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Unremarkable People

Merry Christmas, lads and lassies! I've been writing fanfiction sporadically for the entire time this blog was in a state of hiatus, but the problem is, I never managed to FINISH any of it untill now, and even then, this one is pretty short. It's a plotless little thing meant to simply flesh out two background characters, basically just a pile of headcanons shaped like a fic. Very many thanks to Alex (@hurremsultanns) for inspiration! Trigger warning include, uh... I guess mentions of suicide, Hürrem hate and Hürrem fangirling. Enjoy!

Edit: God, this is so embarasing. I messed up the name of one of the characters and now some of y'all are probably thinking this fic is about Nazli and an OC - yeah, no, I just misremembered Esma's name as Selma, God knows how and God knows why I didn't realize my mistake untill I posted this thing. I am so, so sorry!

***

Over the years, Nazli had attended quite a few weddings, and on none of them the bride took her sweet time like on this one. True, knowing Esma, she probably just had an attack of stage fright in the baths; in fact, after a while, Nazli started to feel guilty for her initial annoyance. In fact, as the minutes dragged, she had to fight the feeling that she should, perhaps, go check in on dear colleague – despite knowing that doing so would go against Hürrem sultan’s explicit orders to go to the common room with the children and wait for their mistress there. And if nothing else, Esma’s designated helpers for the day were certainly in a better position to calm her down.

After all, it’s not like calming Esma down was that difficult of job.

Nazli did not consider herself a sentimental type, but it was hard not to get attached to Esma. Sultana’s children certainly had, which made it all the more impressive that Hürrem had graced her with manumition and a good husband, despite the protests of especially her daughter (whom Nazli hated an entirely disproportional amount considering she was only thirteen – then again, so did most of the other servants). Nazli was quite convinced that had His Majesty been present at the time, this wedding would not take place, but the girl’s mother was much more immune to the girl’s incessant whining. After all, though her sons were certainly sad to see Selma go, they had other servants to be fond of, and Selim and Bayezit relied on Mehmet’s judgement enough to in the end make peace with Selma’s departure. As of now, Nazli heard something about Mihrimah locking herself in her room in protest – then again, it’s not as if princess would’ve been missed on a wedding between servant and sipahi.

Where was Mehmet she did not know; her and Aysima’s charges were the younger boys, a task on which Firuze just somehow came to participate because of her attachement to the youngest. All around not the most unpleasant company to be in – Nazli harbored an instinctual antipathy towards Firuze, just because of how easily she was able to endear herself to everyone for seemingly no reason (she most certainly did not consider some potentially fraudulent sorcery an adequate reason, hence her coldness towards Firuze’s „successes“ in aleviating Cihangir’s pain). But she at least was mostly ignorable; Hürrem sultan didn’t have much use for her besides caring for her youngest anyhow, even if she still seemed infuriatingly fond of her.

Nazli’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar call. „Attention! Her Majesty Hürrem sultan is coming!“ And indeed she came, gorgeous and impeccably dressed as usual, with her famous crown sitting proudly on her head and a few choice servants accompanying her. Right after her, the lucky bride entered the room, and Nazli had to compliment her helpers on a job well done. Esma looked quite fetching in a small red cap rimmed with a braid of fabric, dress of the same colour with open, semitransparent sleeves and kaftan with a tasteful little white embroidery. On her neck, Nazli noticed one of several wedding gifts Hürrem sultan gave her the night prior; then again, extreme generosity towards her servants was par for the course for the sultana. She was evidently nervous and not as happy as the occassion would warrant, though at least she didn’t seem to have cried, which was a good sign. She kissed the hem of sultana’s dress, and sultana spoke out, somewhat melancholically. „Go, hatun. Go, and be happy.“

Esma threw a last, quick glance to the side, to Nazli, Aysima, Firuze, Fatmanur, Muhsine and the others. There were no more words to exchange between them, no tears to shed. All the goodbyes were spoken as the music on her kina gecesi faded and dawn was breaking. „What will sultana’s children do without me?“ she told Nazli once she was no longer sobbing, but her eyes were still wet with tears. „You must promise me you’ll take special care of them and those that are supposed to replace me. I simply cannot trust anyone else.“

This shocked Nazli a bit. „Not even Firuze?“

„Certainly not as much as you! I mean... I don’t want to say anything, she is a very nice girl, very helpful... But she has only been here for a short while, and I’ve known you since forever...“

All Nazli could muster was an „Oh dear.“ and a tight hug. „Allah, I am going to miss you so badly. I am happy for you, but also mad that you are leaving me here with these idiots.“ she whispered in her ear.

Esma chuckled. „Oh, stop it. You like them and you know it.“

„Depends on who’s „them“, I guess.“ With these words, she let Esma go.

