Gianna used a wooden spoon to bring the simmering liquid to her lips. She blew briefly then tasted the creation she had been slaving over all day. "Needs more salt," she murmured for the one hundredth time that day. She sprinkled another pile of salt into the base broth and began to stir it again.
She turned to look around the kitchen in Castle Dour's Emperor Tower. The room was small, dominated by the cook fire and large tables for food preparation. Several storage pantries led away from the main kitchen and Gianna had checked them thoroughly, reviewing all of the ingredients she had available. She had already counted them and recounted them, twice, but she needed everything to be perfect. The Gourmet was coming and she would rather die than disappoint him.
The Gourmet was a legend in Breton cuisine. He had written the book on the matter, quite literally. The Gourmet's identity was a closely guarded secret all across Tamriel and today she was going to be assisting the Gourmet with the creation of the penultimate recipe from his best selling cookbook: The Potage le Magnifique.
Gianna woke before dawn to hand craft two broths, one chicken and one beef. When the beef had turned out too salty, she had started over. When cooking for the Emperor, cost wasn't important. The quality of the dish is all that mattered. She had hand picked over the carrots and onions, choosing only the freshest, and then dicing them carefully. The entire kitchen was stocked with any kind of ingredient the Gourmet could wish to add to the dish. The Potage le Magnifique's recipe in the book was incomplete because everyone cooked the potage differently. Gianna was about to find out how the Gourmet prepared the dish.
During a normal week, cooking for the Emperor of Tamriel would trump anything else in her mind. But the fact that she was to cook with the Gourmet and serve the Emperor made this day the single most important day of her life. Nothing could go wrong. Every time she heard a guard coming or going through the door into the Emperor's Tower she jumped to straighten her chef's hat and ran to stand at attention near the doorway to the kitchen. She was wearing her newest, cleanest white chef's uniform and the tall white hat she had received when she reported for her first job at the Blue Palace. The Gourmet had not given an estimated time of arrival. The Gourmet was so in demand, Emperors would wait on the Gourmet's food.
Gianna found herself guessing about the Gourmet's identity. Was she waiting for a man or a woman? What race was the Gourmet? A Breton? Too predictable. No one would bother keeping it a secret if a Breton were the finest chef in Tamriel. Most of the best chefs were already Bretons themselves anyways. An Imperial? Gianna was an Imperial living in Skyrim but she felt that surely the Gourmet would have a pedigree more exotic than her own. Gianna's best guess was a Wood Elf.
The base for the Potage le Magnifique was bubbling away and a final taste revealed that it was as close to perfect as Gianna was capable of crafting. She just had to wait until the Gourmet arrived. The sound of the door opening and the guard carefully questioning someone caused Gianna to freeze with the stirring spoon in her hand. She said a quick prayer to Zenithar as she smoothed out her chef's apron and adjusted her tall hat.
Gianna was sweating from nerves and the warmth of the kitchen and she hoped her naturally dark tan skin would hide the flush on her cheeks. She pushed her short black hair behind her ears and tucked any stray hairs into her hat. The Imperial guard entered and ushered in a tall man and then quickly left the two of them alone.
The Gourmet was a tall Nord with an auburn beard and dark brown eyes. An unruly mop of auburn hair was escaping from his tall white chef's hat which sat at a strange angle. It almost seemed out of place on his head. He was wearing a chef's uniform but it seemed too small as though it may burst from his large, muscular frame any second. He was younger than Gianna had expected. She would have guessed he was thirty, only slightly older than herself.
The Gourmet moved into the area, surveying the kitchen as though he expected some sort of ambush. Gianna wished she had checked over all the ingredients a fourth time. The Gourmet did not look impressed. If anything, he looked suspicious of her. She wiped her sweaty hands on her apron again and cleared her throat.
"You're a Nord," she said, and immediately regretted it. The man narrowed his dark brown eyes and studied her for several seconds before cracking a small lopsided grin.
"What were you expecting?" he asked, his voice deep and lilting with the accent common in Skyrim.
"Oh, I don't know," said Gianna, hoping her dark tan complexion would hide her blushing cheeks. "Maybe a Bosmer."
"A Bosmer? That's interesting," he said, stepping deeper into the kitchen, looking around with his dark eyes narrowed. "Why not a different race. Maybe, an Orc?"
