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Discworld Gen & Humour
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2025-05-12
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Common Ground

Summary:

Sybil meets Nanny Ogg at a party; the Duchess of Ankh can talk to anyone, and Nanny can always lower the tone...

Notes:

I've been taking prompts on Tumblr for fics featuring characters that never met in the books, just for fun. I'll probably put them in a collection if I do manage to write more than one.

Work Text:

Sybil sipped a glass of wine, as beside her the King of Lancre waffled on about the challenges of introducing a democratic parliament to a kingdom of people that believed every man apart from themselves was an idiot. She wondered privately why he was bothering, but suspected if she asked he wouldn’t understand the question.

Across the great hall of the castle she could see Sam engaged in conversation with Shawn Ogg. She was sure she’d seen the boy cleaning the privies earlier, but now the lad was wearing a guard uniform and seemed to be watching, fascinated, as her husband showcased a fighting move she’d once heard him refer to as The Nutcracker. She winced sympathetically as the young man went slightly pale.

Verence had continued talking while she was distracted, however, and appeared to be patiently awaiting a response to a question she had completely lost track of.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, your majesty; what were you saying?”

The king blinked. “Ah, simply that I understand Ankh-Morpork did away with kings some time ago?”

Sybil waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, yes. The last one was awful. Thankfully a relative of my husband chopped off the man’s head. And various other bits, I understand.”

“Ah.” Verence glanced across the room towards Sam, who was still talking to Shawn and appeared now to be explaining the principles behind an effective throat punch in a fairly demonstrative fashion. “Er. A very distant relative, was it?”

She gave him a bright grin. “Not really, no.”

“Hm,” he said vaguely, and Sybil watched several thoughts pass fleetingly across his face. He was opening his mouth to give voice to one of them when they were interrupted by a woman dressed all in black and with a face like a wizened apple.

“Wotcha, your majesty.” The woman plonked herself in front of Verence, a bottle in one hand and turkey drumstick in the other, and Sybil noticed how the king seemed almost to brace himself before he greeted her.

“Oh. Hello, Nanny. Um, have you seen the queen, anywhere? I just need to go and…” He took a half step backwards and made a show of looking around the room before he trailed off hopelessly.

The apple-faced woman grinned. “Magrat? She took your boy upstairs to clean up. Poor bairn fell in the midden.”

“Oh, gods.” Verence started to walk off, before apparently remembering he was the king and turning back to the two women. “Oh, so sorry…I’ve forgotten my manners…um, Nanny, this is Her Grace, Lady Sybil Vimes, Duchess of Ankh. Your grace, this is…er. Mrs Gytha Ogg. We call her Nanny. She’s one of our very, um, esteemed witches.” He made a vague gesture towards them both. “I’m sure you’ll have lots to discuss, but please do excuse me…” 

The pair stared after him as he navigated through the crowd, then turned back to each other. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Ogg,” Sybil said, putting on her most diplomatic smile. “Lovely party, isn’t it?”

Nanny eyeballed her from beneath a pointy black hat that also, Sybil now noted, had a garish assortment of wax fruits adorning the brim. 

“Aye, not bad, I suppose. Grub’s alright, anyway.” She waved the turkey leg as emphasis, then carried on. “Duchess, eh? We don’t get many of them around here. Is that higher or lower than an Earl?” 

“Oh.” Sybil felt her cheeks start to colour. “Higher. But please, call me Sybil.” 

Nanny took a swig from the bottle and swallowed it with a satisfied noise. “Righto. And you can call me Nanny. You just here for the party?”

“Yes. Lord Vetinari couldn’t make it, unfortunately, so Sam and I attended to represent the city.”

Nanny considered this. “Vetinari? That’s the tall fella, isn’t it? Dresses like a witch and looks like he needs a damned good meal? Or maybe just a damned good seeing to.” She grinned, lewdly.