Esma sighed. „If you hate them so much... Well, sultana offered you a way out too.“

Nazli smirked. „She didn’t really mean it. Haven’t you seen how quickly she conceded to my begging? Besides, a way out of what? I’d only go from serving the greatest sultana the world has ever known – and, by proxy, His Majesty the sultan – to serving some fat merchant and perhaps a brood of his children, whether mine or his previous wife’s.“

Esma shrugged with one shoulder. „Well, my husband is not a fat merchant.“

„No, but Melek’s was. And Gülnihal’s... Well, he wasn’t fat, but he was damn old. I can’t imagine living with him was very pleasant.“

„At least he wasn’t long for this world.“ Esma said with a melancholic expression – and then she covered her mouth, shocked by her own words. „Oh, I am sorry, I...“

Nazli gave her a generous, but sardonic smile. „We’ve all been thinking it since we heard of his passing. And at least she has a new husband now – a much younger and prettier one, I’ve heard.“

Esma sighed. „I hope I can meet her again.“

„You think your husband will let you travel to Bursa?!“

She looked at Nazli with one of her patented sad gazes – why oh why must’ve Almighty given the girl such big, innocent eyes? Was it purely for dramatic appropriateness? „No, but... A girl can dream.“ She sighed. „I never got to thank her.“ Gülnihal was the one who recommended Esma to Hürrem sultan, and without her, the great sultana would certainly never take Esma into service, since before that, they didn’t get along much. Having been there at Gülnihal’s wedding, Nazli knew the only reason Esma never got to say her thank you, farewell or really much of anything was because of her own crippling shyness. But she managed to bite her tongue; this really was the time for teasing and bickering, however well-intentioned.

She never really understood what were women supposed to get from marriage, anyway. Perhaps if she could choose a husband, as she would back in Rohatyn, when she was just a daughter of a petty merchant... But as much as Nazli adored Hürrem sultan, after hearing what husband she picked Gülnihal, she did not trust her matchmaking skills. Well, she suspected that waiting a few years untill his young, beautiful wife tires the man’s poor old heart so much it gives out, then letting her enjoy the life of a rich widow had been the plan all along. And if Gülnihal was willing to stick it out for those couple of years, then good for her, but there was nothing Nazli hated more than the image of some ugly, sweaty man in her, on top of her, everywhere around her...

She could not stand such a thing even for a short period, was what she meant.

Of course, that was not a problem Esma would ever have to deal with. Hürrem sultan selected a husband for her favourite servant with special care, landing on one Hakan agha, a young sipahi with especially good looks and excellent reputation among the ladies of the city. Of course, Esma would not see that beautiful face very often, as even now he was discharged only for a short honeymoon, and was supposed to return to the Persian front right after that. In Nazli’s opinion, that didn’t sound so bad, being left to run one’s household as she pleases, but she had to admit, love – and unlike Nazli, Esma was a sentimental type, so it was likely that with such a husband, infatuation could set in very fast – changed the equation somewhat.

Either way, she could only pray for Esma’s happiness; after all, if there was anyone who deserved it, it was Esma.

---

If there was an occassion that Esma feared more than anything, it was dying for something not worth it. She felt quite fearless in face of chilbirth, as brining a child into the world was indeed a matter worth giving your life for. So far, she had born two boys, though the younger one left this world as quickly as he came to it. Dying of an illness, that too wasn’t that bad of a death, as Esma thought of such matters as simply God’s will, just as her late father did on his deathbed. No, a truly unbearable thought in Esma’s mind had always been dying just because one got tangled up in the powerplays of the harem. Then again, she supposed Nazli would’ve seen it differently.

Today, she did nothing but pray for her soul, because she suspected noone else will. News of her demise reached Esma via her regular correspondence with Gülnihal, who in turn stayed in touch the same way with none other than Hürrem sultan. Details of the incident that cost Esma’s old comrade her life were quite murky. According to Gülnihal’s telling of Hürrem’s words, sultana uncovered some letters, the content of which could’ve been used to drive a wedge between two sisters of sultan Süleyman now living in Istanbul. What this conflict was even about wasn’t entirely clear, but whatever the case, their response was entirely disproportionate – they chose Nazli as a scapegoat, tortured her into confessing that she forged the letters, and after she broke under torture, guilt of „betraying“ her mistress soon drove her to suicide. Well, at least that was Gülnihal’s telling; the implications were worse still, because Nazli was a woman of steel nerves and unwavering loyalty to Hürrem. Whenever Hürrem needed assistance in some sort of shady enterprise, she called on Nazli before anyone else. If they actually broke her, Esma could not even imagine the things she must’ve been put trough to achieve that. Even still, Hürrem herself wasn’t entirely certain her friend’s death was a suicide, as the only evidence she had was the testimony of Hatice sultan, who would’ve been a prime suspect had Nazli simply been silenced. And all that for the monumental sin of... Trying to drive a wedge between two sisters, which as child Esma and her three little sisters could attest was something that would under normal circumstances scarcely need more than a gentle push. Now, in Esma’s experience, it was entirely possible that Hürrem simply covered up details that made her look bad; perhaps she accused one of the sisters of some terrible crime? Well, maybe, though she also knew Hatice was becoming more and more vicious in her hatred of Hürrem, and according to Gülnihal, she only got worse since the passing of Ibrahim pasha. In sum, as much as Esma wanted to blame Hürrem for the tragedy, she simply did not have enough information.