Gianna gave a ridiculous snorting laugh before she could catch herself and stifle her response. "I doubt the Gourmet would be an Orc. I'm not sure they know much about Breton cuisine. Although, if you had been an Orc it would certainly explain the secrecy. I doubt many people would buy a book about fine dining writing by an Orsimer."
The Gourmet was smiling at her, which made her blush again. "You have a cute laugh. What was your name?"
Gianna's mouth hung open and she didn't know how to respond to that. "Uhh...Gianna," she said. "I'm a huge admirer of your work. Did you have to travel far to get here?" She feared the man wouldn't want to answer any of her questions, but this was her once in a lifetime opportunity to chat with her idol. She wasn't going to let it pass without at least attempting a conversation. No matter how nervous she felt.
"I live in Skyrim," he said, the answer vague. He relaxed against one of the cupboards in the kitchen, watching Gianna as she took back her place stirring the base broth. "Are you from here as well?"
"I have lived here as long as I can remember, though I was born in Cyrodiil. I have been working in Solitude for seven years now. My first real cooking job was at the Blue Palace."
"Ah, interesting," he said, staring at her with a disconcerting look. He seemed to notice her discomfort and smiled again.
"Why so much secrecy surrounding your identity?" she asked, surprised at her own audacity. The man gave a short exhale of laughter, shrugging his shoulders as the only answer. "I feel that would get tiring. Always being in hiding when you really just want people to know who you are."
"Why would I want people to know who I am?" he asked.
"Because you're the Gourmet, and you are the best chef in Tamriel. Surely it would be easier to be recognized and treated according to your station," said Gianna, resuming her stirring of the steaming broth.
"When people recognize you, they have expectations. I prefer to keep my true identity hidden. Although I must admit, it would be nice to be able to have some people in my life that knew the real me and accepted me without question."
The Gourmet sounded so sad when he spoke about hiding himself. Gianna could feel her heart swelling for the man. The tortured genius forced to live in the shadows to avoid people coming and demanding things from him all the time.
"Well, maybe when we are finished here, you might want to have dinner with me? I will cook, you don't have to. You can just talk and I promise to listen and well, have no expectations."
Those dark eyes were locked with hers, as though the Gourmet were considering something very important. Gianna could feel his gaze as though he were measuring her worth. The seconds passed and she began to feel extremely uncomfortable and regretted having asked such a forward question. She quickly changed the subject back to the professional matter at hand.
"Well, um, I have already begun the Potage le Magnifique. The Emperor has requested it personally. I know that everyone makes it differently so I am," she took a deep breath, forcing herself to slow down from talking too quickly, "deeply honored to find out how the Gourmet makes the Potage."
The tall Nord gave a humorless chuckle. He walked over to a tray of ingredients and picked up a small dish of fire salt Gianna had made sure was on hand just in case. She watched as he pocketed the valuable ingredient, but he was the Gourmet and she didn't dare voice any dissent. Perhaps he was just very low on the expensive ingredient. Castle Dour could afford to lose one tiny dish of fire salt.
"The base broth is simmering right here," she said, indicating the only pot she was stirring, bubbling away next to a waist high stack of dirty spoons she'd used to taste it until she achieved the perfect flavor. "So, Gourmet, Sir, what should I add next?"
The Gourmet stopped in his small walk around the room and stared at all the ingredients. Gianna was poised, ready to act on his instructions, but the seconds crept by and there was still no answer. "Is this a test?" she finally said, voice cracking from the nerves. "You want to know what I would add?"
"What would you add?" the man asked, wearing a mysterious smile that made Gianna's nerves flutter.
"Oh, ah, I suppose this is a good time to add some frost salts, to balance the salt in the broth and..."
"Add a sweet roll," said the Gourmet, glancing at a table of pastries.
"A...sweet roll?" she asked, turning to look at the tray of sweets she had baked that morning to act as dessert for the Emperor's luncheon. "Well, how...decadent?" she managed. She picked up one of the rolls and held it over the simmering pot. She looked at the Gourmet who made a dismissive motion with his hand.
"Get on with it. I said a sweet roll," said the Nord.