A loud giggle erupted from Sybil before she had a chance to run it through her diplomatic filter, and she covered her mouth in embarrassment and glanced down at the glass in her hand. “Oh dear. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second drink.” She raised an eyebrow at Nanny. “But yes. That’s Havelock. You sound like you’ve met him?”

Nanny had a glint in her eye, now. “Oh, yes, I’ve met ‘im. Me and Esme went to the opera a few years back, and he was there too. He told me how they’d served up my Carrot and Oyster Pie at the palace, once.”

Sybil stared at her, eyes wide. “That was your recipe?! Goodness, that pie caused some ructions.” She thought back to the night in question; she hadn’t been at the palace for the dinner, but Sam certainly had been, right up until the point he’d run home and dived straight into a cold bath, anyway. She glanced across at him and smiled fondly at the memory.

“Yep. That’s me.” Nanny was watching her, and now she followed her gaze. “That your husband, with our Shawn?”

“Oh, Shawn Ogg, of course; I should have realised. And yes, that’s Sam.” She paused as they watched him. “Shawn is a lovely boy; a real credit to you. I’m afraid I’m not sure exactly what Sam’s showing him, though…”

That wasn’t entirely true; she had once seen Sam use that particular move on a very drunk lord who had gotten overly friendly with her at a party. Rumour had it the man had moved to Omnia to become a priest after his encounter with the Duke of Ankh.

But Nanny was preening in the way of proud parents everywhere when complimented on their children. “He’s a good lad, Shawn. Doesn’t always have both oars in the water, mind, but he tries. He keeps things ticking over up here, anyway.”

“Yes, I can certainly see that.” Sybil took another sip of her wine. “Do you have other children?”

Nanny continued to stare fondly at Shawn. “Oh, yes. I had fifteen of the buggers. But I’ve buried a few of ‘em over the years, ‘o course.”

Sybil felt herself momentarily lost for words, which was rather unexpected, since a lifetime of social obligations had left her with an extremely high boredom threshold and - usually - an endless reserve of polite small talk. But she was hit by the sudden image of Young Sam sleeping soundly upstairs, and felt an ache deep in her chest that seemed to rob her of speech.

“Oh, good heavens, I am so sorry,” she finally said, with naked sincerity.

Nanny shrugged, still watching the two men. “Life’s hard ‘round these parts. There’s nothing to be gained from moping about it.” She frowned slightly, and turned back to Sybil. “How old’s your bairn?”

“Nearly one.” Sybil felt the ache start to ease somewhat. “He’s upstairs with the nanny.”

“I reckoned as much.” Nanny saw Sybil’s questioning look and smiled. “You looked for him, when I mentioned about mine that I’d lost. Mothers do that.” She nodded back towards Sam and Shawn. “Your man, there. He a good dad?”

“Oh, yes.” She hesitated briefly, then added, “He tries his best, certainly. And he’s lovely with him. But…busy, you know. Work takes a lot of him.” Sybil wondered if it was the wine making her talk so openly, but suspected it was simply that Nanny gave off the kind of vibe that suggested she had known you all of your life; it was more effort not to talk to her.

The other woman narrowed her eyes a little. “I had a husband like that. Mind, the other two were so lazy they’d have paid someone to wipe their arses for ‘em if they could, and that weren’t any better.” She took a bite of the turkey leg and chewed it thoughtfully, then said, “You told him you’d like him around more?”

Sybil frowned. “Sam’s job is very important. He’s trying to make the city better. I won’t have him feel guilty for that just to make my life easier.”

The stripped turkey leg was discarded onto an empty platter carried by a passing waitress, and now Nanny fished about inside a pocket and pulled out a pipe. She cast a glance around, but in the absence of any handy flat surfaces she tucked the bottle between her knees while she lit the pipe. “Well,” she said, as she shook out the match and retrieved the bottle, “that’s all well and good for you, if you’re willing; I dare say plenty of women are happier with their men out from under their feet. But it ain’t a decision you’re making just for you, anymore, is it?”

