#here's gareth to stir the pot again

[factaerrata]

“They say a maiden’s first kiss is magical...honestly, I’m not sure that’s true. Mine certainly was lackluster...”

Wait, who stole little Miss Gareth’s first kiss?! Who?! Don’t let any member of her family find out--

[aricazorel]

Chapter 33: Cooking

Mia asks Cullen to help her fix dinner. Of course the Commander's sister never does anything without a reason. Having a heart-to-heart conversation with her brother brings the siblings closer together while Mia hints that she knows more than they think about the Commander and historian's relationship.

available here on AO3

~~~~

excerpt from chapter 33

Laughter from outside caught their attention. Nyssa was showing the children how to feed Argo and Ajax peppermints. Argo was nibbling on Eleri’s braid trying to get more than her share.

“Do you want any of those?” Mia asked with a grin.

Cullen blinked as he stared at his sister confused for a moment. As understanding dawned on the former Templar, he stammered, “I don’t—we haven’t—I think…I am not sure I would be a good father.”

The Commander let his head fall to his chest as the laughter outside continued. Despite Nyssa’s belief that he would make a good one, his doubts persisted. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Glancing up he saw Mia looking back at him with an empathetic smile.

“You have had a hard life, Cullen. I know that, and I recognize that I will likely never know all of it. And that is alright. You have someone you can share what you need to with now. I don’t see that changing anytime soon or at all. You found your way through so much. You found your way to Anyssa. You found your way back to us. You will find your way through fatherhood should that be a part of your journey.”

Cullen stared out the window at the honey blonde leading their horses back to the barn, his niece and nephew trailing behind her. “Everything was worth it to make it here, to find home, to find myself again.”

Mia ruffled his still unstyled hair as she had when they were children. “You still think too much about simple things, little brother.”

“So I have been told many times over the past few years,” the Commander muttered as he tasted the stew again. He added just a pinch more salt.

“Anyssa is a smart woman and apparently something of a prankster if I were to guess,” she replied as he motioned to his hair. Cullen arched an eyebrow as she added, “She told me she hid your hair wax because you revealed some intimate detail she didn’t want public.”

Cullen’s hand froze, nearly dropping the wooden spoon, the stew bubbling gently in the pot. He felt himself blush, even the tips of his ears burning red. “I didn’t—What did she tell you?”

“Nothing specific but I have a question for you,” she said as he watched Nyssa, Eleri, and Gareth exit the barn. “Why is it that all of your smalls are blue? I mean, I understand Anyssa’s color choice. Hers are quite nice but yours? At least I can tell the difference between yours and Evan’s.”

“Maker’s breath,” the former Templar muttered as he began stirring the pot again.

“Anyssa did it, didn’t she?”

“I thought she sorted our laundry from yours…”

“Oh, she did but I told her to just let me do it…”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your big sister and I said so. Because you and Anyssa deserve a break from everything. Because I wanted the opportunity to embarrass my brother whom I have not seen in years.”

Cullen sighed. “She dyed my smalls blue because I let it slip unintentionally that most of her undergarments are blue.”

Mia chuckled as the trio outside approached the house. “Why blue?”

“It’s the color of her eyes…I have always like that about her. It was one of the first things I noticed about her when I rescued—when I first met her.”

“I take it that blue is now your favorite color.”

He nodded. “A majority of things I gift her are that color.”

Mia made a sound of understanding as she checked on the bread again. This time she removed it from the oven, its smell filling the whole house, bringing back memories of their childhood for the siblings.

Before either one could say anything else, Anyssa’s voice filtered through the opened window. “Hey, your mother hasn’t called you in for dinner yet!”

“But it smells so good!” Eleri declared as she barreled through the front door.

Gareth, not far behind her, said excitedly, “Uncle Cullen is cooking too! He can cook? I thought he was a soldier!”

Mia’s glare kept the siblings from entering the kitchen completely as McBride appeared behind them. “Yes, your uncle can cook. Now you two go cleanup for dinner. Your Papa will be home soon, and we can eat.”

After a pair of groans, the trio of adults was left alone. Anyssa stood watching the Commander stirring the stew as Mia sliced the bread. Ice blue eyes glanced from one Rutherford sibling to the other, noting Cullen’s fading blush. She frowned as she turned her attention to his sister.