"Yes sir, Mister Gourmet," she said, dropping the roll into the pot. The hot liquid quickly melted the glazed sweet and as she stirred it dissolved into the pot giving it a sugary sheen. She used a clean spoon to get a taste and found that it was actually...good. She blushed and cursed herself silently for having doubted a master like the Gourmet.
She looked up as she stirred the pot and saw the Gourmet was looking over the pastries she hadn't chosen for the potage. He picked up one of her cheese and apple tarts and gave a quick bite. A loud noise of pleasure rose from the man that made Gianna blush again and look away.
"Who made this masterpiece," gushed the Gourmet. It sounded strange to hear the large Nord fawning over the sweet.
"Oh ah, I did," she said as he grabbed for another pastry, one of her snowberry muffins, "those are actually for the Emperor's luncheon, Mister Gourmet. Sir."
It was no use. The Gourmet was already chewing a large bite of the muffin and leaned his head back, moaning again. "This is even better. Did you make all of these?"
"Yes. It's," she paused, clearing her throat and wishing she could stop blushing, "that is, it's just, the...greatest honor to hear that you like them. The sliced bread there is your own recipe for juniper bread, though the glaze is my own invention." She couldn't meet the Gourmet's eyes as he devoured the rest of the muffin and picked up a piece of bread. Gianna forced herself to focus on the potage.
"You have a true gift for baking, Gianna. This food is," the Gourmet paused to take another bite of the juniper bread, "orgasmic."
Gianna gave an uncomfortable cough as the man continued to make happy noises as he finished the pastries and licked his fingers clean.
"And what should we add next, Sir?" she asked, staring at the cooking pot and trying to ignore the large Nord pilfering all of her pastries. The Gourmet liked her cooking. Gianna almost couldn't control her happiness.
She had prepared all types of meats, vegetables, spices and herbs but if the Gourmet required strange ingredients she may disappoint him when she can't complete the meal. She wished her heart would stop beating so loudly.
"Vampire dust," said the man, leaning lazily against one of the counters, still licking his fingers clean. He was smiling at her, and she worried that maybe he was playing some kind of trick on her. Maybe this was not the way to make the Potage at all and he was testing her.
"Um, vampire dust. We have some in the alchemy cabinet sure. I guess that could add an earthy texture and flavor to the, uh, potage?" The Gourmet's dark eyes were watching her and he smiled. The lopsided grin had a strange affect on her.
She hadn't expected that the Gourmet would be so young or attractive, even if he was a Nord. He stood taller than her by almost a full hand and his shoulders were broad and muscular under his chef's outfit. She had to pass very close by him to get into the alchemy cupboard and the man stayed still, forcing her to lean over right next to him. When she stood up with the vampire dust, he was giving her a sly grin and she remembered how low cut her chef's outfit was on the bodice.
"You smell delicious," he whispered as she stood near him. "Like, sweet rolls and spice bread."
Blushing, Gianna returned to the pot and dished out three heaping spoonfuls of the vampire dust into the potage. As she stirred it now she could see a strange shimmery film with the dissolved sugar mixing with the dust. "Amazing," she cooed quietly, but not quiet enough. The Gourmet heard her and gave a soft chuckle to himself.
"You really are," he said, and laughed when Gianna looked up, green eyes wide with surprise. The Gourmet was flirting with her. "I don't think I have ever met anyone this passionate about cooking before."
"Surely you have met every passionate chef in Tamriel at this point?" she asked, looking confused at the man. It struck her as strange that the Gourmet would claim she was the most passionate chef he'd met? She dismissed it as an exaggeration.
She hunched over the pot as she stirred before finally daring to look up. "What else, Mister Gourmet?" She kept her tone professional and formal, ignoring the man's attractive figure and the way he was staring at her now.
"A septim," he said, smirking.
"Um, a septim? You mean like a coin?" Gianna felt herself start to panic. She hadn't brought any gold with her to work that day. She didn't have a single septim to her name. She started to pat at her pockets, hoping she'd maybe forgotten to empty them from a previous day, but she had no such luck.
The Gourmet laughed at her discomfort. "Do you need to borrow one?"
"Oh, I'm afraid you won't get it back," she said, seriously.