Well, not that she came out of the whole affair completely innocent either way. Whatever the measure of their fault in Nazli’s death, Hürrem, Hatice and that other woman (what was her name, anyway?) all held some amount of culpability. And unfortunately, no matter what the truth of the matter was, the incident seemed tailor-made to only confirm Esma’s deepest prejudices about faithful servants and their foolishness. Because, though Esma wasn’t a traitor by nature, she had to admit to being somewhat cowardly, and if she ever found herself under the same pressure as Nazli, she was under no delusion about her ability to resist it.

Then again, such a thing was always quite unlikely – Esma’s main asset for surviving the harem had always been the façade of a pleasant, weak-willed girl, which like all the best façades held a kernel of truth, made to look like the whole of the ear. Indeed, when she first came to the harem, she was nothing more than a scared young girl, broken by the loss of her loving (though poor) family. After she adjusted to the conditions in the harem, she did try to stand up for herself a couple of times, but unless one was of some rank and status, such efforts generally weren’t appreciated. And for Esma, achieving rank and status seemed night-impossible. She certainly wouldn’t cut it as a concubine, both because of her comely dark features (to think she for a moment hoped that in the harem, where women were supposed to shed their tribe and homeland, she’d at least be able to stop being a Gypsy) and her fear of intimacy (which was quite ironic, since as of now sex and children were the only pleasures she was able to get from this marriage – what with her husband being, unfortunately, a quite unpleasant character). She had hoped to at least reach for the title of a kalfa trough her service to Hürrem sultan, which is why she first expressed interest in it to Gülnihal. Esma could still remember how her heart skipped a beat when Gülnihal said. „As of now, what Hürrem sultan needs the most is someone to take care of her child.“

Esma dropped her gaze in a gesture of half-sincere modesty. „Well, as it happens, I had seven younger siblings – three of them much younger than me, and our father died when I was only ten, so my mother needed all the help she could get. So I’d say I do have some experience with raising children. Also, I just... Love kids.“ She blurted out the last sentence quickly, only realizing how stupid it sounds as it was leaving her mouth.

At the moment, Gülnihal only shot her a confused look and changed the topic, but soon thereafter, Nigar gathered her and a few other girls to tell them they had been chosen for Hürrem sultan’s household. Esma was surprised to find out that said household consisted mostly of girls that spoke Rusyn, especially those that have been taken in the same raid on Rohatyn and the surrounding area as Esma, Hürrem and Gülnihal. Why it was so Esma wasn’t sure; as the years went by, Hürrem spoke Rusyn with them less and less, though she always seemed to have more trust in girls from her homeland than those from other parts of the world she hired as her household expanded. When it came to Esma herself, she always found said trust somewhat misplaced, as from the start she thought Hürrem moody, petulant and in general not a very admirable person. This was in contrast to Nazli, who seemed genuinely fascinated by Hürrem ever since she won the Thursday night from Mahidevran. „I am just saying – she must be doing something right, no?“

At that, Esma furrowed her brow in doubt. „And you want to copy her method or something?“

Nazli defiantly stuck out her lower lip. „Just so you know, I’d never dream of being a favourite! I mean, what are the chances sultan himself would even look at me, anyway?! Impossible! I’d be extraordinarily lucky to even have him send for me...“

„With your face? Certainly!“ laughed one of the girls they sat at the table with – she was named something long begining with Fer-, Esma didn’t remember her exactly, since she didn’t exactly seek out her company (Fersomething was always like that).

Years later, when the work has long since brought them together, Esma asked Nazli to elaborate on her feelings towards their mistress. Nazli only smiled dreamily. „Can’t you see it? She has such a... Fiery spirit. It is as if there was a star in her soul, shining brightly...“

Esma rolled her eyes. „She’s just a bit of a bitch, that’s all.“

„Oh, if only she could hear you! She’s proud, that’s what she is. Proud and defiant...“

„The kind of personality that you’d think would get her killed, and it very nearly did a couple of times...“

„And yet it didn’t! Not only that, but sultan loves her more and more each day. Of course, some of it must be because of how extraordinarily beautiful she is...“

Esma only shrugged. „Well, I guess that’s true. I mean, if you want to know my opinion, Mahidevran is even more beautiful, but I am not a man, let alone sultan, so...“