“They wanted to ride Argo and Ajax. I told them I would have to discuss that with you. I’m not sure they should ride them alone. They are rather big horses.”

“War horses, Nys. They are war horses,” Cullen corrected as he removed the pot from the fire.

“And why does the Inquisition’s historian need such a horse I wonder?” Mia mused as she moved to a cabinet to retrieve plates.

“I had nothing to do with that,” the Commander said.

Mia made a sound of disbelief as Anyssa replied, “Actually, it was Master Dennet who said I should have Argo. Apparently, she would let no one else near her or ride her.”

“I wonder why…” Cullen muttered.

“Peppermints work wonders,” Anyssa said with a grin as she went to the sink and washed her hands. “You did say Ajax likes me more than you…”

Mia laughed as she began setting the table. McBride went to the other woman, taking the plates from her. “You don’t have to set the table. You’re a guest…”

“Cullen is cooking. It’s the least I can do.”

“He’s my brother.”

“And you said I was adopted so I’m family. So let me do this.”

Mia stared at her and then relented. “You are as stubborn as him.”

“I have to be.”

Cullen chuckled as he moved the pot to the counter. “I warned you, Mia.”

“That you did,” she conceded.

[garethlyons]

Rako

The coastal sun of the Stranglethorn Vale began to set an ombre tone against the shoreline. Gareth awoke his feet in the water as the tide began to come in and in ear distance of the sounds of a ravenous wolf that had found her nights meal.

A piercing screech had hit his ears as the young boy had immediately scrambled to his sandy feet as Gareth made his way up a vale palm to watch in safety and out of reach of the attack. The event between the wolf and the raptor were on both sides of the palm Gareth had got himself up to and he would have to dart his head round the tree as his curiosity was fed.

The wolf had devoured a nest of raptor eggs. Confusion showed on the boy’s features as he had never seen this kind of raptor in the vale before. The raptor  spat at the wolf and the remnants of what blood and easy prey of eggs gave against her muzzle as she snarled fiercely and the raptor responded in matching the wolf with her own cunning strike and a foul hiss as she tore at the neck of the wolf, getting her on the run as the raptor was not far behind to tear into the wolf again.

When Gareth darted his eyes to the attack, the remnant’s of the nest was rather gruesome yet at his height within the tree he saw an egg that had fallen from the nest itself. 

With the sun about gone, Gareth waited in patience and his eyes on the egg. It was still too soon for him to retrieve the egg as whoever won the excursion would return either briefly, or not at all. 

As the sounds of the vale began again, Gareth knew he didn’t have much time to retrieve the egg. The hunted always knew when their times were safest, and Gareth caught to that quickly as he found his way down through the chittering of the many sounds of the vale.

It was intact, and Gareth enveloped his arms around it and quietly made his way back to the encampment where he and Akkrala were now situated. Akkrala heard his footing, turning her head in the direction of it. Not only did walking keep Gareth safe, it let Akkrala know that there was no danger as the two spoke in Zandali.

“What have you found today?” 

“An egg.” Gareth smiled, “A wolf had found a raptor nest and ate the other eggs.” Looking to Akkrala and confusion in his tone he inquired, “It wasn’t a raptor I had seen before.”

Akkrala mustered a laugh as she sat near the warmth of the cook fire, “Oh? Well - we haven’t been here very long.”

“I know, but most of them are a pale color. This one wasn’t.”

Her hand paused for a moment before she went back to stirring a pot she had placed over the cooking fire. “Do not eat that egg, then.” Blinking in surprise, astonishment rose on Gareth’s features as he looked to Akkrala while she spoke.

“It has been ten years since I found you. Almost to the day. As soon as you were old enough to wander every raptor came at you like you were bait at the end of a fishpole.” The clouded eyes of the Farseer smiled to him, “It is now time for you to learn how to care and provide for that little one now.”

Awkwardly the boy smiled and seemed excited, until he realized he didn’t know a thing about raising anything. “It isn’t hatched yet.”

“Ah! Well, that explains why I didn’t hear much for noise.” She knew very well it hadn’t hatched, but Gareth didn’t know she knew. “Just like you, it needs warmth. How are you holding it?”

