I Can Kill A Chicken From A Thousand Paces
Disclaimer: I own nothing, absolutely and positively nothing!
Note: just a 'what if Arthur really had tried to cook?'
With a dismissive "Go do whatever it is girls do in the evening" and a gentle shove out of her own door, Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, set about the task of cooking Gwen, ladies' maid and castle servant, dinner.
Shutting the door firmly after her, Arthur turned with a business-like clap of his hands and viewed the ingredients that lay on the simple cooking range/worktop. As far as he could tell, dinner would be some sort of chicken with a herby-vegetably type…thing. The specifics he would work out as he went along.
The blond man wrinkled his brow and pursed his lips in concentration as he surveyed the plucked chicken from a distance, moving around it as if it were a live animal he was hunting. He had killed plenty of game (and rather skilfully) he mentally added, but he had never cooked in his life. Wasn't that what servants were for? Arthur had surprised himself when he heard himself telling Gwen he would make her dinner and no sooner had the young woman left her house than he immediately saw the folly of his statement.
He was crouching low next to the chicken, giving it an experimental prod when Merlin opened the door to the meagre cottage.
"Merlin! Thank God." Arthur felt a bit better at the appearance of his servant.
"Gwen says you're cooking." Merlin looked doubtfully at his master.
"That's right." He waved his hand towards the ingredients. "I'm making chicken," he declared confidently before adding less confidently, "What goes with chicken? And, um, what would you say was the best way to cook one?"
"Vegetables? Maybe some bread?" suggested Merlin, still unsure whether Arthur was seriously going to cook. From what he could tell, it wasn't a very promising beginning if the Prince was already asking him very basic things. "I would probably roast it."
"Ah, that's it then," smiled Arthur brightly. "Merlin, go fetch me some suitable vegetables and a loaf of bread."
"Uh-huh, you're sure about this?"
"Absolutely. Now go." He turned to the chicken before remembering something else. "Oh, Merlin, how do you roast it?"
Merlin rolled his eyes heavenwards then quickly examined Gwen's cooking range. There was no space made for a spit and open fire so he recommended a pot roast as the next best thing and after giving Arthur quick instructions on how to prepare one, he left for the vegetable seller's stall.
On Merlin's return with the requested food items, Arthur demanded another recap of the cooking process before dismissing his servant. Making Gwen's dinner had become a matter of pride. He was a prince, for goodness sake, he could defeat the most fearsome foe in single combat, he had faced dreaded monsters and won! Surely he could overcome a dead chicken?
Not to mention, if his idiot servant could complete such a task successfully, then he most certainly could as well!
Ten minutes into the preparation, Arthur had already managed to cut himself slicing onions and he had cursed until the air turned blue as his eyes streamed with stinging onion-y tears. He knew there was a good reason as to why he had servants to do these jobs. He could handle a sword better than anybody, could lop off a limb with precision but ask him to peel a carrot or potato and he felt as though his fingers and thumbs had swollen to twice their normal size and it seemed impossible to hold a small knife properly.
At last, he looked into the pot with satisfaction, the chicken sat nestled (or crammed) on a bed of stock vegetables and herbs which Merlin had assured him were parsley and thyme. All that was required now was a bit of water and a long simmer on the cooking fire.
He looked for the water bucket and groaned. It was nearly empty, just a small slosh left in the bottom and there was no Merlin to run down to the well to fetch more. Arthur had had enough of this cooking lark - it would just have to do.
Arthur added what he thought to be sufficient salt and the water which barely covered the bed of vegetables before covering the pot and setting it onto a part of the fire which wasn't too hot. He nodded in satisfaction, hands on hips. Perfect. There was time enough to set the table and have a little nap before Gwen returned.
Looking through Gwen's small cupboards, he found plates and cutlery. Arthur also placed two candles upon the table next to the simple vase of wildflowers that Gwen had picked the day before.
Hah! This was easy, he couldn't think what he had been worrying about.
Gwen's nose twitched as she neared her home, there was a distinct smell of burning and her heart began to sink as she began to suspect what the cause might be. Her fears were confirmed as her home came into view and she saw acrid smoke seeping from the cracks in her door and windows. The maid ran through the door to be confronted with the sight of Camelot's heir flapping a cloth wildly at a pot which was belching smoke and flames in equal amounts. Gwen also noted with despair that Arthur had transferred the burning pot to her sturdy kitchen table which it was currently scorching. She threw open the door and window shutters to allow the smoke to escape then grabbed another cloth which she used to smother the flames. Finally, when she was sure there was no further danger, she looked up to see a very sheepish Arthur.
The initial anger Gwen felt at almost having her house burnt down disappeared as she took in the man standing before her. He looked like a little boy lost with his head bowed, hands clasped in front of him awaiting whatever punishment she deemed fit. At this moment, it was hard to think that this Arthur was the same Arthur who had just hours earlier been insufferably smug and arrogant about her humble surroundings.
Blue eyes lifted to meet brown ones.
"Guinevere, I'm so sorry." Arthur shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I must have fallen asleep and when I woke up, there was smoke everywhere and I didn't know what to do." He coughed and looked guiltily at her table. "I shall get you a new table and anything else that you might need." The Prince was even more crestfallen as he admitted, "Dinner's ruined." He was aware that Gwen's wage even as personal maid to the King's ward was no great amount and that fresh meat was quite a costly item and therefore not often available to the lower classes.
Gwen's heart melted at the Prince's sincerity. She knew she could never stay angry at him. Smiling consolingly, she stepped past him and gestured at the remnants of the meal. "We still have bread and we might be able to salvage something from the pot." Gwen used a cloth to lift the pot lid and peered inside. Arthur had well and truly cremated the bird. Her expression was downhearted but when she turned back to Arthur her face was optimistic.
"Have a seat, I'll see what I can do."
"I'm sorry, Guievere," he apologised again and watched as the young woman pushed up her sleeves and set about the charred carcass, picking out what bits of meat might still be considered edible.
Although dinner was a paltry affair with bread making up the vast bulk of the meal, it didn't matter as Arthur and Gwen would fall into fits of laughter as they recalled the billowing smoke and the Prince's ineffectual attempts to stop the chicken from burning any further.
The giggles subsided into a self-conscious silence as they regarded each other with something akin to fondness and regard. It was all so different from the emotions present just a day ago when the maid had seriously considered throwing over him the bucket of water she had fetched from the well for Arthur's wash.
Arthur had never paid close attention to Gwen before. She was just Morgana's servant, part of the castle surroundings and it was only when she had saved him from the talons of Sigan's gargoyle that he really noticed her and she continued to demonstrate her ability to surprise and amaze him.
He never thought any servant would have the strength to stand up to him the way she had nor be so gentle and thoughtful, almost to a fault. Heavens, the reason he was in her home in the first place was that his own trusted knights lacked the backbone to face him man-to-man on the combat field.
Arthur allowed himself to be lost in her soft smile before reaching across the table to take her hand in his.
"Thank you, Guinevere."
She tilted her head questioningly. "What for?"
"For all of this, for taking me in, for helping me to learn about people," he paused. "And for saving dinner."
He studied her slender fingers before smiling wryly at her. "I can kill a chicken from a thousand paces, just don't ask me to cook it."