Fic: Burnt Chicken Never Won Fair Lady Part 1/2
Title: Burnt Chicken Never Won Fair Lady
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, Gaius, the Dragon (...sort of), mentions of Uther
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff, humor
Word Count: 11,598
Warnings: None (unless you're offended by clichés and fics of the pure fluff variety)
Summary: Modern AU. When Merlin bets Arthur that he's incapable of cooking an edible meal, Arthur and Gwen find themselves trying to accomplish this very feat in the kitchen of Uther's up-scale restaurant, Camelot. As Arthur navigates cooking a dead bird while simultaneously wooing Gwen, Gwen tries to survive Arthur's attempts to impress her, an old man who really doesn't like her, and Morgana's innuendos.
Disclaimer: I hold no claim of ownership over Merlin. I've mentioned that "Gwen would have her own action figure by now" thing, right?
A/N: A year and a half ago, I signed up for the Arthur/Gwen Thing-a-Thon. I was assigned the lovely makeyoubrave , and one of her requests was, "AU fic or fan art where they work together in a restaurant - Chicken! ;) - with the others (Merlin, Morgana, Gaius, Uther, Leon, the Dragon, etc). Preferably more upbeat than angsty. Crack!fic is fine (personally I love it)." I started this piece, but about halfway through I lost my nerve and made her vid request instead. I continued working on the fic, however, and 18 months later I'm finally posting it. I have no idea if you're still interested in the prompt, bb, but this one is for you (although it's not exactly what you asked for ;-D, but at the very least one could say that I was inspired by your prompt).
A huge, huge thank you to starry_laa , who acted as both my beta and Brit-pick. Any Americanisms or other glaring errors are my doing. I'd also like to thank her for 1) managing to deal with my panic attacks over finally letting someone see this piece, 2) talking sense into me when I freaked out over this fic in general, and 3) acting as a reassuring presence whenever my stomach clenched painfully at the thought of posting my first long fanfic in four years (even if she wasn't aware of that last one). This never would have seen the light of day without her.
Split into two parts for length. Part one can be found under the cut. :-)
As a rule, Gwen avoided the habit of eavesdropping, preferring not to run the risk of hearing only bits and pieces of a conversation and either agonizing over what had actually been said or leaving the room with a completely false understanding of the discussion. Yet when Morgana started snickering uncontrollably, her magazine shaking up and down, Gwen couldn’t help but look up from her book and follow her friend’s gaze to the two young men standing on the other side of Morgana’s elegantly decorated living room. As was a usual occurrence for Arthur and Merlin, they were in the midst of what Arthur called a “battle of the wills,” and what Morgana scornfully labelled “Arthur’s petty tantrums and Merlin’s attempts to reason with a moron.”
“What’s going on?” Gwen asked Morgana quietly, nodding her head in the direction of the guys.
“I have no idea,” Morgana admitted, “but I heard ‘cooking,’ and if Arthur’s talking about cooking, then that can only mean hilarity in our near future.”
Gwen furrowed her brow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Morgana lowered her magazine, revealing her shocked face. “You never heard?” she asked.
“That doesn’t clear anything up.”
Morgana’s face lit up. Leaning closer to Gwen, she said, “You know how every Christmas my father lets the servants off for the day?”
“You mean how every Christmas you blackmail him into giving them the day off?” Gwen retorted, a knowing look gracing her features.
Morgana twisted her upper lip. “It was only that once. Anyway, a few years back, Arthur was alone at home- ”
“At Christmas?” Gwen cried. She knew the Pendragons were an unconventional family, but to leave Arthur in an empty house when everywhere else families were filling their homes with loved ones....
Morgana shrugged, though the brief narrowing of her eyes indicated to Gwen that she was growing impatient with all of the interruptions. “I went skiing with friends and Uther had a business meeting,” she answered matter-of-factly, but her tone did nothing to ease Gwen’s distress. “So he was home alone and, I imagine, hungry, and when he tried to whip something up- ”
“Would you quit spreading that story around!” a voice cut off Morgana, who threw up her hands at another unwanted disturbance. Gwen looked up, surprised to discover that Arthur had managed to tear himself away from his “battle of the wills” to listen in on their conversation.
“Come off it, Arthur,” Morgana said with a roll of her eyes. “Everyone knows about it already. It made the bloody news!”
“Clearly not everyone if you find the need to tell the story every two weeks,” Arthur retorted through gritted teeth. Gwen could have sworn she saw his eyes dart quickly to her face, but a blink later and they were once again trained on his sister’s.
“So you set your kitchen on fire and almost burnt down your house,” Merlin joined in nonchalantly. “There are worst things you could’ve done.”
Gwen gasped, remembering the news story from a few years back. “That was you? But all of the reports said it was some issue with the wiring!”
“Mmm, Uther paid a great deal to cover up my brother’s stupidity,” Morgana explained, grinning happily at the chance to exploit Arthur’s mistake. “But most of the tabloids reported that Arthur had something to do with it. And we all know where most people get their news.”
“Clearly what Dad needed to do was bury you in a very deep hole,” Arthur muttered, seething and red from embarrassment.
“Oh, yes, that would solve all your problems,” Morgana drawled. Arthur looked like he was about to shoot back with some clever comment (all right, Gwen admitted to herself, maybe a not-so-clever comment) when Merlin interrupted: “Shouldn’t we sort out the details now?”
Arthur paled immediately at Merlin’s words.
“Details?” Morgana asked, her interest piqued after a quick analysis of Arthur’s reaction (conclusion: the probability of future embarrassment of one Arthur Pendragon = 99/100).
“No, because we’re guests and it would be rude to saunter off like that,” Arthur shot at his friend, eyes narrowed in warning.
“Oh, all right!” Merlin agreed glibly. “I have no problem discussing it here if that’s what you’d prefer.”
Gwen watched - half in amusement, half in concern - as Arthur, after a nervous glance in the girls’ direction, dragged Merlin out of the room without a look back.
“Merlin better spill when he gets back,” Morgana sighed, content to return to her magazine now that Arthur could no longer entertain her. “Anything that elicits a response like that is bound to be the highlight of my year.”
“Mhmm,” Gwen half-heartedly agreed. She couldn’t deny her curiosity, but she also found that something was gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She realised with a start that she was worried for Arthur. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Calm-and-Collected, but he wasn’t Mr. Turn-White-at-the-First-Sign-of-Danger either, and his reaction had unsettled her.
Shaking her head, Gwen returned to her magazine as well, only to look up at the doorway every few seconds. This really isn’t the best sign for my sanity.
*****
“It’s half past two,” Morgana moaned the next day, leaning back in her kitchen chair. “Where are they? I still haven’t heard what the hell’s going on!”
Gwen shrugged. “No idea. It’s not like them to be this late. Well, not Merlin,” she said as an afterthought.
As if on cue, Merlin bounded into the kitchen. “Afternoon!” he greeted them, cheerfully nabbing an apple from Morgana’s fruit bowl.
“Where the hell have you been?” Morgana demanded, sitting up.
Merlin shrugged. “Fleshing out the final details,” he said vaguely before biting into the apple.
“Details of what?” When Merlin didn’t respond Morgana made a face. “Out with it, Emrys.”
“Arthur is- ” He stopped to cover up a snicker before finishing. “He’s cooking.”
Gwen’s jaw dropped, and she knew Morgana was reacting similarly. “Cooking?” Gwen repeated, wondering if she should consider getting her hearing checked. Merlin nodded, pleased as ever.
“As in chopping, mixing, and turning on a stove cooking?” Morgana further inquired, leaning in closer.
“Assuming he figures out how to hold a knife.”
“Dear God!” Morgana clapped her hands together with glee. “This I have to see. Is he at his flat? Or home?”
Merlin shook his head. “No, one of your father’s restaurants-
“Camelot,” Gwen said in unison with Merlin. Merlin turned in surprise, causing Gwen to turn a bright red. It wasn’t as if she was tracking Arthur’s every movement, but lately he had taken to dining at the restaurant at least once a week. She should know - it was she, more often than not, who waited on him. If he wasn’t at one of their flats or his childhood home, then chances were he was at Camelot.
She was fortunately spared the pain of explaining herself. At the news of her brother’s location, Morgana had jumped up from the table, grinning from ear-to-ear. Instead of relief, however, Gwen felt her insides curl. This couldn’t bode well for Arthur. “You’re not going there, are you?” she asked.
“Of course I am!” Morgana said, and if she weren’t Morgana le Fay Pendragon, Gwen was positive she would have let out a snort. “How can I pass up on free entertainment?” Upon hearing this Gwen bit her lip. Morgana sighed. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing!” Gwen protested immediately, but she couldn’t prevent the slight blush from gracing her cheeks. Morgana smirked. “I just think,” Gwen continued, trying to remain calm, “that the reasonable thing to do would be to let him be for a couple of hours. You know, give him a fair chance before you paralyze him with fear.” Morgana looked unconvinced, and Gwen shot Merlin a pleading look.
