"I would trust myself with culinary spells unless my life depended on it, Vogg," chuckled Godric, though what he did know how to do was create a fire — but anything more specific than that, such as how to adjust the heat as the meal cooked or if the meal was anything more than simple stew with ingredients haphazardly tossed together in a broth, and he was not very useful at all. "I think it's only by the grace of the gods that I survived long enough to meet people who would feed me. I am no Helga."
He watched idly as Vogg helped himself to some of the stew, and waited until Vogg's hands were at a safe distance before magically reigniting the flame. Despite the difference in their age now, Godric still remembered well the days when he was younger, when the man sitting at his side had been one of the first to treat Godric like a friend, like a brother, all those years ago. He knew he would not be able to keep too much a secret from him.
"You must know by now," he started, a bit uncomfortably. "The girl Bridget. For months now I have known her, and I still do not know what to think. A part of me wishes she was Sæunn — and the other part of me does not, only because I feel it is unfair to the life she has lived. And even then, it still pulls at me. I know she wants more from me than only my friendship. But I swore an oath to Sæunn. I will not break it. I cannot break it." Yet I am so tired of fighting, he added as a mental after-thought.