Despite that qualifier, Nazli looked at her as if she was about to punch Esma good and hard. However, she continued talking instead. „Hürrem sultan is also very clever.“

„Not clever enough to not get in trouble constantly!“

Nazli seemed unfazed by this comment. „As I’ve said, she’s proud and free-spirited. Cannot suffer mockery or some other kind of degradation from anyone.“

Esma only rolled her eyes once again. „Sure.“

This really seemed to send Nazli over the edge. „Listen, if you’ve served Hürrem sultan for so long and cannot see her virtues...“

„I can! I just don’t like her that much, you know? I mean, I spend most of the time with her children anyway...“

„And she’s a kind, caring mother too!“

„I mean, she’s not that bad of a mum, I’ll give her that, but I don’t think she’s especially caring or something considering how much time we have to spend with them.“

„At least she is smart enough to entrust them to you! You’re great with kids!“

Esma suddenly felt blood rushing to her face, unused as she was to compliments – especially from Nazli. This one completely silenced her, ending their conversation, and Esma never really asked about Hürrem’s appeal ever again.

Around the time of Bayezit’s birth, Nazli confessed to Esma to having an unspecified „daliance“ with a girl named Hanzade, and Esma later did see them sneaking off to the laundry room at an ungodly hour, though considering how diligent Nazli was in her duties, Esma couldn’t imagine this daliance must’ve been very intense. There were also rumors going around that Nazli might’ve recommended one of their colleagues, Aysima, to Hürrem solely because she was smitten by Aysima’s beauty – though this time, Nazli herself didn’t tell Esma anything, so who knows. Either way, over the years, Esma became convinced that Nazli has caught the occupational dissease, caused in many harem girls by living so far from the laws of man or God, steered solely by the wills of their masters and superiors: tribadism. Not that Esma judged her too much – she never understood the temptation, but then, before her early thirties, she was completely unfamiliar with sexual desire as a whole, and romance unfortunately evaded her to this day. In fact, she misliked even thinking of such matters, prefering to ignore them whenever possible, and since Nazli never expressed any interest towards her, Nazli’s little misdemeanors were very ignorable. That said, it was probably the best explanation Esma ever found for Nazli’s strangely intense admiration towards Hürrem sultan, though she held her friend in high enough esteem to take her explanations as also constituting part of the truth. Nazli did indeed find Hürrem worthy of genuine awe, it’s just that the character of this awe might’ve been tangled up with other feelings also.

It must be said that Esma knew plenty of other ladies, many of whom had a significantly less intimate knowledge of Hürrem as a person, whose adulation of Hürrem was just as unquestioning, especially once she achieved the impossible by marrying the sultan himself. Perhaps, she told herself at the end of her ruminations, Esma herself is the odd one for being unable to ignore Hürrem’s flaws, quirks and foibles. Perhaps acknowledging her extraordinary feats and nature is simply the done thing for most normal people.

At the same time... Why should this exceptional existence matter to average people like her and Nazli?

And was Nazli even all that unremarkable to begin with?

Or just unlucky to be born how she was born and placed where she was placed by the whims of fate?

Esma wasn’t quite sure. All she knew was that she herself actually was unremarkable, and that was the way she wanted to be. The only traits she consciously developed were her ability to stay silent unless she truly needs to speak, as oposed to simply wanting to, and her love and understanding of children. Esma’s ambition to become a kalfa had always been somewhat limp, and as the years went by, it faded away completely as she became more and more thoroughly consumed by her love and devotion to Hürrem’s children. She still missed them terribly – Mehmet’s kind nature, Mihrimah’s keen mind and strong will, Selim’s diligence and hard work and Bayezit’s sweet, but shy demeanor. Nothing bothered her more than the thought of never knowing anything about what Cihangir will grow up to be like, perhaps besides the thought of Selim allegedly becoming more disobedient since her departure. She was only able to admit it after she left them behind, but despite her best efforts, she did find a favourite among them, specifically in little Selim.

Of course, Esma had another Selim she dedicated her life to now.

The boy had her eyes and face shape, though otherwise he inherited his father’s features and much lighter colouring. He was lively and sometimes mischievious, but she still loved him with the kind of intense, boundless love her otherwise somewhat cynical heart was able to only give to children. Though thinking of Nazli and the rest of her former colleagues, she had to admit to sometimes finding surprisingly strong bonds with adults also.

One day, when her Selim is old enough to understand it, he is doubtless going to be curious about the time his mother spent in service to the most famous sultana of all time. And when that time comes, she will take great care that the stories of her comrades will be told.

The world is a dark, cruel place, after all. A man, and a woman especially, need to take their humanity where they can get it. And while Nazli found it in servitude, Esma did so in a place that she herself found altogether more dignified.

Well, at least that was her humble opinion.

#magnificent century #nazli hatun #esma hatun