“He has only been there for twenty minutes,” Merlin agreed, drawing out his words. Gwen cocked her head to the side and eyed him curiously. It almost sounded like he was … scheming. “And he’ll probably claim ‘Morgana interference’ and find a way to weasel out of our bet, and then I’ll be out 100 quid.” No, Gwen decided. Not scheming - just eager to ensure Arthur would hand over the money. Gwen switched her attention back to Morgana and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Morgana let out a small, almost-petulant huff but sat back down. “All right, you two win. But if he’s still there when I start my shift he’s not getting any mercy.” Gwen rolled her eyes good-naturedly, never noticing Merlin’s pleased expression.
*****
Arthur was many things: heir to an extraordinary fortune, an impressive athlete, and one of the world’s most eligible bachelors (at least according to twittering entertainment reporters). A cook, however, he was not. Yet on this particular late afternoon he found himself in the kitchen of Camelot, one of his father’s many upscale restaurants, staring at the carcass of what he could only assume was once a chicken. His assignment was simple: cook an edible meal.
Arthur was beginning to doubt the possibility of accomplishing this task. To be perfectly honest, his doubts had first arisen when he spied the raw chicken and realised there were no gloves to be seen. How was he supposed to cook this thing and live to tell the tale without gloves to protect him from whatever diseases this dead creature might be harvesting? He was still staring at the chicken, trying to figure out how to go about touching the meat (never mind how he would manage to turn it into something that wasn’t, well, raw), when the kitchen door swung open with a rather loud squeak, followed by the sound of light footsteps on the linoleum floor.
Arthur, intent on solving his conundrum, did not hear this noise. He remained focused solely on his assignment until a burst of laughter finally interrupted his concentration. For the first time in half an hour Arthur removed his gaze from the dead poultry, quickly turning to a) hide that he was staring at a bloody chicken like it was a ticking time bomb and b) see who had no doubt just witnessed this embarrassing moment despite his (incredibly delayed) effort to conceal it.
“Guinevere!” he exclaimed at the sight of the young woman in front of him. He felt his stomach churn ever so slightly. While lately he quite enjoyed any stolen moment with Gwen, this wasn’t exactly how he wanted her to see him - not when he was still trying to figure out how to woo her, so to speak. Especially when she seemed completely oblivious to his attempts, which included, but were not limited to, tapping Morgana’s mobile to find out her plans with Gwen so he could “accidentally” run into them, passing by Gwen’s uni when she was finished with the day’s classes, and encouraging Merlin to organise several weekly get-togethers (he had seen enough of his sister in the past few months to last him a lifetime). And now here they were: him with his stupid chicken and Gwen - wonderful, sweet, nonjudgmental Gwen - laughing at him. It wasn’t exactly the most encouraging scenario.
To be fair, Gwen was usually quite sensitive to others’ problems, no matter how ridiculous or small. But this was Arthur Pendragon, a man who prided himself on always being in control. Could anyone really blame her for bursting into laughter when she caught a chicken - and a dead one at that - outwitting the youngest Pendragon?
“You can stop laughing now,” Arthur said finally, and even his growing affections for Gwen couldn’t keep the exasperation from creeping into his voice.
Gwen covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughter, but her effort only resulted in a snort. “How long were you standing there before I came in?” she managed to get out between residual giggles.
Arthur shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “A bit.”
Gwen shook her head slightly at this remark. “I take it it’s been a while then?” Gwen answered for him, reaching behind her to pull her curls into a ponytail.
It was then that Arthur finally processed that Gwen was here, in the kitchen, well before she was due to clock in. He stared at her, frowning a little, and then glanced at his watch to confirm his suspicions. “I thought the restaurant didn’t start serving until seven,” Arthur said, eyeing her cautiously. Gwen was dedicated to her job, but he doubt that even she would arrive three-and-a-half hours early.
“You thought correctly.”
“Yet it’s not even four.”
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Your point?”
Arthur was caught off guard by her unwillingness to just tell him what he wanted to hear, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence with Gwen if he gave it some thought (she had a habit of making him actually work for answers). “But … Morgana doesn’t get here until five,” he tried to reason with her. For the life of him Arthur didn’t understand why his sister had insisted on working as a hostess for a restaurant that, for all intents and purposes, she owned, but whenever he tried to broach the subject Morgana simply waved her hand and said in a patronising voice, “Some of us want to learn how to stand on our own two feet, Arthur.”
“Yes, well, it’s rather difficult to seat people when the restaurant isn’t open,” Gwen pointed out lightly.
“The same applies to waiting tables.” Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if she had finally lost her mind after spending so much time with Morgana (not to mention Merlin).
Gwen tried to suppress her mischievous grin but failed dismally. “Merlin might have asked me to check in on you - make sure you weren’t cheating on your cooking bet. Nice outfit, by the way,” Gwen added, gesturing at his chef coat. “Merlin didn’t tell me how this bet came about, though I have my theories.”
Arthur’s face contorted into one of annoyance at the reminder of who had placed him in this … this hell. “Your mate, Merlin- ” Arthur began, but Gwen cut him off.
“My mate?” Gwen repeated with a disbelieving look. “You two have known each other for, what, two years now? And somehow he’s still just my mate?” Gwen shook her head. “He might as well be your brother.”
“If by brother you mean an annoying, bumbling prat I couldn’t care less about, then yeah.” Gwen was hardly convinced by this claim, nor did she think Arthur was. She knew when to back off, however, and this was definitely the time if she hoped to discover what on earth was going on. “All right then. Tell me how Merlin’s responsible for your woes this time,” Gwen said instead.
Arthur shifted uneasily. “I, er, I might’ve indicated that he’s crap at just about everything.” Gwen should have felt disgust at his admission - truly, she should have. But she understood Arthur and Merlin’s relationship well enough by now to recognize that he didn’t mean a word of it, and she was positive Merlin knew this as well. Instead, she found herself hiding a smile at his apparent guilt over his arrogance. It was quite a different reaction to the one he would have had when they first met. Arthur continued, “He decided to point out that whole ... cooking fiasco Morgana was so kind to tell you about.”
Gwen blinked. “But Merlin’s cooking is terrible! It’s not like ... I mean there’s a reason he’s a bartender and not a chef.” As the words left her mouth, Gwen cursed her inability to just shut the hell up and not say everything that came to mind, because what type of person said that about one of her closest friends, and to Arthur Pendragon no less? Not that Arthur was all that terrible, Gwen reasoned. When she had first met him she had thought him a downright arse (and Morgana’s tendency to file all of her “Arthur grievances” with Gwen hadn’t helped improve this opinion), but over the last several months she had witnessed signs indicating that Arthur might not be the carbon copy of his condescending and uncaring father. Even Morgana had admitted of her own volition that, deep down, Arthur was a good person.
“That’s what I said!” Arthur cried, shaking Gwen from her thoughts when he took a step forward. He seemed pleased that they were in agreement. “But then he said that at least his cooking was edible, which was more than anyone could say about mine, and then he went and bet me 100 quid that I couldn’t prepare a meal that wouldn’t poison someone.”
Gwen let this sink in (also allowing herself a moment to imagine Merlin’s beaming and smug face when Arthur had to hand over the money) and then said slowly, “So let me see if I understand: You’re here to prepare a meal to poison someone … wait, why are you in this kitchen instead of the one at your flat or that giant, state-of-the-art one back at your father’s?” The one you burnt down, she could imagine Morgana’s mocking voice add.
Arthur made a face at her. “Don’t be thick. I’m not poisoning someone; I’m making it for Merlin. This way if he doesn’t die, I win, and if he does end up poisoned … well, he’ll be dead, so he won’t know, will he? I’ll still have won. And as for why I’m here, I thought it would save me the embarrassment of getting caught.”
Gwen knew that by “caught” he meant “caught by Morgana,” who no doubt had connections with the household staff. Gwen nonetheless remained unimpressed by this logic. “You thought no one would see you in the kitchen of a restaurant?”
“Well, I didn’t expect anyone to actually be here to witness my- ”
“Humiliation?” Gwen offered, eyes sparkling in amusement.
“Cheers for that,” Arthur muttered, although it was exactly the word he was going to use.
“Well, it could be worse. I’m guessing tonight’s menu is fairly low-key and that’s why no one else is here yet?” Arthur nodded his confirmation. “That’s why I decided to do the bet today,” he admitted. His cheeks turned red as he continued, “I called up the executive chef the moment I agreed to it and made sure I’d have the kitchen to myself.”
Gwen had to give him credit - he had given this task much more consideration than she had thought. “Although at the rate you’re going the entire staff will know,” Gwen pointed out, half teasing. Arthur shot her a sarcastic look of thanks before turning his attention back to the dead poultry, eyeing it wearily.
It was, Gwen realised, the first time she had ever seen Arthur so put out. Usually he was more than happy to take on a challenge, although prior to today such challenges always involved something he could actually do. Something triggered within her, and before she realised it she burst out, “I could help you!”