“Against my body, because egg shells can break.” Just like Akkrala had mentioned. She held out her hands to hold the egg. Gareth gently gave the egg to Akkrala. She lightly tapped it and began to explain to him about the life force inside the egg.

“Life comes in many forms. With this one? It requires a stable heat source. A fire is an uncontrollable heat source, yet you are the perfect temperature to help this little one.”

Gareth looked to the egg, holding it as Akkrala passed it back to him. “Hold him near your chest, keep it with you at night. While you and I are warm bloods, this egg is not. So you won’t feel any heat from this egg. Give it time and patience.”

The next week was rough for Gareth, as most of his days were spent hauling around the egg with nothing to hold it but his arms. If he was on the beach, he’d sit it in the warm sand, put rocks and shells around the egg, and then fish.

By the fourth day Gareth was getting tired and irritated that the egg hadn’t hatched. “It hasn’t hatched yet.” The young, lanky boy mentioned in doubt as he tossed a rock in another direction.

Holding it again as he lay against the ground, his eyes looking to the egg while he sprawled himself out like a starfish to the sky. What was he to do? Gareth began to gather sticks for the fire, along with kindling and set out to find what he could for food. It usually ended up as fish, and Gareth didn’t mind fish. Yet today he wanted something different.

Using some old washed up netting he had found on the beach, Gareth set out to catch a crawler. They weren’t very fast, yet they had sharp claws. He needed something to use to get closer to the creature.

After many attempts and many failures which took up most of the day, the boy managed to catch one. Cheerfully Gareth returned to the egg, only to notice that something was wrong. It was malformed, which is not how it was shaped earlier. The young boy hit his knees as he began to look and listen to the egg.

There were sharp, tiny breaths coming from inside as Gareth looked in astonishment and wonder while a shorter breath and a scrape popped the egg shell open. Akkrala was not far, and while she had next to no vision her ears could hear the egg hatching. 

He looked to Akkrala, “There’s a baby raptor!” His eyes shot back to the egg as a hiss pushed another fragment of the egg away. The sharp breaths continued. “Can you see what color the raptor is?” The blond curls shook, “Not yet.” 

Gareth looked into the egg, “Do not try and help him. It is crucial for him to get out on his own.” Still, Gareth peered into the egg sticking a finger into the egg as jaws nipped his finger. “Wow. It has teeth already!” It was a surprised tone before the raptor bit down, hard with a puncture to his index near a vein.

His face went askew as Gareth winced, “Okay I wasn’t, ow - OW THAT HURTS!” The hatchling had locked onto Gareth’s finger and would not let go. Pushing another part of the egg fragment away with it’s footing, the raptor was more free from the egg and it’s remnants as Gareth still looked horrified as he lightly bled.

Akkrala laughed as she lured the hatchling to her with a piece of raw flesh from a fish. The raptor smelled the fish, taking a moment before letting go of Gareth’s index finger and began to devour the piece of fish.

“Make sure you hold the wound.” The boy held his finger to stop the bleeding. Akkrala knew the smell of blood, and it didn’t matter the kind after war had begun to be prominent. “He’s red, with some striping.” Gareth mentioned. 

The Farseer took a moment, “And you had mentioned you hadn’t seen this raptor before.” Gareth nodded, “Yeah. At least, not in any of the other areas.” Akkrala hummed in thought, “You may have one of the last surviving of the Razzashi, then. They had become scarce when hunters arrived in the Vale.”

Akkrala handed another piece of fish to Gareth, as the boy held it out to the raptor as it continued to devour the first piece of flesh. “Eventually this little one will need a name.” Trying to get the hatchling to eat the second piece of fish, Gareth looked thoughtfully as it smelled the blood from his finger. “I’ve never seen an animal with teeth as a baby before.”

“Well, there is much more of the world you don’t know about Gareth. Keep your mind open to new things.”

[overanalysing-galavant]

Title: Change of Plan Fandom: Galavant Characters: Vincenzo, Gwynne, Gareth; mentions of Richard and Madalena Pairing: Vincenzo/Gwynne Rating: PG Summary: Missing scene set before the feast in S01E07 based on a theory I had concerning Vincenzo’s sudden change of heart

A/N: I haven’t written much fic, only published like one and a half fics in my life, and English isn’t my native language, but I gave this my very best shot. Apologies to anyone who was hoping that the fic I’d eventually finish would be a Garalena one (you know who you are), but my muse reached down my throat, pulled out this idea and beat me over the head with it until it was finished. Also, there’s not enough Gwynne/Vincenzo fic out there, and those two are super-cute. Enjoy!

