Chapter Text
One of the key pieces of training a young knight goes through: cooking. Every knight must know how to cook his own food and be responsible for his own sustenance. We’re in a time of peace, but there’s no telling how long that will last. I had to do it, Rosa had to do it, K had to do it.
And now Ceodore must endure it.
Ceodore, however, became enamored with baking, somehow, something that none of the three of us saw coming. We were pleased that he seemed to have found a hobby, but one could do little baking while in the field. Rosa and I gently tried to steer him to more practical modes of cooking.
K, happily, encouraged him.
It caused more than one argument with him. K didn’t see the issue in letting Ceodore indulge at the baking hearth and ovens, these arguments most often held over plates of light, flaky, and progressively more delicious pastries and sweet breads. “You’re encouraging him because he gives you the first of every batch he bakes,” Rosa finally accused one night.
K raised an eyebrow, an unbearably smug smirk on his face. “Jealous?” he asked.
Everything about his tone and posture said that he saw nothing wrong with his question. Rosa inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing, and I hastily put a hand over her’s, not wanting our lover to have to sleep in the barracks tonight. “Think about how you’d feel if you were just presented with that question, please,” I said softly. But I didn’t give him time to reflect, or even answer. “And she’s right, you know. You know very well why it’s important for him to gain other cooking skills.”
K rolled his eyes. “Wrapping a fish and some potatoes in a water-magic treated leaf and sticking it in a campfire hardly requires much skill.”
“Amazing,” I drawled, “that both of us dropped at least half a stone on every field mission we had because we lacked that skill.” K smirked again and raised the pastry he’d picked up from the plate in a mocking toast.
Just then, Ceodore approached, an aromatic, sweet scent wafting from a tray he carried. “I’m pretty sure K is right, in this case,” he said, holding the tray out to me, then his mother. Despite our disagreement, we took the treats eagerly as he came to K. “The cook made me promise to keep up with my other lessons in return for teaching me how to bake. It’s fine.”
Not listening, K reached for the plate as eagerly as Rosa and I had. “And what kind of delightful delicacies have you made us tonight?”
“Cinnamon raisin-“
“Oh. Ew. Okay.”
Ceodore yanked the tray away. “What do you mean, ‘Ew?’” he demanded blandly.
K looked up at him, almost angelic in his innocent expression. “I don’t care for raisins usually, that’s all.”
The young soldier raised an eyebrow at him. “What, and you’re going to take one anyway?”
“Why not?”
“Because you aren’t going to like it?”
K scoffed, a shade of desperation in his voice, “I’m sure I’ll like it just fine. You’re an excellent baker.” Ceodore rolled his eyes, still holding the platter away from him. I couldn’t help the snicker that bubbled up; watching them interact like this was like watching K get a taste of his own medicine.
“If you’re going to take one,” Ceodore told him, “then you’re going to eat the whole thing.”
K nodded eagerly, and Ceodore brought the tray close to him again. He eagerly grabbed one of the pastries, took a big bite, and immediately made a face that he tried and failed to temper. “Delicious,” he said, hastily chewing and swallowing. I could barely hold back my laughter; he looked so very distraught. “That was delicious, Ceodore. You’ve got a real talent.”
Ceodore grinned smugly. “If it’s delicious, then you’ll have no issue finishing it like you promised.”
Again, K made a face, but popped the rest of the pastry into his mouth. He gave a tight, affected smile as Ceodore patted his head, offering some of the delicacies to his mother and I, and then happily disappeared back to the the hearth.
To K’s credit, he finished chewing and swallowed, and Rosa said smugly, “Do you want something to wash the taste out?”
“Yes, please,” K practically wheezed.
She laughed quietly as she poured him a glass of milk, and I shook my head in disbelief and grudging respect. “You know you wouldn’t have hurt his feelings had you declined it, right?”
“I must encourage him in all things.” K took a deep gulp of the milk before looking at us ruefully. “It’s my job-“
“It is not your job to eat pastries you know you’re not going to like,” Rosa said gently.
“Who said I didn’t like it?”
“Your face,” she replied dryly.
Petulantly, he stuck his tongue out at her. “His wellbeing is my job,” K repeated, lowering his voice. “And if that means eating raisins, then so be it.”
Rosa and I looked at each other, chuckling and rolling our eyes.
Ceodore only surreptitiously baked with raisins ever again, making sure to keep K from knowing that he’d made something when he did.