Arthur swivelled on the spot, shooting Gwen a look of absolute shock. “Sorry?” he asked, not quite believing his ears.
“I … I could help,” she repeated, feeling rather self-conscious about her offer. “I’ve been cooking for ages, so I actually know how to, well, cook. And really,” Gwen added hastily, hoping to cover this awkward moment with humour, “how else will I get those generous tips from all those drunken men if you poison Merlin? Somebody has to get them pissed before they order dinner.”
Arthur stared at Gwen, unsure how to respond. On the one hand, this could be the perfect opportunity to spend time - quite a lot of time - with Guinevere, perhaps finally getting somewhere with this whole “wooing” thing he’d been attempting these past few weeks (all right, past few months). On the other, if he took her up on this offer she might very well witness the lowest point of his existence, and he was fairly certain that all self-help books would agree that massacring a chicken wasn’t exactly the best way to a girl’s heart.
Gwen took Arthur’s hesitation as a refusal. She backed away, shaking her head and apologizing, “I’m sorry, that was silly of me. Obviously you don’t want help from me - or anyone for that matter. Not that you’re unwilling to accept help,” Gwen found herself blathering, a common occurrence whenever she found herself in an awkward situation.
“Gwen,” Arthur tried to cut her off, but failed miserably as she was too busy rambling to actually hear him.
“I mean I’ve never seen you accept help from anyone, but that doesn’t mean- ”
“Guinevere!” Arthur called, and this effectively shut her up. It wasn’t the first time he had called her by her given name (he had become quite fond of it as of late), but he said it with such familiarity and affection that she couldn’t help but freeze in place. She glanced at him, nervous, waiting for him to continue.
Arthur swallowed. He had already made her feel like an idiot - he wasn’t about to make it worse by refusing her help as well. “I would be really grateful,” he said, trying to gage Gwen’s reaction as he spoke, “if you’d help me in my attempt to not poison Merlin.” The last part of his reply elicited a short laugh from Gwen. Arthur smiled to himself, proud of himself for not mucking this up. “Not that a bit of poisoning wouldn’t do him good, mind you,” he added. Gwen rolled her eyes, but the smile that remained on her face reassured Arthur that she appreciated his jibe.
“Just let me wash up and we’ll get started,” Gwen nodded at him. When she was done, she turned back to Arthur and asked, “Ready?”
Arthur glanced anxiously at the chicken. Of all the challenges he had face in his 23 years of life, this, by far, was the most intimidating. “Don’t we need gloves or something?” he found himself saying.
Gwen wrinkled her brow. “Gloves?”
“Yeah, you know, so we can touch the chicken and not … die.”
Gwen sucked in her bottom lip, willing herself not to laugh. “I think you’ll survive,” she said once she was sure she could speak without insulting the man in front of her. “So long as you don’t plan on licking your fingers.”
Arthur didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”
“Positive,” Gwen grinned. She made to join him at the counter when Arthur suddenly exclaimed, “Wait!” He took in what she was wearing - a pristine white blouse and black trousers, the normal uniform for the waitresses at Camelot. While Gwen was the type of woman who could probably cook the whole night and not drop a single morsel, Arthur didn’t trust himself to manage the same feat. “Here,” he said, shrugging off the white chef coat and holding it out to Gwen. “Take it. I borrowed this one from one of the staff, and it seems everyone else is pretty serious about locking up their stuff.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you should keep it,” she insisted, inwardly blanching at the thought of how much would have to come out of her wages to replace his shirt. “You might get a stain.”
“True,” Arthur agreed, nodding his head slightly, “but the same goes for you. Only I can go home when all of this is done, and you’re stuck here for the next six hours.” He took a few steps towards her and offered up the coat once more. “Go on,” he encouraged.
Gwen reluctantly took the proffered item, her hand grazing his as she did so. She looked up quickly to see if Arthur had noticed, but he had already turned his attention back to the chicken.
“So, how should we do this?” he inquired, and Gwen could have sworn his voice was slightly higher pitched than normal. When she joined him, however, he looked perfectly fine. Gwen shook her head at the previous thought - clearly her imagination was getting the best of her.
Well,” Gwen said, buttoning up the coat as she spoke, “first you have to figure out how you want to cook it, and from there we figure out a recipe.”
Arthur looked terrified by this news. “How?” he repeated, eyes wide. “Don’t you just, you know, throw it into a pot or something?”
“If you want Merlin to win the bet, you do.” Gwen noticed that Arthur still seemed concerned and quickly added, “It’s not that difficult. We’ll just make something simple, like roast chicken. It takes a while to cook, but it’s fairly straightforward. Sound all right?” Arthur nodded, albeit hesitantly, and Gwen started gathered the items they would need: onions, potatoes, paprika, and garlic. If she had been making this herself she would have chosen a more advanced recipe, but as Arthur was to do most of the cooking she figured the less complicated the better. Not to mention that if Arthur presented Merlin with a semi-gourmet meal Merlin might grow just a bit suspicious.
“First thing we need to do is take out the giblets,” Gwen instructed. At Arthur’s blank stare she explained, “The innards.”
“Oh.” Arthur pasted on an expression that he hoped gave the impression that he thought sticking his hand inside a carcass was his idea of a good time.
Gwen knew Arthur well enough by now to figure out when he was too embarrassed to admit something. She gave him a placating smile and offered to do it herself.
“No, I’m the one ... I mean this is my bet, after all,” he objected.
“No, really,” Gwen insisted. “If you’ve never done it before you could ... damage the chicken,” she finished, hoping he wouldn’t recognise that what she had just said was complete rubbish.
“Damage it?” Arthur repeated doubtfully.
“Um, yes, completely wreck it. Make it absolutely inedible. You might as well pay Merlin the money right now.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re lying.”
Gwen threw him a guilty smile. “Maybe, but do you really want to be the one to do this?”
Arthur briefly considered if this was one of those traps he always heard Morgana talking about. Did Gwen really want him to give in, or was she waiting to see just how pampered and lazy he truly was? But this was Gwen - all she wanted was his answer. “I suppose not,” Arthur admitted, not quite meeting Gwen’s gaze. He couldn’t imagine this was winning him many points, although he figured that to lie would lose him even more.
But Gwen’s soft smile quickly reassured Arthur, and he was reminded of why he had grown so taken with this young woman. For all the awkwardness and disagreements that had plagued their acquaintanceship only two years ago, he had come to realise that she had accepted his flaws instead of holding him up to the Pendragon standard of perfection that seemed to follow him everywhere else in the world. Now that they were tentative friends he found he valued this even more.
By the time Arthur had finished considering this Gwen had already cleaned out the chicken, and she motioned for Arthur to join her at the counter.
“I’ve chosen a fairly easy recipe,” she told him, nodding her head in the direction of the other ingredients on the granite countertop. “We’re going to dust a thin layer of spices on the chicken, just to give it a bit of a kick, and then we’ll cut up the onions and potatoes and let them cook with the chicken - that way they’ll soak up some of the flavour. Not exactly the calibre of meals usually prepared in this kitchen,” Gwen acknowledged, “but somehow I think Merlin will still be quite shocked by the outcome.”
“Right,” Arthur said, looking less concerned but still confused. “So ... what do we do first?”
“Spices! We’ll start with the garlic and then do the paprika. I’ll do the garlic so you can see how it’s done, and then you can finish up. Still on board?” Arthur simply nodded, and Gwen began the process of spicing the poultry. Arthur watched as Gwen sprinkled an even layer of the spice on the top of the chicken before flipping it over to do the same on the other side.
“That looks easy enough,” Arthur commented once she finished. Gwen smiled and held up the other container. “Up for doing the paprika then?” Gwen handed the bottle to Arthur, giving him a quick nod of encouragement. Arthur took it from her, flipped open the top, and tried to shake the contents into his hand as Gwen had done with the paprika. But the universe clearly wanted to look inept in every way possible, because nothing came out.
“Sometimes it clumps together,” Gwen explained. “Between the rain last week and the high temperatures in the kitchen, I’m sure humidity seeped into the cupboard, and I don’t remember last week’s dishes having much paprika. Try hitting it a bit harder. I’ll get a fork in case that doesn’t work.”
“No, let me!” Arthur insisted, putting the paprika on the counter.
“Really Arthur, it’s no trouble,” Gwen tried to protest. Determined to show that he could do something, Arthur ignored her and made for the other side of the kitchen. In his rush, his elbow knocked into the paprika.
Arthur knew he was screwed the moment he came into contact with the bottle. The universe would have it no other way. As if in slow motion, he watched as Gwen leant down and reached out to prevent the bottle from hitting the floor. She missed, and the contents, finally deciding to come free, showered over her.
Arthur blanched as he took in the sight before him: Guinevere - eyes squeezed shut - sprinkled from head to waist in a fine red coating.
“I am so ... so sorry,” Arthur apologised. As she straightened, Gwen opened her eyes to find Arthur staring at her, looking as if he had just run over some poor child’s puppy.
