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Byleth groaned and ran her hands through her hair. "No! Ugh!" She waved her hand at some smoke emerging from the oven. "How do I always do this?" She hissed and wrung her hands a little, flinging the door open.
She was greeted by the ashen horrors of the fowl corpse in the oven. The smell was unbearable, and the pan that the bird was on was blackened and crusted in way too dry juices that were now suspiciously gelatinous. She grabbed the pan with a towel wrapped around her hands and flung it onto the counter. The bird crumbled and flaked apart. Oh, it was sad. So very sad. Never before had Garreg Mach witnessed such a cooking-related tragedy as this.
"Stupid-" Byleth kicked the counter. Pain coursed through her foot, and she let out a strangled noise that sounded like an operatic cat. Stabbed and scratched and scarred as she was, Byleth knew there was no pain compared to that of a counter/table-related-injury. She doubled over and leaned on the counter, the noise emitting from her weakening from an agonizing scream to a pitiful mewling.
She remained in a half-fetal position for a few moments, before realizing… there was another presence. Byleth slowly turned her head to the side…
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"... Professor?" Dedue's voice was one of caution, but it had a (very) slight tone of hilarity. He couldn't prevent a slight quirk on the upturn of his lip. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," Byleth whined and stood up. She tested her foot out by flexing it in her boot. "I mean… no." She sighed and crossed her arms and began rocking on her heels. "I tried to cook an old recipe my father used to make. It was with a chicken."
Dedue's brows raised as his eyes flicked to the charred, deteriorating structure of a dead bird. "And the charcoal is for…?"
"Har-dee-har." Byleth stood up straight and smoothed her hair from her face, pinning the seafoam strands behind her ears. "That's the chicken." She grimaced and tapped the pan, the bird, the whole shebang, into the wastebasket. "Er, what was left of the chicken."
The Duscar Man pulled in his full lips, more than likely trying to choke down his laughter. "Mm. Well, I know where you went wrong. You burned it."
Byleth started to roll her eyes, but paused. She slowly pivoted on her body, propping a hand on the counter. "Why, Dedue, is that humor I can smell?"
"That would be the sad excuse for a meal you have smoking in the waste bin."
"It is!" Byleth gasped, drawing her hand to her chest. "The manmade fortress that is known as Dedue has a sense of humor!"
Dedue gave a quick look to the entrances in the dining hall, praying to all gods and goddesses that could ever be thought of that no one was hearing this discourse. "And I know you have a meal to serve here in a couple of hours, and you haven't a thing."
Byleth groaned and leaned her hip against the counter. "I know, let me lighten the situation for just a moment, please!" She propped her elbows on the counter and her chin went into her hands.
After an agonizing second of Byleth chewing the inside of her cheek raw while thinking- she was good at battle strategy, but cooking brought her great anxiety- she heard Dedue clear his throat. "You know, Professor, I'm not a bad chef. At least, that's what I have been told." He walked behind the counter and opened a few cabinets, pulling out jars of herbs and retreating to the ice box. "Where do they keep stock?"
"Keep what?"
"Stock. It's a bit like broth."
"Uh… the ice box, which is where you are."
Dedue rummaged around for a little while. "How about you go find some game? I saw the hunters bring in quite a load this morning. They'd be more than happy to sell you some. Nothing exotic, I believe, just some deer and hare. Buy whatever is leftover."
Byleth nodded. "What are you going to do?"
"Fix this." Dedue turned around and set down the pitcher of a thick liquid. "I'll work on the meal if you go get the meat."
"Do you want help?"
"Would you rather be in the kitchen doing this?"
Byleth was already retreating towards the door. "Thank you Dedue, you have my gratitude!" She practically sprinted out, delighted to have learned something new about the mysterious man of Duscur.
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"Oh!" Mercede's voice was shrill with panic as she ushered Byleth to the bench along the closest table. "Professor!"
"I'm alright, Mercedes, I really am." Byleth insisted, but she curled her foot up towards herself and massaged through the tough leather of the boot. "I'm glad you came when you did."
