or we could stay and talk until three. Who: Theo & Div What: Pot-au-feu! Where: The Finch estate When: Earlier this week Rating: PG Status: Complete
While the estate kitchen looked to lack in its usual number of diligent servants, as Theo had long ago made a habit of barging in and taking over for himself (a habit that had now, it seemed, morphed gradually into “Theo, plus guest”), it did not suffer for any lack of noise and activity. The contents in the copper stew pot had been simmering for hours, and the time had turned now--to Theo’s astute estimation on the matter (he’d made this dish before), to prepare the side garnishes.
The berserker (in an apron folded over and tied around his waist) smacked his knife down again with force. Parsley, tarragon, chives, all finely chopped by his hand and soon to be joined with olive oil and freshly minced garlic. The enormous wood-surface table positioned in the middle of the room was filled with other various foodstuffs as well, including other garnishes for the meal and a number of cooling bread loaves.
He stopped for a moment, rubbing at the bottom of his chin with the back of one large hand, and gazed over to be sure that Divina was keeping her attention on the stove.
“Well?”
“Ribs ought to be ready,” she replied after a moment of squinted-eye regard, wiping her palms on her own apron. The kitchen had become familiar enough for her navigate on her own, and so it was no trouble to briefly leave the stove and procure a baking dish. The fell knight made quick work of moving the short ribs from pot to dish, transferring some broth as well before covering the dish in foil. Sausage went into the pot then, Divina adjusting the flames slightly and stepping back.
It would be another half hour, if she recalled the recipe correctly, although she would sooner—and not entirely unbegrudgingly—trust Theo’s judgment. With a satisfied exhale, Divina looked over her shoulder. Cooking had always been a cathartic, solitary endeavour; the presence of another person remained strange even now (albeit, she would concede, not untoward).
“I met your squire for claws recently.”
Theo shoved the now finely chopped herbs into a bowl and smacked his hands together. He grunted. So Juliette and Divina were growing more acquainted, was it? He tried not to squint as he struggled to recall any prior mentions of this before. Training with Drake, of all people, now that he recalled. And tolerated, because it wasn’t as if he could train the squire in such things himself. This, however, seemed to cause a much different sentiment.
“And?” It was a straightforward prompt to continue. For while she had an opportunity to explain further, Theo started shuffling around to try and find a clean washcloth. Crisp, white linen rags hung in a row near one of the sinks, and he snapped the nearest one from the air and began to wipe off the table where he had been chopping (along with his green-speckled hands).
Afterward, he leaned forward and rested his palms flat on the surface, watching her working from across the other side of the table.
“Promising.” She frowned down at the pot, her hand reaching for the ladle. Deftly skimming the fat from the broth, Divina continued, “It was not the first time. She is stronger now. From your instruction, I presume.”
Apparently satisfied, she set the ladle down and, facing the other berserker, mirrored his stance. Dark eyes surveyed the table. The man was efficient; there was not much left for her to do until the meats came to a head.
“I’ve been assigned a squire of my own,” she said abruptly, chewing off the admission as though she were swearing. As ever, self-revelation set the fell knight on edge, fighting the raw instinct to turn her words into knives. Divina fiddled restlessly with a bread basket, her eyes not meeting Theo’s as she went on, the name leaving her lips with a warmth that was decidedly uncommon for the woman. “Morgayne Falk.”
Theo growled out a thoughtful noise. So, she’d been roped into Drake’s madness too, he thought. He judged by the warmth of her voice that it met with her approval, and that seemed good enough for him. “You’ve taken to it?”
She nodded. He brushed his palm idly along the table surface, damp but now clean of his earlier work. There were other considerations, he understood, for Divina to take up a squire. Her class for one, even if Theo himself had long ago made peace with it--many others weren’t of similar mindset. And there was another, deeper consideration as well. The thing that made the both of them more dangerous than anyone else in the city could understand. He tried not to frown more than what was typical.
“No troubles?”
“No,” she said. Despite the answer, her tone was contemplative. In this regard, there were certain to be great difficulties in the future; a fair majority of which she’d thus far managed to avoid (or, at the very least, attenuate) through discretion. However, Divina could intuit that the man was suggesting another affliction entirely.
Manoeuvring around that particular frontier had not been without its complications. Fortunately, there had been significant improvements since they last spoke of it. Already, she had begun to wean herself off sleeping potions and learned to keep the darker thoughts at bay. However, other matters had risen in their place. More trivial, perhaps, but equally trying.
Divina raised her eyes then. “You have given thought to the future?”
Theo stood up straight at the question, arms moving up to fold across his broad chest. There were a number of ways to interpret it, and most answers that were immediately drawn to mind were not as solid and sure as he would’ve preferred. His gaze slipped gradually from the woman across from him and upward, to inspect the number of dangling copper pots and pans hanging from hooks--all brandished with the mark of the Finch estate. All would fetch a handsome price at market, even the dented soup pot that had been snatched and returned, not so long ago.
His shoulders raised as he sighed. “The future,” he grumbled, ruminating on it. “Career, class, marriage, children. Something like that, aye?”
“Something like that,” she echoed.
Regarding him carefully, Divina began to relax despite herself. Her elbows folded onto the table, strands of hair falling from her bun, she presented a far different picture from the blasé maverick of the battlefield. Her thoughts, too, had drifted far beyond the usual—a creature of impulse, she lived from moment to moment, one breath to the next. It had not been until Vannes’ unwanted suggestion, in jest though it may have been, that these (significant, she saw now) concerns had come to light.
“Different before,” he admitted, but not without some difficulty. “Simpler.” Theo raised a hand and began scratching at the back of his neck at the memory of his once-plans for the future. Work hard, push up the ranks of the EKP and upward through the classes of knighthood (and there was even the possibility to marry and begin a family of his own, to succeed where he viewed his father had failed). Life had been simpler before the incident at Bahamut. It was frightening how quickly a fragile dream could shatter.
He had spent many years in contemplation of himself, his responsibilities toward those around him. It was only until recently, in fact, that Theo had begun to reconsider his possibilities for the future. He looked at Divina again, offering her a level, honest stare. “Mentoring has,” he grumbled, trying to find the right words, “allowed me to reconsider many things.”
He scratched the side of his face with one hand. “A normal life.” After all, if Theo could succeed as a mentor, and work to keep his squire safe, then perhaps he could consider other responsibilities as well.
Divina offered a soft noise to indicate that she had listened and understood. She did not fail to see how mentoring might have allowed him to renew his perspective—had not Morgayne affected her similarly?—however, his was a confidence she could not own to. Perhaps her plans now (of independence, of moving forward) might eventually lead to a facsimile of normalcy. And yet here there was no lack of fear: what safety did she have once she at last stepped away? She did not trust herself; she did not trust the structures that surrounded her. Thinking upon her intentions for the immediate future, she felt at once cast adrift, hands grasping to moor herself to an impossible harbor.
It was, for a brief moment, in Divina to be envious of the man before her. But the emotion was quickly silenced.
“You ought to,” she said at length, sincere. “Consider it, that is.”
Her hands went to her hair, sweeping up the errant strands and knotting it afresh, before the knight turned back to the pot to inspect its contents.
Theo watched Divina for a moment, allowing the weight and sincerity of her words to sink in. The sounds of the stove and the woman’s efforts filled the enormous kitchen, and though there was little profound in the image, of two comrades cooking together and sharing their thoughts, he felt as if something heavy within him had finally begun to shift.
He shook his head. With a tap of his knuckles against the table to punctuate the end of that particular consideration, Theo strode over to inspect the progress of the pot-au-feu as well.