“It’s fine,” Gwen said with a firm shake of her head. “Guess it’s a good thing you forced this coat on me, huh?” she added jokingly, beginning to dust off said coat with her hands.
Arthur was desperate to make things right. “Here, let me help!” He set down the nearly empty paprika bottle and closing the distance between him and Gwen.
“No, I’m all right,” Gwen insisted again, but Arthur had already begun brushing the red powder from her hair. Gwen stilled, holding her breath as his fingers gently brushed against her curls.
It took a few moments, but Arthur finally noticed that Gwen was no longer moving. “You okay?” he asked, worried that this event had somehow traumatised her (it had definitely traumatised him). Much to Gwen’s disappointment, he stopped his ministrations and let his arms fall to his sides.
“Um, yeah,” Gwen swallowed. “I, er, I just got some of the paprika in my eye.” At this comment Arthur’s hand raised once more, this time to her face. “Here,” he said softly, and he used his thumb to brush at the powder that lay across her cheekbone. His eyes shifted up to hold her gaze, and Gwen felt her heart race. Pleasant Arthur was one thing, but this ... this was something completely different, something rather nice ... and something most definitely outside of Gwen’s comfort zone.
His thumb finally stopped, coming to rest on her cheek as his gaze continued to hold hers. It was much too overwhelming. Gwen quickly looked away and stepped back, mumbling a quick apology and some excuse about needing to check in with the rest of the staff. She grabbed a knife from the nearby rack and set it on the counter, not daring to risk touching Arthur by handing it to him. “Here, cut these into quarters,” she said, nodding at the onions and then the potatoes. She refused to meet his eye. “I-I’ll be back in a bit to help you finish up.” Before Arthur could respond, Gwen practically ran out, hoping to collect herself and figure out what on earth was going on. While she was hardly an expert in this sort of thing, she wasn’t naïve enough not to know what his expression had meant.
But what if she had misunderstood what had happened? What if it had just been a moment and nothing else? Really, what was the likelihood that Arthur Pendragon, heir to one of the largest fortunes in the world and the man who could have any woman in the country, would have feelings for her, a young woman who would likely be drowning in debt until the day she died? No, it wasn’t possible. It had been a moment intensified by the circumstances and nothing else.
*****
Not noticing where she was headed, Gwen left the safety of the hall outside the kitchen and found herself in the dining area. She was met by a loud call of “Gwen!” from the bar. Still in a bit of a daze, it took Gwen a few moments to turn around, but once she did she saw Merlin waving her over. While the restaurant wouldn’t open for a good while, the bar opened at 4:30, which explained why Merlin was in the middle of serving drinks to a man. Gwen’s insides turned at the sight of him.
The Great Dragon - as Merlin, Gwen, and the rest of the Camelot staff referred to him - was almost ancient looking, with a kempt beard and sharp yet somewhat manic eyes. His nickname referred to the way his temper could suddenly flare. Gwen knew the man well (at least better than she would have liked). It was he who had shown up one night at the sub-par restaurant where Merlin had bussed tables and told him about the bartending job, and by extension the waitressing job that Gwen now held (although Gwen’s interactions with this man assured her that this had hardly been his priority). For this Gwen was eternally grateful (even if she despised working for a man like Uther Pendragon), not least of which because it was how she met Morgana, but she wished the old man would frequent some pub far, far across town. Sadly he had grown quite attached to Merlin, and while his odd rants about Arthur and Merlin’s entwined destinies were amusing at first (if not a bit scarring when Morgana made some crude remark about what that destiny might entail), now it was just frustrating, especially whenever the old man spotted Merlin awkwardly flirting with a young woman and warned him not to distract himself from what truly mattered.
It appeared the Great Dragon was giving Merlin another round of destiny talk. In addition to waving her over, Merlin was desperately mouthing, “Help!” Gwen sighed but knew she couldn’t let Merlin fend for himself and went to join them.
“Hey,” Gwen greeted him, cautiously sitting down next to the Great Dragon. She offered the old man a nod, and in return he shot her a rather nasty look. “You,” he said coldly, and promptly turned away. And that, Gwen mused, was also why she wished he would spend his time elsewhere. For reasons she would never understand he seemed to absolutely loathe the sight of her. There were days when she wondered if he was going to try and slip her poison or something.
“Hey, Gwen,” Merlin replied after mouthing a “thank you” the moment the Great Dragon turned away. He took in her disgruntled expression and furrowed his brow. “Something wrong?” he asked anxiously, so used to a bubbling Gwen.
“Hmm?” Gwen looked at Merlin and saw that he looked concerned. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said, gifting him with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just had a late night yesterday. Between this job and uni ... it’s taking its toll.”
Merlin didn’t look all too convinced, but much to Gwen’s relief he didn’t push her for more information. Instead he asked, “So, how goes Arthur’s assignment?” He leaned over the counter, anxious to hear news of any mishaps that may have occurred.
Gwen blanched at the sound of Arthur’s name, but quickly pushed away any thoughts of what had occurred - or hadn’t occurred -moments ago. Gwen was always one for honesty, and so she struggled with the best way to answer Merlin’s question. “Not much has happened,” Gwen told him, not wanting to give away that she was assisting Arthur in this quest. To Gwen’s surprise, the news seemed to disappoint Merlin, at least going by the way his face fell. She’d have thought that he’d be pleased with Arthur’s lack of progress. It could only work in his favour. He soon recovered, however.
“Ah, well,” he said, drawing back to grab a glass and pour himself a shot. “Something catastrophic is bound to happen eventually. I mean it’s Arthur … cooking.”
Gwen felt her discontent slightly fade away as she let out a laugh. “Too right,” she agreed. Merlin grinned at her response, pleased to see Gwen in a happy mood again. Buoyed by her enthusiasm, he decided to grab a shot glass, pouring some whiskey into it. Before a drop could pass through his lips, however, a voice boomed, “Merlin!” Merlin swallowed at the sound of the elder bartender’s voice.
“Yes?” Merlin asked innocently, although he knew what was coming his way.
“You know there’s no drinking on the job,” Gaius scolded him, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from Merlin’s side. “Especially when one sip of this will have you on your back for the rest of your shift!”
He has a point, Gwen agreed silently, thinking back to Morgana’s last birthday celebration and how Merlin had passed out before Morgana even blew out the candles on her cake.
“It’s not for me!” Merlin lied instantly. Sometimes Gwen wondered if lying to Gaius had just become second nature for the young man. “It’s for Gwen.” He pushed the glass towards Gwen, who looked up at Merlin, startled. Merlin shot her a pleading glance in return. Despite herself Gwen gave in (she never had been able to turn down Merlin), downing the shot it one go and all the while thanking God for an alcohol tolerance significantly superior to Merlin’s.
“Gwen,” Gaius said warningly, raising a single eyebrow as he was apt to do.
“It’s all right!” Gwen chirped, and she pushed the glass back into Merlin’s waiting hands. “My shift doesn’t start for a while. I’ll be fine by then.”
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Gaius asked, quickly taking on his role of unofficial therapist. “I’ve never seen you drink this early.”
Gwen wanted to cry out, “Yes, yes something is terribly wrong. I came in here over an hour ago, thanks to your bartending protégé, to check in on Arthur’s attempt to cook. And now, because clearly someone up there wants to amuse themselves, I think I may have feelings for him. Only I’m not sure because it’s Arthur bloody Pendragon, and how can I have feelings for Arthur bloody Pendragon?” Instead, she simply shook her head, told Gaius, “No,” and offered him the same reassuring smile she had given Merlin. Gaius nodded his head in acceptance and turned his attention back to waiting customers, but not before giving Merlin one last scolding look.
“Cheers,” Merlin said, leaning down to place the shot glass with the other used ones. Gwen shook her head of all thoughts of Arthur. Now was not the time, especially when said man’s closest friend stood in front of her.
Instead, Gwen decided to address the issue of drinking on her friend’s behalf. “Merlin,” she said slowly, “I love you dearly, but if you ever make me drink that again I will not be held responsible for any violence that comes your way. You know how much I hate whiskey!” She scrunched up her nose.
“Sorry,” Merlin said meekly, but his guilty, apologetic smile only warmed Gwen’s heart, reminding her of why she had found him so charming when they first met. It was rather difficult to remain annoyed with such a well-intentioned person who made puppies look terrifying in comparison to his sweet nature.
Gwen said in a teasing voice, “I suppose I could forgive you just this once.”
“Who is he to seek your forgiveness?” the old man beside her suddenly crowed, causing Gwen to jump in her seat. Gwen looked over at his glowering face and knew it was time to leave.
“Right, lovely talking to you,” Gwen said quickly, turning back to Merlin, “but I’m pretty sure Morgana … yep, she’s calling me over.”
“Morgana isn’t- ” Merlin began, but Gwen cut him off.
Must go!” she called, and she slipped away before Merlin could further object (or the Great Dragon could stab her with the nearest utensil).
