Dragon Stew II

[maderr]

*~*~*~*

Day three passed mostly in a quiet blur, his time in the main kitchens fading away as he focused exclusively on the dragon stew – and he was beginning to suspect that doing it only once a year had more to do with the laborious process of making it rather than the exotic ingredients.

Day four he woke well before dawn and began to haul out all the final ingredients, chopping, slicing, dumping everything in the large cauldron just outside his kitchen. He always expected to see people dropping by out of curiosity or to harass him, but no one came even within view. He was just far enough away from the castle proper to feel somewhat cut off.

The dragon had yet to make an appearance, and probably wouldn't for some time yet – the stew had to cook most of the day, but not quite all of it.

All in all, it was rather lonely work. He wondered how the stupid cook dealt with it; always slightly cut off from everyone else because of this special recipe – for it truly would be a year long process, between gathering, preparing, and constantly checking on the multitude of ingredients.

Never mind how hard it must be to keep a dragon enslaved. Too careless or too cruel and it was all over. Then again, what was enslaving a dragon to a man who would make a home and family for six years for the sole purpose of stealing recipes?

Glowering, he tossed in the last of the griffon meat and gave the stew several brisk stirs. It smelled wonderful; it would smell a thousand times better once the different flavors were allowed to blend together and the heat of the fire brought out their full potential.

He wondered if that was the trick to it all – nothing was hotter than dragon fire, and it did not require constant monitoring to ensure the heat stayed up and even.

The sound of feet in grass brought his head up, and Huey started to greet the dragon – except it wasn't.

Disappointment was drowned by utter confusion and no small amount of fluster. "Uh – good morning. You're, um, up early?"

Lord Cassarah smiled. In the dim, gray light of early morning, beneath the thinnest hints of sunlight and the fading moonlight, his white hair almost seemed to glow, along with the silver embroidery on his dove-gray robes.

Beautiful, Huey thought, then scowled at himself.

"I came to see how you fared," Lord Cassarah said. "The King has put entirely too much pressure upon you – though on that note, I do believe I have convinced him that killing you is a bit of an extreme."

Huey frowned. "Thank you," he said slowly. "I should also thank you for the book." Not that it had helped him much, but it was interesting to read snatches of it here and there when he could find a moment.

Lord Cassarah smiled. "My pleasure."

"Why are you helping me?" Huey asked suddenly, unable to stand not knowing why this handsome, powerful man would deign to pay him any mind. Oh, his mind had tried to provide him with ideas when it stopped thinking about dragon stew, but he had stubbornly ignored the tantalizing images. A man like that would never think such thoughts about a plain, ordinary, humble baker stupid enough to get so thoroughly in over his head.

All he got in reply was a smile that looked decidedly mischievous. "All goes well with the stew?"

"Yes," Huey said irritably, looking away to pick up the small bowl full of finely chopped pixie wings – not actual pixie wing, but a flower called after them. They had a light sweetness, and would help cut the bitterness of other herbs, adding a final perfect layer to the myriad flavors of the stew.

Lord Cassarah drew closer, peering over the edge of the cauldron at the mass that, hopefully, would be a perfect dragon stew by sunset. "I wonder what the king will do if yours turns out better the royal cook's."

Huey snorted. The stupid cook might be a bastard, but he could cook – it took no small amount of skill to make something like this, as much as he hated to admit it. There was no way that he would make it better on his first attempt than someone who had been doing it for years. His only desire was to live through this – and, if at all possible, to get back that ring from the cook so the dragon could be free too. There was no way he'd leave anyone enslaved to that bastard.

Which reminded him when this was all over, he had to spend one night with the dragon. Now, however, wasn't the time to think about it.

"Mine will not better," he said. "This is my first attempt; there's no way it could surpass many years of practice. I only want to keep my head."

Lord Cassarah smiled. "You will. Good luck with your cooking." He turned away and walked gracefully back toward the castle.

Sighing, Huey bent back to his work. Did life ever stop being confusing? He couldn't understand his father, he didn't understand why the King was so violent about not getting his stew, he didn't understand Lord Cassarah, he certainly didn't understand the weird dragon – and he didn't even understand himself.

Cooking made sense, but given it was more or less what had gotten him in trouble…

Well, sulking wasn't going to do anything except get him in more trouble. Huey returned to his work with renewed fervor, barely noticing that gradually he no longer had to rely on torchlight to see what he was doing. He noticed the sun only because he looked up at the sound of movement.