Sybil hesitated. “No. I suppose not.”

Nanny puffed the pipe and looked her up and down appraisingly. “You’ll not have any more?”

“No. I suppose I might have liked another, but I’ve been told another birth would simply be too risky. Besides, neither of us are getting any younger.”

“Ha. I always say age is a state of mind, but when it comes to babbies…well, they takes a toll on a body.” Nanny stared out across the room, to where a severe looking woman also dressed in black was scowling at the crowd from the shadows. “One’s fine, though. Sometimes more’n one just makes things… complicated. And that can turn pretty nasty.” 

Sybil followed her gaze. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s just Esme.” Nanny grinned again. “I s’pose I should go and grab her before she forgets it's a party and starts cursin’ folk for havin’ fun.”

“Of course, Mrs - Nanny. It’s been very nice chatting.” Sybil hesitated, and then looked over at where Sam was now talking to a man with a furious-looking bird perched on his wrist. She nibbled her lower lip, and dropped her voice. “Um…before you go…?”

The witch raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“...Do you think I could perhaps get the recipe for that pie…?”

Nanny took the pipe from her mouth and cackled. “Ha! I tell you what, Your Ladyship, I’ll have Shawn bring you up a copy of my book before you leave. I dare say there’s a few recipes in there you and your man might enjoy.” She gave the woman beside her a conspiratorial nudge with an elbow, and Sybil blushed pinkly. “You might want to be careful though, if you’re serious about not wanting any more little surprises. Although I can give you something to help with that, too, if you’re interested.”

Sybil blinked. “Oh, that won’t be necessary, thank you. But the book would be, um, gratefully received. It’s very kind of you.”

“Well, when you get to a certain age you needs all the help you can get, am I right?” Nanny peered into her bottle and then tipped the rest of the contents into Sybil’s empty glass, giving her a wink as she did. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Your Ladyship.”

Nanny wandered off, elbowing her way across the hall towards the woman she’d called Esme. Sybil peered down into the glass and took a cautious sniff; she’d thought it must be wine, by the way the woman was swigging it, but the haze of liquor emanating from it made her nose burn and her eyes water. 

Sam appeared beside her a second later, a handkerchief wrapped tightly around his finger and a faint bloom of red seeping through it. 

“Hello, dear,” she said as she swilled the liquid around thoughtfully in the glass. “Have you been making friends?” 

Her husband scowled. “I got bitten by a bird.”

“I can see that. That was a Lancre Crowhawk, Sam; frankly you’re lucky you still have both your thumbs.”

“Oh? Well, your sympathy is appreciated as ever, dear.” 

Sybil finally took a careful sip from her glass and immediately started coughing. The bit she managed to swallow seemed to have an instant effect, however; she suspected the alcohol may have bypassed her stomach and burned its way directly into her bloodstream on the way down. 

“Wstgl!!” she said.

Sam raised an concerned eyebrow. “You alright, there?” His wife managed a vague nod, and he looked at her with some skepticism. “Didn’t Verence warn us against accepting anything off the witches, when we arrived?”

Sybil had pulled a fan out of a pocket and was wafting it briskly in front of her face as she caught her breath again. “She was drinking it like it was water! Good gods, Sam. I can’t feel my knees!” She swayed a little

Her husband snorted, and grabbed her elbow to steady her. “Ha! I don’t miss those days. This is probably a good excuse to leave, though?” 

Sybil, insofar as she was capable of any coherent thought currently, believed he sounded rather hopeful.

“Yes, alright. You might need to help me up  the stairs, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll give you a damned piggyback up them, if it means getting out of these tights.” 

Sybil grinned at him. “Well,” she said, as she slipped her arm through his and allowed herself to be guided gently out through the heaving hall, “on that note, just wait until I tell you what else Mrs Ogg is giving me…”