*****
Part Two
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, Gaius, the Dragon (...sort of), mentions of Uther
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff, humor
Word Count: 11,598
Warnings: None (unless you're offended by clichés and fics of the pure fluff variety)
Summary: Modern AU. When Merlin bets Arthur that he's incapable of cooking an edible meal, Arthur and Gwen find themselves trying to accomplish this very feat in the kitchen of Uther's up-scale restaurant, Camelot. As Arthur navigates cooking a dead bird while simultaneously wooing Gwen, Gwen tries to survive Arthur's attempts to impress her, an old man who really doesn't like her, and Morgana's innuendos.
Disclaimer: I hold no claim of ownership over Merlin. I've mentioned that "Gwen would have her own action figure by now" thing, right?
A/N: A year and a half ago, I signed up for the Arthur/Gwen Thing-a-Thon. I was assigned the lovely makeyoubrave , and one of her requests was, "AU fic or fan art where they work together in a restaurant - Chicken! ;) - with the others (Merlin, Morgana, Gaius, Uther, Leon, the Dragon, etc). Preferably more upbeat than angsty. Crack!fic is fine (personally I love it)." I started this piece, but about halfway through I lost my nerve and made her vid request instead. I continued working on the fic, however, and 18 months later I'm finally posting it. I have no idea if you're still interested in the prompt, bb, but this one is for you (although it's not exactly what you asked for ;-D, but at the very least one could say that I was inspired by your prompt).
A huge, huge thank you to starry_laa , who acted as both my beta and Brit-pick. Any Americanisms or other glaring errors are my doing. I'd also like to thank her for 1) managing to deal with my panic attacks over finally letting someone see this piece, 2) talking sense into me when I freaked out over this fic in general, and 3) acting as a reassuring presence whenever my stomach clenched painfully at the thought of posting my first long fanfic in four years (even if she wasn't aware of that last one). This never would have seen the light of day without her.
Split into two parts for length. Part one can be found under the cut. :-)
As a rule, Gwen avoided the habit of eavesdropping, preferring not to run the risk of hearing only bits and pieces of a conversation and either agonizing over what had actually been said or leaving the room with a completely false understanding of the discussion. Yet when Morgana started snickering uncontrollably, her magazine shaking up and down, Gwen couldn’t help but look up from her book and follow her friend’s gaze to the two young men standing on the other side of Morgana’s elegantly decorated living room. As was a usual occurrence for Arthur and Merlin, they were in the midst of what Arthur called a “battle of the wills,” and what Morgana scornfully labelled “Arthur’s petty tantrums and Merlin’s attempts to reason with a moron.”
“What’s going on?” Gwen asked Morgana quietly, nodding her head in the direction of the guys.
“I have no idea,” Morgana admitted, “but I heard ‘cooking,’ and if Arthur’s talking about cooking, then that can only mean hilarity in our near future.”
Gwen furrowed her brow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Morgana lowered her magazine, revealing her shocked face. “You never heard?” she asked.
“That doesn’t clear anything up.”
Morgana’s face lit up. Leaning closer to Gwen, she said, “You know how every Christmas my father lets the servants off for the day?”
“You mean how every Christmas you blackmail him into giving them the day off?” Gwen retorted, a knowing look gracing her features.
Morgana twisted her upper lip. “It was only that once. Anyway, a few years back, Arthur was alone at home- ”
“At Christmas?” Gwen cried. She knew the Pendragons were an unconventional family, but to leave Arthur in an empty house when everywhere else families were filling their homes with loved ones....
Morgana shrugged, though the brief narrowing of her eyes indicated to Gwen that she was growing impatient with all of the interruptions. “I went skiing with friends and Uther had a business meeting,” she answered matter-of-factly, but her tone did nothing to ease Gwen’s distress. “So he was home alone and, I imagine, hungry, and when he tried to whip something up- ”
“Would you quit spreading that story around!” a voice cut off Morgana, who threw up her hands at another unwanted disturbance. Gwen looked up, surprised to discover that Arthur had managed to tear himself away from his “battle of the wills” to listen in on their conversation.
“Come off it, Arthur,” Morgana said with a roll of her eyes. “Everyone knows about it already. It made the bloody news!”
“Clearly not everyone if you find the need to tell the story every two weeks,” Arthur retorted through gritted teeth. Gwen could have sworn she saw his eyes dart quickly to her face, but a blink later and they were once again trained on his sister’s.
“So you set your kitchen on fire and almost burnt down your house,” Merlin joined in nonchalantly. “There are worst things you could’ve done.”
Gwen gasped, remembering the news story from a few years back. “That was you? But all of the reports said it was some issue with the wiring!”
“Mmm, Uther paid a great deal to cover up my brother’s stupidity,” Morgana explained, grinning happily at the chance to exploit Arthur’s mistake. “But most of the tabloids reported that Arthur had something to do with it. And we all know where most people get their news.”
“Clearly what Dad needed to do was bury you in a very deep hole,” Arthur muttered, seething and red from embarrassment.
“Oh, yes, that would solve all your problems,” Morgana drawled. Arthur looked like he was about to shoot back with some clever comment (all right, Gwen admitted to herself, maybe a not-so-clever comment) when Merlin interrupted: “Shouldn’t we sort out the details now?”
Arthur paled immediately at Merlin’s words.
“Details?” Morgana asked, her interest piqued after a quick analysis of Arthur’s reaction (conclusion: the probability of future embarrassment of one Arthur Pendragon = 99/100).
“No, because we’re guests and it would be rude to saunter off like that,” Arthur shot at his friend, eyes narrowed in warning.
“Oh, all right!” Merlin agreed glibly. “I have no problem discussing it here if that’s what you’d prefer.”
Gwen watched - half in amusement, half in concern - as Arthur, after a nervous glance in the girls’ direction, dragged Merlin out of the room without a look back.
“Merlin better spill when he gets back,” Morgana sighed, content to return to her magazine now that Arthur could no longer entertain her. “Anything that elicits a response like that is bound to be the highlight of my year.”
“Mhmm,” Gwen half-heartedly agreed. She couldn’t deny her curiosity, but she also found that something was gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She realised with a start that she was worried for Arthur. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Calm-and-Collected, but he wasn’t Mr. Turn-White-at-the-First-Sign-of-Danger either, and his reaction had unsettled her.
Shaking her head, Gwen returned to her magazine as well, only to look up at the doorway every few seconds. This really isn’t the best sign for my sanity.
*****
“It’s half past two,” Morgana moaned the next day, leaning back in her kitchen chair. “Where are they? I still haven’t heard what the hell’s going on!”
Gwen shrugged. “No idea. It’s not like them to be this late. Well, not Merlin,” she said as an afterthought.
As if on cue, Merlin bounded into the kitchen. “Afternoon!” he greeted them, cheerfully nabbing an apple from Morgana’s fruit bowl.
“Where the hell have you been?” Morgana demanded, sitting up.
Merlin shrugged. “Fleshing out the final details,” he said vaguely before biting into the apple.
“Details of what?” When Merlin didn’t respond Morgana made a face. “Out with it, Emrys.”
“Arthur is- ” He stopped to cover up a snicker before finishing. “He’s cooking.”
Gwen’s jaw dropped, and she knew Morgana was reacting similarly. “Cooking?” Gwen repeated, wondering if she should consider getting her hearing checked. Merlin nodded, pleased as ever.
“As in chopping, mixing, and turning on a stove cooking?” Morgana further inquired, leaning in closer.
“Assuming he figures out how to hold a knife.”
“Dear God!” Morgana clapped her hands together with glee. “This I have to see. Is he at his flat? Or home?”
Merlin shook his head. “No, one of your father’s restaurants-
“Camelot,” Gwen said in unison with Merlin. Merlin turned in surprise, causing Gwen to turn a bright red. It wasn’t as if she was tracking Arthur’s every movement, but lately he had taken to dining at the restaurant at least once a week. She should know - it was she, more often than not, who waited on him. If he wasn’t at one of their flats or his childhood home, then chances were he was at Camelot.
She was fortunately spared the pain of explaining herself. At the news of her brother’s location, Morgana had jumped up from the table, grinning from ear-to-ear. Instead of relief, however, Gwen felt her insides curl. This couldn’t bode well for Arthur. “You’re not going there, are you?” she asked.
“Of course I am!” Morgana said, and if she weren’t Morgana le Fay Pendragon, Gwen was positive she would have let out a snort. “How can I pass up on free entertainment?” Upon hearing this Gwen bit her lip. Morgana sighed. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing!” Gwen protested immediately, but she couldn’t prevent the slight blush from gracing her cheeks. Morgana smirked. “I just think,” Gwen continued, trying to remain calm, “that the reasonable thing to do would be to let him be for a couple of hours. You know, give him a fair chance before you paralyze him with fear.” Morgana looked unconvinced, and Gwen shot Merlin a pleading look.
