Chapter Text
The baby is crying again.
Despite the estate's thick walls and the numerous servants working inside, the shrieking wails resonate through the vast hallways. Tim stops, his hands still for a moment. It’s been a couple of days since Lord Wayne returned with a newborn in hand, shocking the rest of the town.
Everyone is getting used to Wayne's newest member.
There isn’t much information out there—Word around says that the newborn, Damian Wayne Al-Ghul, was a product of a reckless night. Others say Damian is another charity case, thanks to Lord Wayne’s grand generosity in taking in strays and raising them as if they were blood—except that the baby's mother is unknown.
Rumors say it’s from her side: Damian Wayne carries those sparkling green eyes. Hushed whispers in the corridors, spoken whenever the steward isn’t looking, speak of a brilliant and fierce woman.
A princess of some sort, from the east side of the continent.
Tim sometimes wonders what the rest of the world looks like. Whenever his calloused hands, roughened from years of washing and scrubbing clothes by hand, start spasming from overuse, Tim wonders what life outside the Manor’s estate looks like.
Is the outside world as dangerous as they say? Are bandits on every road and place? Or is this just another instrument used to quiet the servants and keep them from escaping? Tim doesn’t know. He doubts he’ll ever find out.
The estate has strict rules for those who dare to run away from their contract. Anyone found running from the estate will be punished swiftly. Tim has seen it with his own eyes. To this day, he still remembers the night a runaway servant was brought back. The guards dragged him to meet his swift punishment. There had been no mercy. No second chances.
A servant's life is dedicated to serving a Lord. It is not an easy life. If a servant doesn’t meet the steward’s expectations, punishment follows. Pennyworth runs the estate with an iron fist. Thanks to him, the estate runs smoothly, providing fresh produce from its fields and keeping the Lord’s hearth warm.
The dozens of guards keeping watch also serve as a deterrent—strong and burly men who could easily snap Tim’s wrist in two. They’re practically everywhere, often seen around each corner and where the Lord’s children practice. Security isn't an issue at the Wayne estate. It’s perhaps the safest place for a servant around here.
Tim didn’t always live here. He grew up in the southern fields, back when the sun didn’t hit his face as hard, and wheat grew past his height. Born as the first son of two farmers, his destiny had been bright. It would have been a simple life. He would have inherited his parents’ life and worked in the field.
Until a particularly rough season killed all his parents' crops; the frost spared them no mercy. The few animals they had began to thin out until his parents were forced to sign a contract and put their kid in the Wayne estate.
Three hundred golden coins. That was all Tim was worth—the equivalent of two cows and half a goat. Due to a small blemish in his body, a broken foot that never healed right, Tim had been swiftly moved to the servant quarters. He was forced to work his entire life in servitude to Lord Wayne.
And now he's here, working to pay off his debt. He has two hands deep in a bucket of water and soapwort. He must dutifully wash six pieces of clothing before midday, unless he wants to face the steward’s displeasure. They’re the good kind. Cotton clothes. The kind of clothing Tim can only dream of, because his monthly stipend could never afford it.
Meanwhile, the crying continues. By now, a wet nurse would have tended to the lord’s newborn needs, opting to nurse the baby. Or one of his baby’s brothers would have taken the reins, yet with each passing second, the shrieks build into a crescendo.
A flicker of hesitation crosses his face before his grip on the half-washed pant tightens. The baby’s necessities are not his problem. Tim has been raised to be a house servant. His duties are to wash Lord Wayne’s children's garments and fold clothing. Caring for children is not part of the equation.
And yet…
As the seconds trickle by, Tim’s resolve starts to waver. The Wayne family is away, visiting their long-distance relatives, fifteen miles north of the estate. He saw the carriage leave today, meaning Lord Wayne’s baby is currently being cared for by the inexperienced wet nurses. They probably don’t know how to deal with a baby’s colic or calm a newborn’s frenzy.
Luckily, Tim knows a thing or two about handling a fussy baby. Before Tim turned twelve—and by then was deemed qualified to start paying his contract—he’d been in charge of the servant’s kids. Dozens of children, varying in age and size, trusted Tim.
Through trial and error, Tim learned how to read a baby silently. He learned which herbs could and couldn't soothe an upset stomach—and the right way to rock a baby. How to differentiate a hungry cry from a bored one.
If the wet nurses are having a hard time, perhaps Tim can lend them a hand. A small thing, so the baby can go back to sleep while the rest of the Wayne family are away, and then Tim can go on his merry way.