Vincenzo hummed to himself as he stirred the soup. He remembered that his father used to sing whenever he was cooking. Especially if he was preparing fish, though that stopped after the Crab Incident. His father hadn’t been the same after that, and Vincenzo didn’t like to dwell too much on him. But humming always calmed Vincenzo down, and boy did he need calming down. He’d never actually killed anyone before, not even accidentally. Which, given thirteenth century hygiene standards, was a point of pride.

He thought about the way Gwynne smiled and blushed whenever he flirted with her. It made him grin despite his nerves.

Oh, well. He’d try anything once.

The chef tasted the soup. Almost perfect, it just needed a little something extra to give it the right kick. Vincenzo looked around. Everyone was busy chopping, frying, glazing or stirring things, and shouting at each other over the din.  He could afford two minutes to leave the kitchen and grab the special ingredients that he had hidden at the back of the pantry.

“Be right back, guys. I just need to check if we have enough cinnamon for dessert.” Vincenzo called over the chattering and general din of the kitchen.

The staff just muttered “Yes, chef.” without meeting his eyes. They’d been here long before he became their boss, and were sure to still be there after he was gone. No one ever talked to him much.

The pantry was dark, cool, and so depleted that his steps echoed off the walls. It felt like a tomb. Vincenzo started walking faster. Now where did he put... ah, there it was! He picked up the bags and turned back towards the exit, heart in his throat. He started humming again, then singing.

“The poison, the poison,  how I love the poison,  I will put it in every dish.”

First strychnine for the soup then some ‘shrooms for the sauce, cyanide makes the danishs delish.”

Singing about it made him feel a little better, but his anxiety got worse with every step he took towards the kitchen.

‘It’s them or us.’ he thought. ‘Them or her. I can’t let her down. She’s not a bad person, she’s just scared. Those royals are going to start another war no matter who wins that duel, and then many more people will die. This is the right thing to do and I’m just nervous cause it’s so quiet in here and because I’m carrying five freaking pounds of poison; once I can hide among the usual bustle and noise in the kitchen it’ll be alright.’

But Vincenzo didn’t calm when he heard the sound of things sizzling in their pans, fire crackling in the stove, and pots gently simmering. Something still felt off. Then it hit him: There was no talking, no chopping sounds, not even one muttered swear word.

“Guys?” he stepped through the kitchen door.

“They ran before I could tell them to remember not to make the food so spicy this time. The King has a sensitive stomach. Then I stayed to make sure that the castle wouldn’t burn down with all those unsupervised fires in here, turned the heat down, flipped some things that needed flipping and, y’know, did your job. And where have you been?” Gareth asked from the other side of the kitchen, casually twirling a filleting knife in his hand.

“I... uh. I w-was fetching... more salt? For the soup and, and stuff?” Vincenzo stuttered, clutching the bags of poison to his chest.

Gareth glanced from the pots on the stove to the heavy bags in Vincenzo’s arms. 

“That’s a lot of salt.”

“Well, I forgot to season a couple of things. Big feast, you know. Lots of s-s-stress!” The last word came out as more of a squeak then he’d intended.

“Hm.” 

The chef breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Gareth started walking towards the door, putting the knife down on a nearby table. However, instead of leaving, Gareth stopped in front of a drawer and riffled through it until he found a spoon, then walked back toward the stove. He lifted up the lid of one of the pots, took a  sniff, then put the tiniest bit of soup on the spoon to taste.

Gareth hmmed again, then spat onto the floor.

“Not enough salt, see?” Vincenzo gave a weak smile.

“Nah, I just don’t like pumpkin. It’s salty enough, though; you must have forgotten that you already seasoned it what with you being so stressed. Tell you what, I’ll take those bags off you and put them back, alright? Least I can do after I scared everyone away.” The henchman slowly approached the chef, still brandishing the spoon. 

Vincenzo’s heart raced; his usually so steady hands started shaking, and his mind came up with ten different ways how a spoon might be used as a murder weapon. Each one was messier than the last.