“He has only been there for twenty minutes,” Merlin agreed, drawing out his words. Gwen cocked her head to the side and eyed him curiously. It almost sounded like he was … scheming. “And he’ll probably claim ‘Morgana interference’ and find a way to weasel out of our bet, and then I’ll be out 100 quid.” No, Gwen decided. Not scheming - just eager to ensure Arthur would hand over the money. Gwen switched her attention back to Morgana and raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Morgana let out a small, almost-petulant huff but sat back down. “All right, you two win. But if he’s still there when I start my shift he’s not getting any mercy.” Gwen rolled her eyes good-naturedly, never noticing Merlin’s pleased expression.
*****
Arthur was many things: heir to an extraordinary fortune, an impressive athlete, and one of the world’s most eligible bachelors (at least according to twittering entertainment reporters). A cook, however, he was not. Yet on this particular late afternoon he found himself in the kitchen of Camelot, one of his father’s many upscale restaurants, staring at the carcass of what he could only assume was once a chicken. His assignment was simple: cook an edible meal.
Arthur was beginning to doubt the possibility of accomplishing this task. To be perfectly honest, his doubts had first arisen when he spied the raw chicken and realised there were no gloves to be seen. How was he supposed to cook this thing and live to tell the tale without gloves to protect him from whatever diseases this dead creature might be harvesting? He was still staring at the chicken, trying to figure out how to go about touching the meat (never mind how he would manage to turn it into something that wasn’t, well, raw), when the kitchen door swung open with a rather loud squeak, followed by the sound of light footsteps on the linoleum floor.
Arthur, intent on solving his conundrum, did not hear this noise. He remained focused solely on his assignment until a burst of laughter finally interrupted his concentration. For the first time in half an hour Arthur removed his gaze from the dead poultry, quickly turning to a) hide that he was staring at a bloody chicken like it was a ticking time bomb and b) see who had no doubt just witnessed this embarrassing moment despite his (incredibly delayed) effort to conceal it.
“Guinevere!” he exclaimed at the sight of the young woman in front of him. He felt his stomach churn ever so slightly. While lately he quite enjoyed any stolen moment with Gwen, this wasn’t exactly how he wanted her to see him - not when he was still trying to figure out how to woo her, so to speak. Especially when she seemed completely oblivious to his attempts, which included, but were not limited to, tapping Morgana’s mobile to find out her plans with Gwen so he could “accidentally” run into them, passing by Gwen’s uni when she was finished with the day’s classes, and encouraging Merlin to organise several weekly get-togethers (he had seen enough of his sister in the past few months to last him a lifetime). And now here they were: him with his stupid chicken and Gwen - wonderful, sweet, nonjudgmental Gwen - laughing at him. It wasn’t exactly the most encouraging scenario.
To be fair, Gwen was usually quite sensitive to others’ problems, no matter how ridiculous or small. But this was Arthur Pendragon, a man who prided himself on always being in control. Could anyone really blame her for bursting into laughter when she caught a chicken - and a dead one at that - outwitting the youngest Pendragon?
“You can stop laughing now,” Arthur said finally, and even his growing affections for Gwen couldn’t keep the exasperation from creeping into his voice.
Gwen covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughter, but her effort only resulted in a snort. “How long were you standing there before I came in?” she managed to get out between residual giggles.
Arthur shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “A bit.”
Gwen shook her head slightly at this remark. “I take it it’s been a while then?” Gwen answered for him, reaching behind her to pull her curls into a ponytail.
It was then that Arthur finally processed that Gwen was here, in the kitchen, well before she was due to clock in. He stared at her, frowning a little, and then glanced at his watch to confirm his suspicions. “I thought the restaurant didn’t start serving until seven,” Arthur said, eyeing her cautiously. Gwen was dedicated to her job, but he doubt that even she would arrive three-and-a-half hours early.
“You thought correctly.”
“Yet it’s not even four.”
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Your point?”
Arthur was caught off guard by her unwillingness to just tell him what he wanted to hear, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence with Gwen if he gave it some thought (she had a habit of making him actually work for answers). “But … Morgana doesn’t get here until five,” he tried to reason with her. For the life of him Arthur didn’t understand why his sister had insisted on working as a hostess for a restaurant that, for all intents and purposes, she owned, but whenever he tried to broach the subject Morgana simply waved her hand and said in a patronising voice, “Some of us want to learn how to stand on our own two feet, Arthur.”
“Yes, well, it’s rather difficult to seat people when the restaurant isn’t open,” Gwen pointed out lightly.
“The same applies to waiting tables.” Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if she had finally lost her mind after spending so much time with Morgana (not to mention Merlin).
Gwen tried to suppress her mischievous grin but failed dismally. “Merlin might have asked me to check in on you - make sure you weren’t cheating on your cooking bet. Nice outfit, by the way,” Gwen added, gesturing at his chef coat. “Merlin didn’t tell me how this bet came about, though I have my theories.”
Arthur’s face contorted into one of annoyance at the reminder of who had placed him in this … this hell. “Your mate, Merlin- ” Arthur began, but Gwen cut him off.
“My mate?” Gwen repeated with a disbelieving look. “You two have known each other for, what, two years now? And somehow he’s still just my mate?” Gwen shook her head. “He might as well be your brother.”
“If by brother you mean an annoying, bumbling prat I couldn’t care less about, then yeah.” Gwen was hardly convinced by this claim, nor did she think Arthur was. She knew when to back off, however, and this was definitely the time if she hoped to discover what on earth was going on. “All right then. Tell me how Merlin’s responsible for your woes this time,” Gwen said instead.
Arthur shifted uneasily. “I, er, I might’ve indicated that he’s crap at just about everything.” Gwen should have felt disgust at his admission - truly, she should have. But she understood Arthur and Merlin’s relationship well enough by now to recognize that he didn’t mean a word of it, and she was positive Merlin knew this as well. Instead, she found herself hiding a smile at his apparent guilt over his arrogance. It was quite a different reaction to the one he would have had when they first met. Arthur continued, “He decided to point out that whole ... cooking fiasco Morgana was so kind to tell you about.”
Gwen blinked. “But Merlin’s cooking is terrible! It’s not like ... I mean there’s a reason he’s a bartender and not a chef.” As the words left her mouth, Gwen cursed her inability to just shut the hell up and not say everything that came to mind, because what type of person said that about one of her closest friends, and to Arthur Pendragon no less? Not that Arthur was all that terrible, Gwen reasoned. When she had first met him she had thought him a downright arse (and Morgana’s tendency to file all of her “Arthur grievances” with Gwen hadn’t helped improve this opinion), but over the last several months she had witnessed signs indicating that Arthur might not be the carbon copy of his condescending and uncaring father. Even Morgana had admitted of her own volition that, deep down, Arthur was a good person.
“That’s what I said!” Arthur cried, shaking Gwen from her thoughts when he took a step forward. He seemed pleased that they were in agreement. “But then he said that at least his cooking was edible, which was more than anyone could say about mine, and then he went and bet me 100 quid that I couldn’t prepare a meal that wouldn’t poison someone.”
Gwen let this sink in (also allowing herself a moment to imagine Merlin’s beaming and smug face when Arthur had to hand over the money) and then said slowly, “So let me see if I understand: You’re here to prepare a meal to poison someone … wait, why are you in this kitchen instead of the one at your flat or that giant, state-of-the-art one back at your father’s?” The one you burnt down, she could imagine Morgana’s mocking voice add.
Arthur made a face at her. “Don’t be thick. I’m not poisoning someone; I’m making it for Merlin. This way if he doesn’t die, I win, and if he does end up poisoned … well, he’ll be dead, so he won’t know, will he? I’ll still have won. And as for why I’m here, I thought it would save me the embarrassment of getting caught.”
Gwen knew that by “caught” he meant “caught by Morgana,” who no doubt had connections with the household staff. Gwen nonetheless remained unimpressed by this logic. “You thought no one would see you in the kitchen of a restaurant?”
“Well, I didn’t expect anyone to actually be here to witness my- ”
“Humiliation?” Gwen offered, eyes sparkling in amusement.
“Cheers for that,” Arthur muttered, although it was exactly the word he was going to use.
“Well, it could be worse. I’m guessing tonight’s menu is fairly low-key and that’s why no one else is here yet?” Arthur nodded his confirmation. “That’s why I decided to do the bet today,” he admitted. His cheeks turned red as he continued, “I called up the executive chef the moment I agreed to it and made sure I’d have the kitchen to myself.”
Gwen had to give him credit - he had given this task much more consideration than she had thought. “Although at the rate you’re going the entire staff will know,” Gwen pointed out, half teasing. Arthur shot her a sarcastic look of thanks before turning his attention back to the dead poultry, eyeing it wearily.
It was, Gwen realised, the first time she had ever seen Arthur so put out. Usually he was more than happy to take on a challenge, although prior to today such challenges always involved something he could actually do. Something triggered within her, and before she realised it she burst out, “I could help you!”