The Gourmet just laughed again. "You are adorable. No it's fine," he said, reaching into the pocket of his chef's tunic. It seemed to her he was wearing something more substantial under the usual uniform and he produced a septim and held it out to her. Gianna walked over and held out her hand which he softly pressed a coin into, holding it there longer than necessary until she looked up and met his eyes. He smiled again and gave the smallest wink.
Gianna turned back toward the pot, forcing herself to ignore the growing feeling in the pit of her stomach. The Gourmet could probably have any chef he wanted. He was famous over all of Tamriel. This was probably his usual method of getting a bed partner. Well, Gianna had had to deal with this type of attitude from her superiors before and she was not going to fall for this ploy. She would remember this day as the day that she fed the Emperor and cooked with the Gourmet. Not as the day that she slept with a famous chef like some common tavern wench.
The septim dropped in with a clunk. Gianna stirred the pot again. She used a tasting spoon to bring the liquid to her mouth, blew gently, then tasted the potage.
She had made the potage many times in her life, following the Gourmet's recipe and adding her own ingredients. Nothing she had ever made came close to this. The taste was so divine she wanted to cry but instead just gave a throaty moan. She turned to congratulate the Gourmet and jumped when she found he had moved to stand directly beside her. She hadn't even heard him move.
"There's one more thing," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath ghosting along her ear. He reached into some pocket and drew out another small vial with what appeared to be some type of brown powder inside. He tipped the vial carefully over the pot, dislodging a tiny sprinkle of the substance. He then winked at Gianna again.
"What is that, Sir?" she asked, her voice breathy and light.
"Now Gianna. Who is the Gourmet here?" he asked, smiling that same smug grin again.
"You are," she answered, though she realized it had been a rhetorical question.
"Exactly. The potage is finished. Let us not keep the Emperor waiting," he said.
Gianna stirred the pot one final time and reached for another tasting spoon but before she could bring it to her lips the Gourmet swatted it out of her hand and it hit the ground with a clatter. He held her eyes as he shook his head. "Now now, Gianna. This is a potage for an Emperor. Maybe some day I will cook one just for you and then you may taste that finished product. This is for one man alone."
Gianna raised an eyebrow at the suspicious behavior. The Gourmet was so conceited he wouldn't risk anyone knowing his secret ingredients? Or the Gourmet was hiding something. She was trying to decide which when a door opened in the back toward the room where the Emperor was waiting.
"Where is lunch! The hour grows late," called out one of the servants. They had come with the Emperor's entourage and Gianna didn't know them all by name or sight.
"Coming!" she called automatically, rushing to grab a serving ladle and two thick woolen mitts. "Oh and before I forget. Can you, uh, sign my copy of your book?"
The Gourmet's grin widened at the request. "Sure, do you have a quill?"
"Oh, fuck, I don't. Forget I asked," she muttered, feeling suddenly flustered. The Gourmet laughed to himself at the sound of her cursing. "Alright. I will carry in the pot and serve. You can just stand there and," she grunted as she picked up the heavy, simmering pot, "well, look amazing."
"You think I look amazing?" asked the handsome Gourmet. Gianna rushed toward the back door instead of answering the question. The Gourmet was right on her heels as she entered the room where the Emperor and his men were all gathered around a large table, waiting for lunch.
Gianna carefully placed the pot down and the Emperor held out his bowl. Titus Mede II was a balding man with a ring of gray hair and a long gray beard. He was wearing the finest clothes and jewelry Gianna had ever seen. She made sure not to spill a single drop as she ladled the Gourmet's own potage recipe into the Emperor's bowl. She then stood back, waiting and trying to look calm. Titus Mede II took several quick bites of the potage, moaning loudly as he did. "The Gourmet's own recipe! A true honor to be dining on your...you...y.."
Gianna watched as the Emperor Titus Mede II fell face forward into his Potage le Magnifique. The guards all cried out before looking around the room. Eyes fell on Gianna, still holding the rest of the suspicious broth. The others looked at The Gourmet. The Nord man had pushed his way past some of the guards, pulling two black glowing daggers from somewhere on his person. He was out of the room before she could even register what had happened. The secret ingredient. The Gourmet had poisoned the Emperor. The Gourmet carried two scary daggers. Wait. Was that even the Gourmet?