“Th-that’s alright I’m sure they’ll be back any moment.”  He had never felt so terrified. 

“Not while I’m in here, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s really in those bags.”

Shit. He knew. Vincenzo realized he was going to die, right here and now. He wouldn’t even be able to say goodbye to Gwynne.

His eyes slid to the filleting knife on the table next to him. He dropped the bags and lunged for it.

Gareth stopped in his tracks, far out of his reach.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Oh? Wouldn’t you?” Vincenzo looked from the knife in his trembling hand to the spoon in Gareth’s and huffed out a small, somewhat hysterical laugh. “Then what would you do if you were the one holding the knife?”

“Chef, I know what a killer looks like, and you ain’t one. That’s part of the reason you got hired for this job. Now, put the knife down and tell me who put you up to this, and I promise I won’t kill you. Or even torture you.” Gareth amended. “Tell me who was really planning to kill my King, and I’ll give you until sundown to run very far away. Can’t offer you better than that.”

Tell me who put you up to this, and I won’t kill you.

Or torture you.

until sundown to run very far away

‘I don’t wanna have a bleak life anymore.’  she’d said.

Oh, Gwynne. I’m so sorry.

Vincenzo’s hands stopped shaking, the fear for his life was gone, replaced with something far, far bigger. And yet, he felt a strange kind of calm settle over him. He sighed and let the knife drop onto the table. Then, drawing himself up to his full height of five feet five inches, he approached Gareth, looked up into his eyes, and said:

“I put me up to this. It was all me.”

“And why would you do that?” Gareth asked, frowning.

“I hate those nobles who think they are better than us downstairs folk and who push us around all the time like they own us. I mean, I know they do own us, but that’s not the point.” Vincenzo tried to put some heat into his words, but all he felt was detached. Why couldn’t Gareth just kill him and get it over with?

The henchman stared at him, lips pursed. “I thought you liked the King?”

“I don’t. He’s a horrible person. He starts wars, he’s, he’s weird, and he k-” killed my father, Vincenzo wanted to say, but he knew that Gareth knew that he’d been more relieved than anything that that drunk, choleric bastard was gone. That’s another reason he'd been trusted with this job.

“-idnapped a poor woman and forced her into marriage.” He trailed off, looking at his feet. 

God, that was even worse. Gareth would never buy this one. While the servants had felt bad for their soon-to-be Queen at first, that pity disappeared as soon as word got ‘round of what had happened at her wedding. Like, what kind of woman swears a chastity vow right there at the altar in front of all the guests, with no more warning to her husband than “And as the vicar is already here...” and that after she’d had her ex-boyfirend dragged out of the church?And once they all got to know her better, well... It was hard to feel sympathy for someone this horrible. Most of them pitied her husband more, and Vincenzo often wondered what the King even saw in her. 

His Gwynne was worth ten Madalenas, secret evil poison plot or no. At least she only did it because she was scared, and she’d trusted him enough to let him help. Vincenzo allowed himself a wistful smile. He hoped they’d meet in the next life, if there was such a thing.

He knew there were many  reasons why someone might hate King Richard, but Vincenzo wasn’t given to hating anyone and it was hard for him to think of more reasons when Gareth was staring at him with something he would have called pity if he’d seen it on the face of anyone else.

Vincenzo rallied himself. He had to convince Gareth if he wanted to protect Gwynne, so maybe he should go with something he actually believed.

“And then there’s his brother who is even worse. He’s an outright sadist who treats women like chattel and he-”

“Stop. Shut up. I’ve heard enough.”

“Oh. Okay, um...” Vincenzo looked at the spoon Gareth was clenching in his fist. Part of him was scared, but another part just didn’t want to die like this in his own freaking kitchen/room. He scrounged up the last bit of his courage.

“I’ve, um, got a last request? Could you maybe use something sharper than that spoon to, you know? Or at least not kill me in here, because there’s food here and if my death is messy then that’s a hygiene issue and I don’t want that in my kitchen.” He was babbling now. Great. He’d never expected a long life, but he’d hoped that in his last moments he’d be a little bit cooler than that.