Arthur swivelled on the spot, shooting Gwen a look of absolute shock. “Sorry?” he asked, not quite believing his ears.
“I … I could help,” she repeated, feeling rather self-conscious about her offer. “I’ve been cooking for ages, so I actually know how to, well, cook. And really,” Gwen added hastily, hoping to cover this awkward moment with humour, “how else will I get those generous tips from all those drunken men if you poison Merlin? Somebody has to get them pissed before they order dinner.”
Arthur stared at Gwen, unsure how to respond. On the one hand, this could be the perfect opportunity to spend time - quite a lot of time - with Guinevere, perhaps finally getting somewhere with this whole “wooing” thing he’d been attempting these past few weeks (all right, past few months). On the other, if he took her up on this offer she might very well witness the lowest point of his existence, and he was fairly certain that all self-help books would agree that massacring a chicken wasn’t exactly the best way to a girl’s heart.
Gwen took Arthur’s hesitation as a refusal. She backed away, shaking her head and apologizing, “I’m sorry, that was silly of me. Obviously you don’t want help from me - or anyone for that matter. Not that you’re unwilling to accept help,” Gwen found herself blathering, a common occurrence whenever she found herself in an awkward situation.
“Gwen,” Arthur tried to cut her off, but failed miserably as she was too busy rambling to actually hear him.
“I mean I’ve never seen you accept help from anyone, but that doesn’t mean- ”
“Guinevere!” Arthur called, and this effectively shut her up. It wasn’t the first time he had called her by her given name (he had become quite fond of it as of late), but he said it with such familiarity and affection that she couldn’t help but freeze in place. She glanced at him, nervous, waiting for him to continue.
Arthur swallowed. He had already made her feel like an idiot - he wasn’t about to make it worse by refusing her help as well. “I would be really grateful,” he said, trying to gage Gwen’s reaction as he spoke, “if you’d help me in my attempt to not poison Merlin.” The last part of his reply elicited a short laugh from Gwen. Arthur smiled to himself, proud of himself for not mucking this up. “Not that a bit of poisoning wouldn’t do him good, mind you,” he added. Gwen rolled her eyes, but the smile that remained on her face reassured Arthur that she appreciated his jibe.
“Just let me wash up and we’ll get started,” Gwen nodded at him. When she was done, she turned back to Arthur and asked, “Ready?”
Arthur glanced anxiously at the chicken. Of all the challenges he had face in his 23 years of life, this, by far, was the most intimidating. “Don’t we need gloves or something?” he found himself saying.
Gwen wrinkled her brow. “Gloves?”
“Yeah, you know, so we can touch the chicken and not … die.”
Gwen sucked in her bottom lip, willing herself not to laugh. “I think you’ll survive,” she said once she was sure she could speak without insulting the man in front of her. “So long as you don’t plan on licking your fingers.”
Arthur didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”
“Positive,” Gwen grinned. She made to join him at the counter when Arthur suddenly exclaimed, “Wait!” He took in what she was wearing - a pristine white blouse and black trousers, the normal uniform for the waitresses at Camelot. While Gwen was the type of woman who could probably cook the whole night and not drop a single morsel, Arthur didn’t trust himself to manage the same feat. “Here,” he said, shrugging off the white chef coat and holding it out to Gwen. “Take it. I borrowed this one from one of the staff, and it seems everyone else is pretty serious about locking up their stuff.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you should keep it,” she insisted, inwardly blanching at the thought of how much would have to come out of her wages to replace his shirt. “You might get a stain.”
“True,” Arthur agreed, nodding his head slightly, “but the same goes for you. Only I can go home when all of this is done, and you’re stuck here for the next six hours.” He took a few steps towards her and offered up the coat once more. “Go on,” he encouraged.
Gwen reluctantly took the proffered item, her hand grazing his as she did so. She looked up quickly to see if Arthur had noticed, but he had already turned his attention back to the chicken.
“So, how should we do this?” he inquired, and Gwen could have sworn his voice was slightly higher pitched than normal. When she joined him, however, he looked perfectly fine. Gwen shook her head at the previous thought - clearly her imagination was getting the best of her.
Well,” Gwen said, buttoning up the coat as she spoke, “first you have to figure out how you want to cook it, and from there we figure out a recipe.”
Arthur looked terrified by this news. “How?” he repeated, eyes wide. “Don’t you just, you know, throw it into a pot or something?”
“If you want Merlin to win the bet, you do.” Gwen noticed that Arthur still seemed concerned and quickly added, “It’s not that difficult. We’ll just make something simple, like roast chicken. It takes a while to cook, but it’s fairly straightforward. Sound all right?” Arthur nodded, albeit hesitantly, and Gwen started gathered the items they would need: onions, potatoes, paprika, and garlic. If she had been making this herself she would have chosen a more advanced recipe, but as Arthur was to do most of the cooking she figured the less complicated the better. Not to mention that if Arthur presented Merlin with a semi-gourmet meal Merlin might grow just a bit suspicious.
“First thing we need to do is take out the giblets,” Gwen instructed. At Arthur’s blank stare she explained, “The innards.”
“Oh.” Arthur pasted on an expression that he hoped gave the impression that he thought sticking his hand inside a carcass was his idea of a good time.
Gwen knew Arthur well enough by now to figure out when he was too embarrassed to admit something. She gave him a placating smile and offered to do it herself.
“No, I’m the one ... I mean this is my bet, after all,” he objected.
“No, really,” Gwen insisted. “If you’ve never done it before you could ... damage the chicken,” she finished, hoping he wouldn’t recognise that what she had just said was complete rubbish.
“Damage it?” Arthur repeated doubtfully.
“Um, yes, completely wreck it. Make it absolutely inedible. You might as well pay Merlin the money right now.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re lying.”
Gwen threw him a guilty smile. “Maybe, but do you really want to be the one to do this?”
Arthur briefly considered if this was one of those traps he always heard Morgana talking about. Did Gwen really want him to give in, or was she waiting to see just how pampered and lazy he truly was? But this was Gwen - all she wanted was his answer. “I suppose not,” Arthur admitted, not quite meeting Gwen’s gaze. He couldn’t imagine this was winning him many points, although he figured that to lie would lose him even more.
But Gwen’s soft smile quickly reassured Arthur, and he was reminded of why he had grown so taken with this young woman. For all the awkwardness and disagreements that had plagued their acquaintanceship only two years ago, he had come to realise that she had accepted his flaws instead of holding him up to the Pendragon standard of perfection that seemed to follow him everywhere else in the world. Now that they were tentative friends he found he valued this even more.
By the time Arthur had finished considering this Gwen had already cleaned out the chicken, and she motioned for Arthur to join her at the counter.
“I’ve chosen a fairly easy recipe,” she told him, nodding her head in the direction of the other ingredients on the granite countertop. “We’re going to dust a thin layer of spices on the chicken, just to give it a bit of a kick, and then we’ll cut up the onions and potatoes and let them cook with the chicken - that way they’ll soak up some of the flavour. Not exactly the calibre of meals usually prepared in this kitchen,” Gwen acknowledged, “but somehow I think Merlin will still be quite shocked by the outcome.”
“Right,” Arthur said, looking less concerned but still confused. “So ... what do we do first?”
“Spices! We’ll start with the garlic and then do the paprika. I’ll do the garlic so you can see how it’s done, and then you can finish up. Still on board?” Arthur simply nodded, and Gwen began the process of spicing the poultry. Arthur watched as Gwen sprinkled an even layer of the spice on the top of the chicken before flipping it over to do the same on the other side.
“That looks easy enough,” Arthur commented once she finished. Gwen smiled and held up the other container. “Up for doing the paprika then?” Gwen handed the bottle to Arthur, giving him a quick nod of encouragement. Arthur took it from her, flipped open the top, and tried to shake the contents into his hand as Gwen had done with the paprika. But the universe clearly wanted to look inept in every way possible, because nothing came out.
“Sometimes it clumps together,” Gwen explained. “Between the rain last week and the high temperatures in the kitchen, I’m sure humidity seeped into the cupboard, and I don’t remember last week’s dishes having much paprika. Try hitting it a bit harder. I’ll get a fork in case that doesn’t work.”
“No, let me!” Arthur insisted, putting the paprika on the counter.
“Really Arthur, it’s no trouble,” Gwen tried to protest. Determined to show that he could do something, Arthur ignored her and made for the other side of the kitchen. In his rush, his elbow knocked into the paprika.
Arthur knew he was screwed the moment he came into contact with the bottle. The universe would have it no other way. As if in slow motion, he watched as Gwen leant down and reached out to prevent the bottle from hitting the floor. She missed, and the contents, finally deciding to come free, showered over her.
Arthur blanched as he took in the sight before him: Guinevere - eyes squeezed shut - sprinkled from head to waist in a fine red coating.
“I am so ... so sorry,” Arthur apologised. As she straightened, Gwen opened her eyes to find Arthur staring at her, looking as if he had just run over some poor child’s puppy.