"Dragon," he greeted.

Good morning. I see you are ready for me.

Huey nodded. "Thank you again for helping me."

You will repay me in full, of that I have no doubt, so it is a pleasure. Much nicer than being made to help the one who has taken my ring.

"I would never act like him," Huey said quietly, but fervently. He would sooner turn himself into a stew than act like his father in any way.

He watched in silence as the dragon settled down, curling around the cauldron and almost lazily opening his mouth, flames pouring out.

"Will you really be able to do that all day?" Huey asked. He couldn't fathom it.

Oh, easily. It was hard the first year, but I've gotten very good at it. You also took more care than he did in preparing everything, and used wood for much of it. That means I am not as tired as usual. He might have sired you, pretty cook, but I can see you take after only your mother."

Huey swallowed, nodding at the compliment but not daring to speak. Instead, he fetched his long wooden spoon and stood near enough to the cauldron to tend the stew without getting caught in the flames himself.

They worked throughout the day, mostly silent as the dragon focused on his fire and Huey focused on adding the final touches. No one came by; they might have been the only two people in the castle. Huey found he liked it as much as he'd liked being in the chaos of the busy kitchen.

He liked being busy, having work to do…but there was something about this which appealed, too. It reminded him of the way he and his mother had always woken early to begin the day's work. In those few hours before sunrise, only the distant clanging of the blacksmith on the opposite side of the village had broken the spell that they were all alone, and even that had seemed part of it, the music that accompanied those secret hours of the morning inhabited by a precious few.

Scowling at his thoughts, Huey sought for a distraction. "If you were to get your ring back, what would you do?"

Get rid of that nasty cook. I have brothers who would simply eat him, but I have found that the only tasty humans are the ones I do not want to kill, and the annoying ones always taste foul. After that, I would be able to enjoy all my treasure again – including my new one. The dragon tilted his head ever so slightly; his flames remained steady and even upon the cauldron, but just over the rim of it Huey could see a strange, almost mischievous light to the pale blue eyes. You are a very pretty treasure. I will take very good care of you.

Huey ducked his head, face hot. "I am not pretty and humans can't be treasure. That book said dragons only like shiny or bright things.

You shine. You are very bright. You smell good and taste good and are very, very pretty.

What was he supposed to say to that? This was the oddest conversation he'd ever had. Huey glared at his stew, ordering it to provide answers on dragons, sighing when it only bubbled. He threw in the last of the devil powder and resumed stirring. His arms were killing him, his legs weren't too pleased either, and his back he was not thinking about; he was hot, sticky, and wanted a nap. "So are you going to lock me up with the rest of your treasure? Where do you keep it, a cave or something?" He snorted at the idea of the stupid cook trekking through a cave to steal treasure.

That couldn't be it; the fat oaf would have killed himself just walking to the cave.

Amusement rippled through his mind, and Huey wondered at how quickly he'd gotten used to the way the dragon 'spoke' in his head. My treasure is kept in perhaps three dozen trunks, locked and sealed in one of the rooms of the treasury. None but I can open them. You will not be put there, of course. That is silly. You will stay with me. Besides, the King will be most cross if after he hires you to be his new royal cook, I tell him I am putting you in a trunk.

"Ha!" Huey said. "New royal cook. I think you're cooking your own brain along with the stew, dragon. When this is over, I'll be lucky if I'm permitted to go back to my own little bakery to live in peace." Very likely he'd have to move, since he had no doubt the stupid cook would use every means to make his life miserable.

Or end it, except he thought the bastard too much a coward for that – after all, he hadn't murdered his wife or child, simply broken them and ran.

He realized he'd slowed in his stirring and resumed the proper pace. The stew smelled wonderful, and the few samples he'd taken here and there assured him it was coming out well – probably not as good as all the years previous, but perhaps good enough he at least would live.

You will be.

Huey said nothing, simply continued to stir.




"Good evening, baker," the King greeted. "Did you succeed in making my dragon stew?"

Huey wondered if he was supposed to be bowing, but couldn't bring himself to actually care. If he didn't remain standing upright, he would fall over and sleep the rest of the day. Between finishing the stew and having to get ready to present it he had managed to catch a short nap, but that was all. "I certainly did my best, Majesty, but you are the only one who can say whether or not I succeeded."

The King grunted in approval of his words. "Then serve it up."

