In the Vale of Mists, during the very small hours of the morning when the summer sun had yet to peak above the hills to the east and the sky was host to a myriad of colors from yellow-gold, to burning orange and pale, powder blue, Ollie made his way quietly downstairs from his luxurious quarters in one of the castleās five towers.
In the months since he arrived in the Vale of Mists, heād slowly grown accustomed to the large feather mattress, the soft, silky sheets and the scent of freshly laundered linens that wrapped around him when he lay down every night. Heād even grown accustomed to the comfortable, well tailored clothing he was provided along with sturdy, well made boots.
Some things, however, were too much for the former kitchen boy to adjust to. The presence of Justus, who seemed to have been appointed as his personal servant, was easy to accept until the horned servant tried to do the things he saw as his duties. Ollie refused to receive help dressing himself and he only reluctantly accepted help with bathing and grooming.
Rather than taking Justus as a servant, Ollie tried to treat the other man as a friend and peer, only to be constantly rebuffed for being āimproperly casual.ā Unlike Ashlynnās Heila, Justus seemed to have a much more rigid sense of propriety and his place in the castleās pecking order.
Which was why, hours before even his own attendant would be awake, Ollie slipped out of his room wearing the simplest clothing he currently owned and made his way to the castleās kitchens. When he arrived, he paused outside the doors, smelling the familiar scent of a freshly lit fire and listening to the soft, rhythmic sounds of knives on cutting blocks as the kitchen began to prepare for the day.
"Sir Ollie," Georg said with a wide smile on his bearish face. Ever since construction began on the village that folks had begun to refer to as āReunionā, the castleās head cook had seen very little of the flame haired youth who Ashlynn brought to the vale and introduced as her friend.
"If youāve come to steal hand pies for your ride to the village this morning, youāre far too early," the pot bellied chef said. "I havenāt even begun the filling yet, much less the pastry."
"Thatās actually why I came," Ollie said, rolling up the sleeves on his powder blue tunic. It might be one of his simplest shirts, lacking any embroidery or decorative details, but it was still very well made and clearly something that had no place in a busy, working kitchen. "Put me to work, chef. Whatever you could use a hand with."
For a moment, Georg blinked in surprise and confusion, his eyes opening wide before narrowing as he examined the young man before him. The look from the towering cook lasted long enough that Ollie was about to apologize for intruding and excuse himself from the kitchens when Georg finally spoke again.
"Youāre very handy with a knife," Georg said with a wide smile. "Thereās a large sack of carrots I need broken down for the hand pie filling. Dice them so theyāre the same size as the peas the little ones are taking from their pods," he said, pointing to a trio of young boys from the Horned Clan who clustered around a large wooden bowl as they slowly filled it with bright green peas.
Thinking back, it hadnāt been that many years since heād stood in a similar position in the kitchens of Lothian Manor. Neither of his parents served in the kitchens and when he started, he had no skills to speak of.
The head cook at the time had given him a small mallet and a large sack of walnuts to remove from their shells. Within an hour, heād smashed his fingers so many times that he could barely hold nuts in place anymore, but he refused to give up, even though he had been convinced at the time that the cook wanted him to quit and go back to the stables with his father.
By contrast, these young boys who only had to shell peas had a much easier, and in Ollieās opinion, much more suitable task for people of their age, especially given their smaller figures and petite hands.
"Understood," Ollie said with a grin as he retrieved a knife and prepared to get to work. "Do you want the carrots peeled or scrubbed?" Ollie asked, hesitating for a moment before he began.
"Peeled," Georg said over his shoulder as he turned away to inspect the onions that another cook had prepared for him. "But save the trimmings for the stock pot."
"Understood," Ollie said, ducking his head slightly before he got to work.
For the next hour, Ollie followed Georgās instructions to the letter. Dicing carrots, rolling and cutting pastry dough, rubbing pans with lard, the list went on as he moved from one task to the next, helping in the kitchen wherever Georg felt he could use an extra pair of hands.
By the time he was done, soot from the cooking hearth had stained his powder blue tunic and sweat soaked the soft linen but Ollie wore a smile of genuine satisfaction on his face as he looked at the long rows of hand pies filling the stone oven, puffing up and turning a rich golden-brown.
"So," Georg said, dusting flour off his clawed hands before he leaned up against the wall next to Ollie, keeping his eyes on the pastries in the oven as they spoke. "I know you havenāt been away from the kitchen so long that you miss cooking. Iāve heard nothing but praise from the men who have been helping you feed the refugees, no, excuse me, the villagers," he said, correcting himself.
"So, Sir Ollie, what is it that brought you down here before the first meals are even ready?" Georg asked, raising a bushy eyebrow at the young man.
"I guess youāre right," Ollie said as he watched the young boys who had been shucking peas while they began hauling firewood to be placed next to the large ovens. They were too young yet to know when the fire had burned down enough that it needed more fuel without making things so hot in the ovens that the pastry would burn, but as long as the tasks were simple, they went about them with a kind of joyous dedication that Ollie couldnāt help but look at nostalgically.
"You donāt have to call me āSir Ollieā you know," he added. "Iām not a real knight until Lady Ashlynn comes back and decides whether or not Iāve earned the title. She might even be upset at me for some of the decisions that Iāve made," he said with a small, self deprecating chuckle.
"I wonāt claim to know Lady Ashlynn well," the cook said. "But in the time she worked in my kitchen, she struck me as someone who appreciates hard work done with honest intentions. I think thatās part of why she liked it here when she was learning to master her senses."
"From what I can see, youāve been working very hard with very honest intentions," Georg praised. They werenāt empty words either. The cooks heād sent to help Ollie had all returned with glowing praise not just for the different methods the young man brought to help feed an ever growing group of refugees, but the tireless dedication and personal touch he put into all of his work.
"So what is it exactly," Georg asked. "That makes you think that Lady Ashlynn wouldnāt recognize you as a knight when everyone else around you already does?"