Gareth was staring at him again, open-mouthed, like that was the most idiotic thing he’d ever heard. He looked down at the floor behind Vincenzo. Vincenzo followed his gaze and winced. He had forgotten about the massive amount of poison on the kitchen floor.

“Well, the bags haven’t ripped, so that’s easy to clean up.” Vincenzo said, a little sheepishly. “But god knows how many blood-borne diseases I carry,” none, he’d never had the chance to catch any and now he never would, “so...”

“Right, we wouldn’t want anyone getting sick...” Gareth muttered, suddenly deep in thought.

“Look, just *bleep*ing kill me already!”

“No.” Gareth was smirking, now. If lightbulbs had been invented back then, Vincenzo was sure he’d see one hovering over the thug’s head. 

“No?”

“Not today. You are going to do something for me first. I just had an idea that should work out for both of us.”

Vincenzo had been wrong, earlier. This was the most terrified he’s ever been or thought himself capable of being. He involuntary backed a few steps away from Gareth, not at all liking the direction this conversation was going or the way the King’s henchman was looking at him.

Little did he know, that feeling was mutual.

“Oh, for *bleep*s sake! Get your mind out of the gutter! Why does everybody always assume that I’d -? We aren’t in *bleep*ing Westeros!”

Vincenzo didn’t know where that was, but guessed that it wasn’t a very nice place.

“No, you ponce. I need you to finish cooking all this,” Gareth waved his spoon at the room at large “and you are going to make some changes to the menu. Do you still keep a list of the allergies that the guests have?”

“...yes? It should even be fairly current, my father updated it just before his death. But why would you-?”

“Don’t ask any questions, fetch me that list, do exactly as I tell you and I promise you’ll live to see tomorrow, at least. And above all, never mention any of this to anyone. Got it?”

Vincenzo nodded. He knew the value of another day to live.

“Good. Now put those bags back where they came from and then we’ll get cooking.”

***************************

“Look! The King is scratching,” Vincento pointed, smiling. The whole table - except Gareth, of course. He should really at least try to play along; did he want the King to get suspicious? - was scratching, all dignity and royal manners blown to the wind. He might die tomorrow but he would damn well enjoy watching the people who would condemn him to death suffer at least a little bit.

He looked to the other side of the table, hoping to see the high and mighty Queen squirm because she couldn’t allow herself to be seen scratching her own bum in public. She did seem to be in a great deal of discomfort, but...

“Gwynne?” Vincento turned to his girlfriend.

“Yeah?” 

“Did you put extra poison in the Queen’s food before you served it to her?”

They both looked at the Queen, who was bent over and seemingly in a great deal of pain from cramps as she made her way out of the throneroom and ran, presumably, towards the nearest loo.

“N-no? I didn’t do anything to her food!”

No poison, then. Gears were turning in Vincenzo’s head. Strange how impending death focused the mind. Cramps, diarrhea... Vincenzo guessed convulsions and death were just too hard to fake. At least the Queen knew how to play along with a plan, even if it had been the wrong one.

“Why would you even ask me that? I thought you would do it!” She went on ”Not that I’m not glad you are too good a person to kill people, of course.” Gwynne gave him one of her shy, nervous smiles. Very nervous, in fact. Her hands were wringing and there were roses blooming in her cheeks.

She looked so beautiful.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “same.” 

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Nevermind.” Vincenzo leaned in and pressed another soft kiss to her lips. He was frankly relieved. Appealing as the thought of Gwynne as some ruthless femme fatale had been, he did prefer the nice girl he’d fallen in love with.

“Hey, wanna hide away somewhere and make out until they find us? It’ll be a couple of minutes before the chaos down there is sorted out.”

“A couple of minutes? What can we do with a couple of minutes?”

“Babe, these hands,” he held them up and wriggled his fingers, grinning as confidently as he could “can work miracles with only a few minutes.” In the kitchen, he amended silently. Oh well, he was a fast learner.

Gwynne grinned back and locked her fingers with his. If today was going to be her last, at least she’d make it a good one.

The couple disappeared, giggling and still locking hands, into the nearest alcove.

A/N: The song Vincenzo sings is based on  Les Poissons from The Little Mermaid. I owe a double apology (and my eternal respect because rhyming is hard) to Glenn Slater, who wrote the lyrics both for The Little Mermaid and Galavant.