"Yes, Majesty." Huey motioned to the footman waiting by the entrance, who darted obediently off. Huey waited, forcing himself to hold still and not fidget with the stupid, fancy tunic he'd found waiting for him – all the girls in the kitchen had clucked and cooed and fussed over him with it, giggling that Lord Cassarah had sent him yet another gift.

He could feel the Advisor watching him, could just see Lord Cassarah from the corner of his eye. Huey wondered just what was so interesting about him that such a powerful man would pay him any attention at all. Never mind he was supposed to be spending the night with a dragon. He really wished it was morning already.

Finally the great doors were pushed open, and several footmen pushed and pulled the slapdash cart put together to transfer the massive stew from the small kitchen to the great hall. Huey had been thoroughly annoyed to find no such device already available. When he'd asked how the stupid royal cook had managed in years past, everyone had just shaken their heads.

All around him the great hall fell silent, and Huey frowned at the looks of shock on all their faces.

"Baker," the King said, speaking slowly, a confused frown on his face. "What is this?"

Huey returned the frown. "Your dragon stew. What else could is possibly be?"

"That is not dragon stew," the King replied, voice growing cold. "When the royal cook brings it to me, there is only one small pot, barely enough for me to truly enjoy it."

Ah. Now all the pieces fell into place. Huey sneered. "That is because your royal cook is a selfish, arrogant bastard who deserved a great deal worse than the beating I gave him. Dragon stew is meant to feed a great many people; given the costs in ingredients, labor, and especially the difficulty in actually locating a dragon – it would be stupid to make enough only for one person. The recipe I followed made enough to feed every person in this room. I followed the same recipe that stupid cook has always used."

"Summon the royal cook!" the King roared.

Huey tensed, and stood in unhappy silence until he heard the doors open again. He carefully did not look up, knowing he'd only want to beat the bastard again.

"My dear cook," the King said, "explain to me why this boy makes so much stew when you make only a single pot's worth, and he claims to follow the same recipe."

The cook sneered. "He's a liar, of course."

Huey balled his hands into fists, but managed to keep his place. If nothing else, he had made a promise – one night for one day. Until that debt was paid, he did not belong entirely to himself and so could not do as he pleased. "I am no liar," he said, voice rough with anger.

The King and cook both started to speak – but a smooth, lyrical voice cut through them both. "Taste the stew, Majesty. That will settle the truth of the matter far better than this squabbling."

"You are right, of course, Cassarah," the King said after a moment. "Baker, bring me a bowl of your supposed dragon stew."

Thinking nasty thoughts about what he'd like to do to the bastard cook, Huey dished out a bowl and slowly carried it to the King. He stood in silence as it was fussed over, smelled – and finally tasted.

He noticed briefly that everyone else in the room seemed to have stopped breathing as well, and it might have been funny if there wasn't so much at stake.

The King slowly set down his spoon, pressed a napkin to his lips, then looked up. His eyes were intent, dark; not even the day he'd told Huey to cook or else had they looked so. "Cook," he finally said, focusing that oddly intense gaze on the royal cook. "It gives me no pleasure to say it, for I have stood by you all these years, but this stew far surpasses any that you have made and so I am forced to concede that perhaps it is the boy who speaks the truth."

"Majesty," Lord Cassarah said, the words almost idle, almost careless, except his pale eyes held a hard glitter. "I have noticed something interesting."

The King did not look away from the now pale and panicked-looking royal cook, but he gave a slight nod. "What is that, Cassarah?"

"Take a look for yourself, Majesty. If your cook were to lose most of his girth…if he were, say, tall and lean…and his hair held no gray, and his eyes were still vibrant rather than dulled with laziness and selfishness…" Cassarah leaned forward, motioning to Huey. "How, do you suppose, would he look?"

Huey froze and nearly bolted – but pale blue eyes locked with his and suddenly he felt as though he could not move though his life likely depended upon it.

The silence which had reigned suddenly exploded into a fury of whispers and hushed exclamations.

"Cook," the King said with a softness Huey didn't think was too terribly reassuring, "I believe you told me upon applying for the post that you had no family…yet here plain as day I see you have a son." He slammed his hand down on the table, commanding silence.

Once again the great hall was quiet; even the royal cook gave up on the protest he'd been about to give.

"Baker," the King said. "I will ask you again what you were asked four days ago, and I would like you to answer me honestly. Why did you beat my cook?"

Huey tore his gaze away from the Advisor's confusing blue eyes. He considered the merits of answering honestly. What did he have to lose though, at this point? A dragon to repay, but he was beginning to suspect he might not lose his head tonight. "As I said four days ago, Majesty, he deserved it."

