A/N: These will pretty much always be fluffy. I'll make a note if they're different. Thank you for reading, and if you'd like to see more chapters, feel free to leave prompts for these two in the reviews or message me!
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Cassandra stood stock still where she was in the kitchen doorway, unsure what to do as she stared at Ser Yorric. The templar had shed his armor and was instead wearing an apron, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail with a few dark wisps plastered to his tawny, sweat-streaked face from his time in the kitchens.
He was holding up a spoon of something from over a bowl, looking at her with an expectant and hopeful expression as he repeated, "Could you come and taste this to see if it's okay?"
At first, she was going to say no, but…the smell caught her attention and she found herself drawn toward it. It was familiar, though from where she couldn't say.
Cautiously, she stepped around the table—the kitchen staff had headed to bed already, which was part of why she'd been so surprised to find anyone here, let alone Ser Yorric—and stopped beside him, hesitant to take the spoon from him.
"What is this?" As he opened his mouth to respond, she added, "And do not tell me to try it first."
At that, he laughed, a rich sound that made butterflies flutter in her stomach and heat rise to her cheeks. The man was so comfortable to be around, and more and more she found herself letting her guard down around him, simply enjoying his presence.
With everything going wrong, it was foolish to let herself get lost in a crush.
And anyway, if he did fancy her, he fancied the hard woman who helped lead the inquisition, not…her.
Strong, hard women didn't have poems written about them or romantic trysts…not in the stories, anyway.
Ser Yorric was watching her carefully, a twinkle in his eyes as he debated answering her question. "It's an old dish, though this is my first time trying to make it."
"Is that supposed to tell me what it is?" Cassandra asked, withdrawing her hand so that she could rest it against her hip, brow arched.
"Jensen told you I'm a terrible cook, didn't he?" Ser Yorric deflected before dipping the spoon back into the bowl and holding his free hand up. "I swear to the Maker, he hasn't tried my cooking in years. I've gotten better."
"It is very suspicious that you will not tell me what this is." Cassandra stated, though she couldn't help the way that twinkle in his eyes towed up the corner of her lips. It was hard to be so serious around him.
That smell was so familiar, though…something they'd eaten recently?
No…
It was…
Finally relenting, she took the spoon and tried the soup. As the swirl of spices and ingredients hit her tongue, her eyes widened. She barely remembered to swallow before staring at him. "This is Nevarran."
His eyes glittered. "Yes."
Appraising him carefully, Cassandra's hand found its way back to her hip. "I thought you were from Ostwick."
"But you're from Nevarra, aren't you?" When she nodded, he shrugged. "I thought you might be a bit homesick. It's always nice to have something from home." He hesitated and then grimaced, as though expecting a reprimand. "It did taste right…didn't it?"
"I…my uncle's head cook used to make this," Cassandra glanced down at the bowl. "Yours is better."
He beamed and motioned for her to take the bowl, moving back toward the fire and getting some for himself. "I hope that means it's good."
"Did I not say that?"
"Better does not mean good. It just means less bad," Ser Yorric argued, trotting back over to the table and sliding two stools over for them to sit on.
As Cassandra settled down to a late dinner, she smiled down at the soup in her bowl. "Ser Jensen has never talked to me about your cooking, but should he, I'll let him know you've gotten quite skilled."
Ser Yorric blinked before beaming and leaning against the table. He seemed at a loss for words for a moment before picking up his own spoon. "So then. How are the odds against us lately? As terrible as ever?"
Cassandra nearly choked on her most recent spoonful and gave him a teasing glare. "Such optimism."
With a shrug, he settled in and changed the subject to something more lighthearted as they dined.
