.

Though that was only for those prone to nervous chatter or social cravings. Those that are unperturbed by nakedness, or are more aware of their body, tend to keep their focus entirely on the physical. There is no trauma or fear, only confidence and content relaxation. Which said more of her current client than Jasmine would have realized beyond this table.

That said, the sessions with Sybelle were also a training ground for Jasmine, in an odd sense. She was of the sort that preferred to break too-long silences; yet silence is what her client required. It resulted in days like these serving as lessons in restraint and mindful awareness.

As the hour reached it's end, the quiet of the room was interrupted by the groan of door hinges. Jasmine kept the session going on baited breath, while an eye was kept on the curtain. Unsure of who or why someone was coming to see her. The curtain rustled as two heads popped through. Though they were much lower than anticipated.

"Jam-Jam, is Grandmother here?" Alysanne inquired in an audibly childish whisper. Before she could answer, the young girl spotted Sybelle and ran into the studio. Her cousin, Desmond, trailing in behind her. "Grandmother, can you read us a story!"

"Your grandmother is busy right now, Alysanne." Jasmine attempted to quiet the excitable girl.

"It's quite alright, Switzer." Lady Sybelle gently pushed her head and shoulders off of the table and smiled fondly at her grandchildren. "Alysanne, Desmond, each of you may choose a story and wait outside until I fetch you."

"Two stories?" They gasped.

"Yes, my darlings, but only if you wait outside."

Alysanne cheered and grabbed her cousin's hand. "Thank you, Grandmother. Goodbye, Jam-Jam. Come, Desmond!"

"Goodbye, Jam-Jam." Desmond parroted as his cousin dragged him through the curtain and out the door.

Jasmine chuckled in spite of herself. "She can say Desmond alright, but somehow Jasmine's too tough for her."

"I believe you're stuck with that particular name." Lady Sybelle noted as she rested back onto the table.

Perhaps she was right? Alysanne had been calling her that from toddlerhood. Jasmine had hoped she'd grow out of it as her vocabulary improved. Though it didn't seem likely at this point.

"Guess so. ...Wait, now she has Desmond saying it too!"

"It will pass. Desmond is at the age where a child learns from modeling his elders. I imagine he will be chasing after Alyn and Jason once he begins his training with Bromwell."

Jasmine nodded and proceeded to rub excess oil from her client's body. It was hard to suppress the urge to chat, especially with the desire to point out that Desmond was technically the eldest of the two children; but it was clear that the conversation was at it's end. So she kept the comment to herself and continued with her work.

Once the massage was finished, she returned to the bed-side of her chambers to give her client privacy as she redressed. Taking the excess time to wash her hands in a small basin and remove the slick massage oil that encased them. After some time she was summoned back to the studio to assist with Lady Sybelle's corset. The appointment completing in ritualistic repetition.

"Here," The lady placed her hand in Jasmine's, "consider this a token of my gratitude."

Jasmine glanced at her hand. Payment in full for her services, with the addition of a silver coin and a small roll of parchment sealed in wax. Her eyes fixed on the parchment. So light, yet it felt heavy in her hand.

"My lady, if I may ask…" she looked up to find herself faced against the rustle of a curtain and an empty room.

Drat.

She was going to ask today. Had steeled herself in case a parchment came. Yet Sybelle had left the room before she could catch the moment. Intentional, most likely.

She hid the coins away in a compartment she'd installed in the wardrobe, then pocketed the parchment for safe keeping. The conscious feel of it burned a hole through her dress.

Cleaning the studio would have to wait, she decided. For now there a was a raven to tend to.


Author's Note: Time skip at last! As you read in the last note, I've been terribly impatient and wanted to move on from the first few months of life in Westeros. This chapter was a short one. More of a 'day in the life' of what she's been able to accomplish since landing here. I'm looking forward to having her life get better and grow as time moves on.