Taking a deep breath, he continued before the King could demand he say more. "Twenty six years ago he seduced and married my mother, who was a famous baker in my home village. For six years he played the role of adoring husband, even raising a son – me. Keeping the recipes that have been handed down in my family secret is a very serious matter; it was only after those six years that my mother finally showed them to my father. The very next day he was gone; no evidence of him remained except for my mother's broken heart and my own boyish memories. After she died, I moved to the village not far from here – and discovered my father was now the royal cook, and cruel to the villagers besides." Tersely he explained in full detail all the awful things the bastard cook did.

"Seize him," the King said calmly when he had finished, motioning for the guards to take the royal cook away.

Huey bowed his head and stood in silence, not certain now what he should do – then suddenly knew. "Wait!" he cried out. "There's something I need from him."

The King motioned for the guards to halt. "What?" he asked.

"Um – " He supposed he should have thought this out a little more. Oh, well. "A dragon helped me make the stew. I made a bargain with him. The cook stole a ring which belonged to the dragon; it once belonged to a Queen. I said I would get it back, and I would like to keep my promise."

"Liar!" the royal cook bellowed. "The ring is mine; none can prove it is not."

"Show me this ring," Lord Cassarah said, gentle voice cutting through everything once more, and Huey wondered how he did that. "Majesty—"

"Yes, Cassarah," the King replied. "Of course I would trust your judgment on such things. Cook, have you this ring?"

Red-faced with anger, the cook nevertheless reached beneath his tunic and pulled out a small pouch hung from his neck by a strip of leather. Ripping it off, he tossed it upon the table. "It is my ring," he said petulantly.

Huey watched in silence as the pouch was opened and Lord Cassarah dumped the ring into his hand. It really was as beautiful as the dragon had said; even the quiet Advisor seemed completely taken with it. "Yes," Lord Cassarah said. "This ring once belonged to Queen Shanna. You can see her mark here, see? The blue diamond is beyond what a cook could ever afford; even your Majesty does not possess a ring such as this."

The King grunted. "I wish I did. Do you honestly think it belongs to a dragon?"

"Queen Shanna was considered eccentric for adoring dragons," Lord Cassarah replied.

Giving another grunt, the King took the ring from Lord Cassarah and tossed it to Huey. "Then here is your bargain fulfilled, baker." He motioned for the guards to finally take the royal cook away.

Huey once more stood in silent confusion.

"I apologize," the King said, making him look up in surprise. "I was unfair to you the day of your arrival, though in my own meager defense you were not doing anything to improve your standing."

"I wasn't much interested, Majesty," Huey replied with a shrug. "No one cares what becomes of a humble baker, especially one who lets his temper get the best of him."

The King nodded. "Well, you're a humble baker no more. From this day forward you are my royal cook – now someone pass this stew around that all might appreciate your efforts. I'm inclined to keep it to myself, of course," he smiled, and Huey thought suddenly he did not seem quite so severe or annoying, "but I suppose I'll be generous this once. Off to your kitchens, my cook, I'm certain you've had more excitement here than you wanted."

"Yes, Majesty," Huey said, and fled. The words ran through his head like a madness, making him feel almost feverish. Royal cook. What was he supposed to do?

He was given no time to think, however, as every last person in the kitchens attacked him with hugs and screams and congratulations. Huey thought briefly that he was going to suffocate – but as suddenly as they'd attacked him, the people stopped and pulled away, more than a few going wide-eyed.

Already knowing who would be there, Huey spun around and stared. "Lord Cassarah."

"If you will come with me, please?" Lord Cassarah asked, voice soft and pretty.

Huey nodded and followed, wondering what this was all about and if he could break away to go and somehow find the dragon to whom he owed all this. They walked through surprisingly empty halls in silence, wending through the palace until they reached rooms so richly appointed they could only be Lord Cassarah's private chambers. "My lord?" he asked.

Lord Cassarah motioned him to the fireplace, sitting down in a wide, high-backed chair. His hair was loose, spilling everywhere, pale and almost shimmering and so beautiful. He'd never known a man could be so beautiful. He didn't understand what Lord Cassarah wanted with him.

"The night is half gone," Lord Cassarah said, "so I think perhaps I will claim my half of the bargain tomorrow. However, I thought you might not mind getting away from everything going on downstairs."

