Want to be a knight ?

"Come On Boy, work fast."

Hanging the cauldron on the metal hooks, you began swinging it horizontally. The heat would be better regulated and the stinky smell of burns would be avoided, your father had said. 

Heavy footsteps were heard. You turned slowly to find the court physicians arriving making their way to the end of the long wood where a stout middle-aged man stood. 

"Everything should be fresh, Burns." the newly arrived, lean built man said. 

"Yes sir, you can count on me. "

" Remember to boil the leeks twice, we don't want filthy winds in the body of our guests. Turnip soup should be served first. A great stimulant for hunger it is." his sour gruff voice boomed.

The fire cracked in the stoned fireplace giving out a quite deserving warmth. 

"Yes sir. Bear no worries. ", the stout man answered. 

"It's the Prince's coronation ceremony. If any traces of poison are found in the meals,  your head would be chopped off. Remember that. " he said staring at the chief cook straight in the eyes and then eyeing all the members in the kitchen, his voice now a narrow whisper. 

"Y... Yes sir. ".He stumbled. 

And just as swift as he came, with identical swiftness he disappeared.

Clouds had started to pop out and the sun's soft rays started to loose their welcome presence. 

You felt terrible for the man. He was one of the friendliest ones around the palace,  if not just your father. 

His job had bought your family a mediocre place in this land. You were not peasants or the poor scallions, the unpaid apprentices who turned the hot spits, cleaned the fish, scoured the pots and pans, and usually also slept in the dull cold kitchens. 

However, the burden on his shoulders did surely bring the early wrinkles and sleepless nights. His frequent smiles were lost forever. A cough or cold in the royal family and he would receive threats of dungeons. The kitchens were a high place of trust. The chief cook had to be vigilant all the time. In his absence, it was the duty of the roaster and then the potager. 

"Boy, dream at home! We don't have much time. Help me with the grills. Dumb folks sitting idly! ", the roaster lady shouted. 

You pitied her. She had lost her young son in the last plague. The black plague that washed out one-fourth of the population. 

Earlier, she was a quiet woman, going about her own work. She even managed to offer the scallions, a piece of juicy meat every once in a while. She used to love the smiles on their faces. Children were her hearts. Whenever the peasant's sons and daughters lost their way into the kitchen, she always used to find some gingerbreads from the baking place. She was a sweet lady, but these times did not suit her… 

Leaving the cauldron for the pottage stew to cook fully and develop its flavor, you arranged the thick iron grills before Miss Cooper mounted the turkey, spreading it out evenly before blowing air into the hot ambers of fire, to get them going. 

"Kit" the same stout man called.

There were dozens of fresh fish on the wood. 

" Today, we will make a special dish." The aroma of raw fish filled your senses. It was smooth, rich, and soft. The three other cook helps, near your age, gathered around the long wood.

"Each one take a fish." He gestured. 

You grabbed yours. Tracing your fingers over its smooth scales, you smiled.

"Now, we have to boil the tail end, roast the middle part, and fry the front part. Then," he smiled, "apply the green sauce over the boiled end, orange juice over the roasted part, and the cinnamon based sauce cameline over the fried part. " He said pointing towards the three wooden bowls filled with different sauces, each smelling unique. 

Your mouth started watering just smelling them. But then, a lump got stuck in your mouth. These were not for you. With all your efforts, you and the fellow cooks make them, and the royals devour. 

To you are the leftover pieces and the unspiced dry meals. 

Outside, the swords of the kingsguards led combats, their swords piercing each other,  their steel armors making the familiar clinking noises. 

Every day, you would dream of being the son of a knight, not a cook. Holding longswords instead of ladles and beautiful silver armors instead of baggy cook rags. 

Being in the king's courtroom instead of the smelly kitchens raided with mice and cockroaches.

And more than anything else, having the dignity and pride, that the Knights got. Yet you loved your father. He was the most caring man you had seen in your life, who treated his daughter just with the same respect as his son, who never raised voice over any woman and whose honesty was his identity. He loved peace and harmony and of course food. 'We give our kingdom the strength they need to fight. There is nothing to be shameful of that, boy' he would say, gently tapping your head. 

The day had gone by with the sounds of chopping on the hard wood, scaling the pigs and rabbits, blowing air into the hot embers, roasting meat and baking pies and bread. The kitchen was a hall of chaos now, serving the arriving guests. 

 Tomorrow was the coronation.

The evening fires flared up in the distant huts. The curfew bell rang. It was a life savior. Truly. 

Not just that it reminded the cooks to put off the hot embers, thus reducing the risks of fire hazards but also freed you and others from the day-long work which more than likely broke up everyone's back.

"The prince has ordered pies, boy. He has called for you specifically. ", an attendant said. 

You nodded, a small smile making its way to your dull face. It was one of the days when the prince talked with you. You don't know why, once when you had dared to ask him, he had smiled, 'you will know soon' he had said. 

Picking up the fresh pies from the ovens, you made your way out of the kitchen, through the narrow passageways of the castle. A cold wind brushed past you making you shiver. Fortunately, the palace was warm with warm colorful rugs on the cold stone floors and rich linen tapestries lining its walls, thus the cold was kept out. 

There was laughter booming on. A few knights had gathered around a fireplace. All-clad in the finest of chainmail. 