"Allow me to make you some tea, please!" She bustled into the kitchen and prepared the kettle in record time, in which only an expert in the Garreg Mach kitchen could have done. Her airy tone became earthy when she saw the dehydrated game met with a fiery twice-death. "Oh, no."
"I know, oh no." Byleth's voice was grave, her gaze sadly fixated on the kitchen. "Oh, Mercedes, it's a disaster!" She managed to stand up, hurrying over to the kitchen counter while flexing her toes to ensure they were all still attached. Pain said she still had all five toes (at least on that foot). "I was supposed to make dinner tonight. I told Ashe I would handle it. I thought I could do it… oh, I don't know what I did!" She graciously took the warm mug Mercedes offered her.
"Well, the way I see it, I believe you got the oven too hot too fast and the chicken too close to the flame." Mercedes peered at the bird, cautiously tapping against the skin with a finger. The contact made a sickening crunch.
Byleth sucked in her breath and looked at Mercedes. "You're good at cooking, right?" She offered weakly.
"Oh. Oh!" Her eyes lit up. "Yes! I am! I would be more than delighted to help you with dinner, Professor!" The student flung open a cabinet. "Oh, bless the cooks!" She gave a delighted sigh. "They always keep root vegetables on hand." She clasped her hands together and laughed gaily before digging the vegetables out. "We can roast these- slowly, of course." She explained to Byleth. "And I'll show you how to make bread! It's simple but delicious, especially if we bring the toppings out. Oh, where do they keep the jam and honey? I wonder…"
Byleth knew where the honey was, primarily because she had heard Annette ramble about how good the monastery honey was. "Second to last cabinet on the right top." She hurried to the ice box and found the fruit preserves. "Do we want meat?"
"Well, we know how that goes," Mercedes gave a defeated sigh as she gestured at the depressed fowl. "I can practically hear it crying again."
"Oh, you're no help." Byleth gently teased, grinning over at her as she pulled out a large bowl. "So, how do I make the bread?"
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Ashe hurried in, knocking the smoldering supper into the sink and pumped on the faucet for the water to move up the pipes. As he worked, he said in a somewhat alarmed manner, "Professor, what happened?"
Byleth ran to the closest window and threw it open, grabbing the damp towel on the counter and fanning out the smoke. “The bird smoked!”
Ashe looked at her and raised a brow. “Don’t we here at Garreg Mach have rules about smoking inside?”
“Now isn’t the time!.” Byleth moaned, dropping the towel and fanning around her face with her hand. “I’m sorry, I just… I thought…” She gave a weary sigh and sunk onto the barstool. “My father had a great dish, and I wanted to share it for dinner tonight. I’ve wasted a whole damn bird.” The professor collapsed her head against her hands. “Now, I can’t find anything else to make that I won’t ruin.”
Ashe tsked and wagged a finger playfully. “Now, Professor, what are you always telling us students of yours?”
“... If you hit a bear hard enough…”
“No, wrong quote.”
Byleth scrunched up her nose in thought. “If you hit a wolf hard enough-”
“How many quotes do you have about hitting things?”
Byleth game a sheepish shrug as she looked up at him. “Ohhh, Ashe, I told you to go train, not worry about cooking-”
Ashe held up a hand. “Professor, I have no issue with cooking. Especially because I want to eat tonight.” He gave a light laugh, shaking his pale hair a little. A blush tinged his freckles. “Professor, I don’t mind cooking. I enjoy it, actually, and I’d love to help you with this.” He gestured at the general vicinity of the kitchen.
Byleth raised her brows. “You’re sure?”
“Absoluely!” Ashe beamed and hurried to the ice box. “Oh, they must have used it. I had a boar in here that I shot. It’s not chicken, but I’m sure it’ll stand in just fine.”
Byleth exhaled loudly from relief. “Ashe, you’re a lifesaver.” She jumped up. “How can I help?
Ashe looked to the side and grinned. “Well, I’ll need thyme, pepper…”