Huey stared. "What?" He blinked. "How did you know—what do you mean—" His eyes widened as Lord Cassarah seemed to ripple and suddenly those pale blue eyes were more silver, the hair more shimmering than ever and even his skin for a second seemed to hold a shine of which human skin was incapable. "You can't be," he breathed. "The book didn't say anything about this."

Lord Cassarah stood and approached, laughing softly. "It's really not a very good book, hmm? But I thought it might make being approached by a dragon a little less shocking for you."

"You look human," Huey said, swallowing again the rock that suddenly seemed to be lodged in his throat. "You can't be the dragon."

Suddenly he found his space crowded, all that white hair everywhere, a hand on his upper arm, another against his cheek – and then Lord Casarah licked him, one smooth swipe across his other cheek – and Huey was convinced.

"How?" he asked. "No one said dragons could look human."

Lord Cassarah smirked, looking like a little boy who had gotten away with a fine piece of mischief indeed. "That is because dragons old enough to use such complicated magic are also smart enough not to go bragging about it. I have lived here a long time and used the castle treasury to keep my treasure safe. It worked very well until that damned cook managed to steal my ring."

"Oh!" Huey said suddenly, and fumbled for a moment, finally pulling the ring out and thrusting it at Lord Cassarah. "Here. For you."

"Thank you," Lord Cassarah said softly, slipping the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. "I have missed it. You did not have to get it back."

"I didn't want that bastard to enslave you anymore," Huey said, daring to look at him, but almost immediately looking away again, feeling suddenly, painfully shy.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, tugged him close. It was strange. Often when he was this close to another, it was because the room was crowded and he'd been shoved, or it was dark and there were quick, greedy fumblings for a satisfaction never really found.

Lord Cassarah smelled like honey drizzled over fresh, warm bread, so stark a contrast with his cool appearance. Huey wanted to press closer, wanted so badly to know what was going on but he dreaded the answer more, though he didn't know why.

"Pretty, pretty cook," Lord Cassarah said softly in his ear. "All mine, because I am not letting you go. You are a treasure now, and brought back my treasure besides. That is a debt that will take some time to repay."

Huey shivered, feeling lost, the only real and solid thing in his world the man – dragon – against whom he was pressed. "What do you want with me?" he asked.

"To keep you," Lord Cassarah replied, and licked him again, grinning boyishly when Huey sputtered a protest and pulled slightly away. "I saw and appreciated you before anyone else, and so that means I keep you."

"Stop licking me," Huey said. "I'm not a necklace or something. You can't just keep me."

Lord Cassarah laughed and licked his lips, the motion slow and evil and Huey had no time to figure it out because suddenly licking became kissing and oh no one had ever really kissed him, not like this.

Hot, so very, very hot. He wondered fuzzily if this was what it was like to be dragon stew, to be surrounded by all this heat with so many things inside him suddenly too hot and mixing together until he didn't what was what.

He broke away with a gasp and stared into eyes that were very much dragon and not a bit human, as bright and silver as the moon. "Dragon…you really are…"

"Cass," the dragon replied. "You should call me Cass, and I can keep you because you are my treasure."

"You don't even know me. All I know about you is that you're a dragon who is way too fond of licking."

"You smell good and taste good and are very pretty and that is enough to make you one of my treasures. You are hard working and honor your bargains and care and are sweet and that makes you a very important treasure indeed. The finest of all my treasures. I am keeping you."

Huey started to protest again, because he really wasn't an object…but being held was nice, and being kissed like that was more than nice, and what was really so wrong with someone wanting to keep him?

He offered Lord Cassarah – Cass – a hesitant smile, and took a chance. "I gave you back your ring, dragon…Cass." His smile grew more confident at the way Cass almost seemed to growl when Huey said his name. "What do I get in return?"

Cass growled again, hands moving with startling forwardness over Huey. "What do you want?"

"I'm not sure," Huey said, grinning now, still not certain this was actually happening but more than willing to go along with it. He slowly reached up to touch that beautiful white hair, loving the way it shimmered, how soft and delicate it felt, like flour sifted over and over. "What would a dragon consider a fair exchange?" he asked softly.

Cass returned the smile and tiled Huey's head just so, lowering his own to lap at Huey's lips as though they were a rich cream. "It's a very fine ring, it might take some time to repay its return."

"That's fine," Huey whispered, the words nearly lost as Cass kissed him.

Comments

[rotewolken.livejournal.com]

I too am cheered up by this after having a rough day. <3 Thank you.