"The feast is going to be remembered for ages to come, so they say. ", a thick voice rang through the castle pass. 

"Oh yes. The stout cook… what's his name… forget that, he makes amazing meals. Say he is one of the best cooks in the Kingdoms. ", another voice echoed under the starry sky. You turned to see the knight. He was bald with dark eyes and tall stature. 

" Maybe. Though, does it even matter? The food is what counts! Not a stout old man fooling about. " 

The laughs got louder. Ale in their trained arms. Hate surged up within you. After risking his life each moment he is in the castle, these people don't even care to know his name!  

This is what your father gets for filling their empty stomachs every day. Belly laughs and mockeries!

"The Prince is one good boy. Did you see the justice he gives at the court when his Highness is away?", a silver-haired knight said. 

"The way he fights. Three knights at a time, blindfolded." the bald one continued.

" Summerwinds has a future after a long time..." 

After a long pause, the laughs restored with other topics. Anyways, he had to meet the prince. 

Making way to the top floor of the castle, you inform the guards and the humungous door opens. 

"Come in, boy. ". A figure danced at the other end of the room, sword in his hand. It was a rare occasion a baker's boy got to see such perfection and agility. 

" You know what's its name? " the prince asked, still not turning around perfecting the dance. 

You searched around. There was no one else in this room. Whose name, you thought. 

Finally, he turned, smiling. His rich dark hair immediately catching your attention along with the silver sword longer than your height. 

"Every good sword has a name." he said, "This one's called the Server." 

"The Server? ". It puzzled you. 

"Yes, boy. Tell me what is the duty of a king. "

"To rule the kingdom. " you said. 

There was this unique silence that urged you to continue. 

"...To collect wages and to protect the kingdom." 

"That's the reason I like you boy. You speak the truth. Others say yes in yes. But you are different." His voice was strong yet had a stark smoothness to it. Just like the sword. 

You smiled, eyeing it. It had a unique luster to it. The way it reflected the setting sun's warm rays making it shine brilliantly, a bright white color.

"They say the king is for the people. No subjects and there is no king. We are born to serve the people. Hence the name. "

Hmm. You remembered the conversation the knights had. The prince gave good justice. I could say the same now. 

"Won't you give me the pies? " He said tucking the sword in its place on the steel hands made on the counter. 

"Sorry, milord. " You placed the plate on the serving table. 

"Why do you think we collect wages?" he asked, now sitting on the sofa taking a pie. 

"To maintain the kingdom they say. But… " 

you stopped. 

" But what boy? And why are you standing? Sit down.", he said pointing to the chair opposite him. 

"Earlier, ...it used to be two of the tenth part of the crop produced, they say. But now, it has doubled. ", he recalled his friend Jon complaining about it every now and then. Even during famines and plagues, when the produce was scarce, the king demanded the wages. Jon's father had died in the plague, yet they were forced to give wages from the last year's leftover produce. Your father had helped them, otherwise, you couldn't imagine the consequences. 

There was another expectant silence that followed. You gulped. Unknowingly you sat down on the chair.

"And … there are no policies of 'rest' if the plague or the famines hit the farmers… "

You fidgeted with your fingers feeling nervous by every passing second. You almost expected the prince to get his long sword out again and cut your throat. 

Yet the prince sat quiet, eating the pie. 

" These are good pies. I like them. My sister told me to try. She has quite the sweet tooth. " 

You smiled hesitantly. 

"I adore your honesty.", he said "The matter will be addressed soon enough. Anyways, the farmers are the majority of the population, they deserve justice. " 

That was a shock. Summerwinds has a bright future, they had said, you mentally noded. 

"Thank You, Milord!"

Yet the sword was always in your vision. There were intricate rugs on the scabbard, a kind of spell it seemed.

"You like swords? "

"Yes, milord. " You told uncertainty. You had never held one. Though they had always appealed to you. 

"Want to be a knight? " he asked, eyeing you curiously. 

That was a hard question. Father had always told you that you would be the next Chief cook. He had that contagious smile whenever he said that, plastered on his face. He would tell your mother, 'He was born to be a cook. You just had to see the way he… ' and he would tell each day's work so animatedly, it would seem you were the best cook ever born, in his eyes. 

But you knew, you did it cause you had no choice. Every day was the same, baking, roasting, chopping and the routine continued. But even in the kitchen's endless noises, you didn't miss the swords clink every now and then. They were like music to your ears. Your escape from your destiny. Your way of obtaining pride and honor. Yet, you could not bear the disappointment on your father's face. The spark in his eyes and the fulfillment he got saying it. You could not bear to see them wash away just like the smiles that had gone years ago. But then each day in the kitchens felt like torture he couldn't endure. 

"Just say it" you silently reminded yourself. You knew you would regret it if you didn't. 

Yet, your father's smile lingered in

your vision's periphery, his hopes high, his pride full. 

"No, milord. "

The prince smiled sadly. 

" The moment you came in, I saw the flames burn in your eyes. The flames of a great knight. For whatever reason you deny it, it's not worth it, boy. " 

The sun's warm rays lost their ground as the dark night started to fall in. 

"Take the plates. The pies were good." the prince stood and resumed his dance with the swords.