“It’s fine,” Gwen said with a firm shake of her head. “Guess it’s a good thing you forced this coat on me, huh?” she added jokingly, beginning to dust off said coat with her hands.
Arthur was desperate to make things right. “Here, let me help!” He set down the nearly empty paprika bottle and closing the distance between him and Gwen.
“No, I’m all right,” Gwen insisted again, but Arthur had already begun brushing the red powder from her hair. Gwen stilled, holding her breath as his fingers gently brushed against her curls.
It took a few moments, but Arthur finally noticed that Gwen was no longer moving. “You okay?” he asked, worried that this event had somehow traumatised her (it had definitely traumatised him). Much to Gwen’s disappointment, he stopped his ministrations and let his arms fall to his sides.
“Um, yeah,” Gwen swallowed. “I, er, I just got some of the paprika in my eye.” At this comment Arthur’s hand raised once more, this time to her face. “Here,” he said softly, and he used his thumb to brush at the powder that lay across her cheekbone. His eyes shifted up to hold her gaze, and Gwen felt her heart race. Pleasant Arthur was one thing, but this ... this was something completely different, something rather nice ... and something most definitely outside of Gwen’s comfort zone.
His thumb finally stopped, coming to rest on her cheek as his gaze continued to hold hers. It was much too overwhelming. Gwen quickly looked away and stepped back, mumbling a quick apology and some excuse about needing to check in with the rest of the staff. She grabbed a knife from the nearby rack and set it on the counter, not daring to risk touching Arthur by handing it to him. “Here, cut these into quarters,” she said, nodding at the onions and then the potatoes. She refused to meet his eye. “I-I’ll be back in a bit to help you finish up.” Before Arthur could respond, Gwen practically ran out, hoping to collect herself and figure out what on earth was going on. While she was hardly an expert in this sort of thing, she wasn’t naïve enough not to know what his expression had meant.
But what if she had misunderstood what had happened? What if it had just been a moment and nothing else? Really, what was the likelihood that Arthur Pendragon, heir to one of the largest fortunes in the world and the man who could have any woman in the country, would have feelings for her, a young woman who would likely be drowning in debt until the day she died? No, it wasn’t possible. It had been a moment intensified by the circumstances and nothing else.
*****
Not noticing where she was headed, Gwen left the safety of the hall outside the kitchen and found herself in the dining area. She was met by a loud call of “Gwen!” from the bar. Still in a bit of a daze, it took Gwen a few moments to turn around, but once she did she saw Merlin waving her over. While the restaurant wouldn’t open for a good while, the bar opened at 4:30, which explained why Merlin was in the middle of serving drinks to a man. Gwen’s insides turned at the sight of him.
The Great Dragon - as Merlin, Gwen, and the rest of the Camelot staff referred to him - was almost ancient looking, with a kempt beard and sharp yet somewhat manic eyes. His nickname referred to the way his temper could suddenly flare. Gwen knew the man well (at least better than she would have liked). It was he who had shown up one night at the sub-par restaurant where Merlin had bussed tables and told him about the bartending job, and by extension the waitressing job that Gwen now held (although Gwen’s interactions with this man assured her that this had hardly been his priority). For this Gwen was eternally grateful (even if she despised working for a man like Uther Pendragon), not least of which because it was how she met Morgana, but she wished the old man would frequent some pub far, far across town. Sadly he had grown quite attached to Merlin, and while his odd rants about Arthur and Merlin’s entwined destinies were amusing at first (if not a bit scarring when Morgana made some crude remark about what that destiny might entail), now it was just frustrating, especially whenever the old man spotted Merlin awkwardly flirting with a young woman and warned him not to distract himself from what truly mattered.
It appeared the Great Dragon was giving Merlin another round of destiny talk. In addition to waving her over, Merlin was desperately mouthing, “Help!” Gwen sighed but knew she couldn’t let Merlin fend for himself and went to join them.
“Hey,” Gwen greeted him, cautiously sitting down next to the Great Dragon. She offered the old man a nod, and in return he shot her a rather nasty look. “You,” he said coldly, and promptly turned away. And that, Gwen mused, was also why she wished he would spend his time elsewhere. For reasons she would never understand he seemed to absolutely loathe the sight of her. There were days when she wondered if he was going to try and slip her poison or something.
“Hey, Gwen,” Merlin replied after mouthing a “thank you” the moment the Great Dragon turned away. He took in her disgruntled expression and furrowed his brow. “Something wrong?” he asked anxiously, so used to a bubbling Gwen.
“Hmm?” Gwen looked at Merlin and saw that he looked concerned. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said, gifting him with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just had a late night yesterday. Between this job and uni ... it’s taking its toll.”
Merlin didn’t look all too convinced, but much to Gwen’s relief he didn’t push her for more information. Instead he asked, “So, how goes Arthur’s assignment?” He leaned over the counter, anxious to hear news of any mishaps that may have occurred.
Gwen blanched at the sound of Arthur’s name, but quickly pushed away any thoughts of what had occurred - or hadn’t occurred -moments ago. Gwen was always one for honesty, and so she struggled with the best way to answer Merlin’s question. “Not much has happened,” Gwen told him, not wanting to give away that she was assisting Arthur in this quest. To Gwen’s surprise, the news seemed to disappoint Merlin, at least going by the way his face fell. She’d have thought that he’d be pleased with Arthur’s lack of progress. It could only work in his favour. He soon recovered, however.
“Ah, well,” he said, drawing back to grab a glass and pour himself a shot. “Something catastrophic is bound to happen eventually. I mean it’s Arthur … cooking.”
Gwen felt her discontent slightly fade away as she let out a laugh. “Too right,” she agreed. Merlin grinned at her response, pleased to see Gwen in a happy mood again. Buoyed by her enthusiasm, he decided to grab a shot glass, pouring some whiskey into it. Before a drop could pass through his lips, however, a voice boomed, “Merlin!” Merlin swallowed at the sound of the elder bartender’s voice.
“Yes?” Merlin asked innocently, although he knew what was coming his way.
“You know there’s no drinking on the job,” Gaius scolded him, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from Merlin’s side. “Especially when one sip of this will have you on your back for the rest of your shift!”
He has a point, Gwen agreed silently, thinking back to Morgana’s last birthday celebration and how Merlin had passed out before Morgana even blew out the candles on her cake.
“It’s not for me!” Merlin lied instantly. Sometimes Gwen wondered if lying to Gaius had just become second nature for the young man. “It’s for Gwen.” He pushed the glass towards Gwen, who looked up at Merlin, startled. Merlin shot her a pleading glance in return. Despite herself Gwen gave in (she never had been able to turn down Merlin), downing the shot it one go and all the while thanking God for an alcohol tolerance significantly superior to Merlin’s.
“Gwen,” Gaius said warningly, raising a single eyebrow as he was apt to do.
“It’s all right!” Gwen chirped, and she pushed the glass back into Merlin’s waiting hands. “My shift doesn’t start for a while. I’ll be fine by then.”
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Gaius asked, quickly taking on his role of unofficial therapist. “I’ve never seen you drink this early.”
Gwen wanted to cry out, “Yes, yes something is terribly wrong. I came in here over an hour ago, thanks to your bartending protégé, to check in on Arthur’s attempt to cook. And now, because clearly someone up there wants to amuse themselves, I think I may have feelings for him. Only I’m not sure because it’s Arthur bloody Pendragon, and how can I have feelings for Arthur bloody Pendragon?” Instead, she simply shook her head, told Gaius, “No,” and offered him the same reassuring smile she had given Merlin. Gaius nodded his head in acceptance and turned his attention back to waiting customers, but not before giving Merlin one last scolding look.
“Cheers,” Merlin said, leaning down to place the shot glass with the other used ones. Gwen shook her head of all thoughts of Arthur. Now was not the time, especially when said man’s closest friend stood in front of her.
Instead, Gwen decided to address the issue of drinking on her friend’s behalf. “Merlin,” she said slowly, “I love you dearly, but if you ever make me drink that again I will not be held responsible for any violence that comes your way. You know how much I hate whiskey!” She scrunched up her nose.
“Sorry,” Merlin said meekly, but his guilty, apologetic smile only warmed Gwen’s heart, reminding her of why she had found him so charming when they first met. It was rather difficult to remain annoyed with such a well-intentioned person who made puppies look terrifying in comparison to his sweet nature.
Gwen said in a teasing voice, “I suppose I could forgive you just this once.”
“Who is he to seek your forgiveness?” the old man beside her suddenly crowed, causing Gwen to jump in her seat. Gwen looked over at his glowering face and knew it was time to leave.
“Right, lovely talking to you,” Gwen said quickly, turning back to Merlin, “but I’m pretty sure Morgana … yep, she’s calling me over.”
“Morgana isn’t- ” Merlin began, but Gwen cut him off.
Must go!” she called, and she slipped away before Merlin could further object (or the Great Dragon could stab her with the nearest utensil).
*****
Part Two