Bath in mother's hands

The room was quiet. The crackling of the fireplace and the wind brushing against the windows were the only sounds to be heard. Lady Alys sat in her large wooden chair, her back straight, her hands resting on the armrests, her eyes carefully studying Tim.

A servant entered carrying a large brass basin filled with warm water. Steam rose from its surface. Soft cloths and clean towels were placed beside it, and without even glancing at Tim, the servant bowed and left. The door closed behind them.

Alys never took her eyes off Tim. A gentle smile rested on her lips.

“Let me see you stand, boy.”

Tim straightened up. He held his hands at his sides and tried to make himself look taller. But even then, his height did not reach Lady Alys’s shoulders. She was seated and he was standing, yet she still seemed taller than him.

Alys tilted her head slightly and examined him from head to toe with a scrutinizing gaze.

“The dirt and dust of the road need to be washed away. Come closer.”

Tim took a few steps forward until he stood in front of her knees.

Without a word, Alys reached out and unfastened the leather sword belt, setting it aside. Then she turned her attention to his old patched shirt. Her skilled, powerful fingers found the worn buttons and undid them one by one. The dirty fabric slipped from Tim’s thin shoulders and fell to the floor.

Tim took a deep breath. His body shivered in the warm air of the room.

“Take off your trousers too, boy.”

Tim hesitated for a moment. Not out of embarrassment. In the taverns and brothels of King’s Landing, he had been seen naked many times before. Sometimes, in damp cellars, he washed himself with cold well water while drunken, laughing women passed by and mocked his short stature and prominent bones. It was not the first time a woman had seen him unclothed.

But this was different.

The woman before him was not a laughing prostitute or an indifferent innkeeper. She was Lady Alys Karstark, a powerful woman to whom her entire house had sworn loyalty. This was not a filthy cellar. This was a warm chamber in Winterfell, with a basin of hot water and soft, clean towels. And he was not about to wash himself. A woman was going to wash him.

Tim loosened the drawstring of his trousers. The worn garment slipped down, and he stood completely naked before Lady Alys.

Alys let her gaze travel over Tim’s frail body. His ribs were plainly visible beneath his skin, his stomach hollow, his legs thin, and his small, unremarkable member hanging between them. Her smile widened—not in mockery, but with a kind of protective affection.

“By the Old Gods... look at this body. Eighteen years old, and this? No, sweetheart. Your body belongs to a twelve-year-old boy who hasn’t eaten properly. Look how small you are... here.”

She gently traced a finger across his bony chest.

“You can count every bone. And here...”

Her hand moved lower, over his sunken stomach.

“It’s as if you’ve never once had your fill.”

Tim blushed. Not because of his nakedness, but because someone was seeing him this way. Because a woman cared. A powerful woman who was now looking at him like a child worthy of compassion.

Alys withdrew her hand and gestured toward the basin.

“Come here. Kneel in front of me, boy.”

Tim lowered himself onto his knees. His head was now level with Alys’s thighs. Alys picked up a soft cloth, dipped it into the warm water, and wrung it out. Steam rose from the fabric.

“Look at me.”

Tim lifted his eyes.

Alys pressed the warm cloth to his forehead and slowly, patiently, wiped away the dust, sweat, and grime of the road. She spoke softly, in a tone that reminded him of someone speaking to a child.

“Close your eyes, my boy.”

Tim obeyed. The warm cloth passed over his eyelids and cheeks, then down to his neck, behind his ears, and lower across his chest and stomach. With great care, Alys washed every inch of his small body. Dirty brown water dripped from him onto the stone floor, but Tim no longer felt cold.

Alys changed the cloth and used cleaner water, washing between his legs with the same calm, matter-of-fact care, paying no attention to the size of his body. When she reached him there, she gently passed the cloth over him and said:

“There’s no shame here, boy. You’re with your mother now.”

Tim trembled. Not from the cold, but from the warmth of that word.

Mother.

Alys set the cloth aside and dried him with a large, soft towel. Then she slipped her hands beneath his arms and, in one smooth motion, lifted him from his knees and settled him onto her lap.

Tim now sat in Lady Alys’s lap like a child sitting with his mother. His head rested against her chest, his bare legs hung over one side, and his thin body was enclosed within the circle of her strong arms.

Alys rested her chin atop his head and let out a sigh.

“Now tell me, my little boy... how many times have women seen you like this?”

In a strained, childlike voice, Tim whispered,

“Many times... but no one ever... no one ever washed me.”

Alys swallowed the lump in her throat. She raised a hand and stroked his damp hair.

“Because they weren’t your mother. I am. Here, in this room, in this castle, for as long as I live, you are my son. And a mother’s duty is to take care of her son... even if that son has already grown up.”

She pulled him closer into her embrace. His small body trembled against her tall, warm frame while she stroked his back and whispered:

“There now, my good boy. Your mother is here...”