Work Text:
The tavern looks like a battlefield.
Chairs overturned, ale soaking into the floorboards, a window cracked from where someone had been thrown into it. Customers have either fled or are shakily sweeping up debris. The Tavern owner keeps muttering apologies even though he keeps glancing gratefully at his daughter—now tucked behind Vax, who keeps himself between her and anyone else who might try something.
Vex is rubbing her forehead, guilt weighing on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to start a fight,” she says under her breath. “Truly—I just wasn’t going to let that bastard touch her.”
Vax bumps her gently with his hip. “You headbutted him so hard his grandchildren will feel it. Well done.”
“It’s not funny.” She gestures at the wreckage. “Look at all this… and the cook’s arm is broken and—gods—what a mess.”
“Then we’ll help,” Keyleth says brightly, already kneeling to mend a cracked floorboard with druidcraft.
“Right,” Grog bellows, hauling two splintered tables into a corner. “We clean! …Uh. Someone tell me how.”
Percy pushes up his sleeves and starts picking up shattered glass with a careful precision that screams noble upbringing. He keeps glancing toward Vex, though he’s trying very hard not to let anyone notice.
The tavern owner sighs. “I’m grateful for the help, truly. But without my cook… I don’t know how I’m going to get supper ready. Folks are expecting a meal.”
Vex straightens a bit. “I can do it.”
Percy freezes mid-motion.
"you can?”
Vex rolls her eyes. “What do you think Vax and I ate growing up? Air and hope? Yes, I can cook.”
Percy tries—tries—to play it cool. “Well—of course,” he says. “Naturally. I just… hadn’t realized.”
Vax snickers. “Oh he’s surprised.”
“I’m not surprised,” Percy replies, absolutely surprised.
Vex ignores both of them and steps toward the kitchen. “I’ll help. Just show me where everything is.”
The tavern owner's eyes widen with relief. “You’d do that? Gods bless you—I’d be grateful for anything you can manage.”
Vex nods, pushing open the kitchen door. “Vax, grab whatever vegetables aren’t ruined. Percy—”
Percy perks up like a hound hearing its name. “Yes?”
She tilts her head. “Do you know how to chop things without cutting off your fingers?”
He clears his throat. “I’m… capable.”
Vax mutters under his breath, “He’s absolutely not,” as he passes.
Percy glares at him, but he follows Vex anyway.
The kitchen is quieter than the wrecked tavern beyond it—just the sound of a knife chopping, a pot heating, and the faint distant clatter of Scanlan and Grog arguing about whose fault the broken table was.
Vex moves through the cramped space with easy confidence, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, already assessing what ingredients survived the brawl. Percy stands beside her, peeling potatoes with neat, precise motions. They hadn’t spoken much yet—new teammates, still figuring each other out—but the silence isn’t uncomfortable.
“You seem to know your way around a kitchen,” Percy observes, tone mild, observational. Not prying. Not overly curious. Just… noticing.
Vex doesn’t look up from slicing carrots. “I’ve cooked plenty.”
Before Percy can reply, Vax’s voice drifts in from beyond the swinging door—loud enough to be heard, because Vax never whispers.
“She’s being modest! She’s the reason we didn’t starve as children.”
Vex calls back, “Vax, I swear if you eavesdrop while I’m working, I’m throwing this carrot at you.”
“You love me too much,” Vax retorts.
“No, but I love clean floors. Keep sweeping.”
Percy’s lips twitch—just barely. “So you’re the general cook for the group, then?”
“Someone has to be,” Vex says with a shrug, sweeping chopped vegetables into a pot. “If I leave it to the others, it becomes… chaos.”
Vax’s voice again, drifting in: “She means edible danger.”
“VAX!” Vex snaps.
“I’m praising you!”
Percy clears his throat as he lines up the potatoes he’s already peeled. “And you learned all this at home?”
Vex pauses only a moment—long enough that Percy notices, but doesn’t comment.
“Mother worked long hours,” she says, simple and matter-of-fact. “Someone needed to handle supper. And Vax would eat whatever I made, so long as it was warm.”
“I have excellent taste,” Vax calls.
“You have no standards,” Vex fires back.
Percy slices the next potato. “It’s a useful skill,” he says. “Especially in a group like this.”
Vex gives a short huff through her nose—something like a laugh. “Useful, yes. And I like it. It’s practical. Predictable.” She stirs the pot. “There’s not much that’s predictable when traveling with this lot.”
“No,” Percy agrees. “I’ve noticed.”
Another distant crash comes from the bar.
Scanlan yells, “GROG, THAT WAS NOT WHAT I MEANT BY ‘LIFT IT!’”
Vex groans. “And that’s exactly why I prefer the kitchen.”
Percy nods, entirely sincere. “Understandable.”
She glances at his potato slices—uniform, clean. “Not bad.” A faint smile. “Keep that up and I might let you help again.”
Percy inclines his head a fraction. “I’ll do my best to remain competent.”
From outside, Vax snorts loudly. “Good luck!”
Vex rolls her eyes.
Percy finishes another neat line of potato slices, sets the knife down, and—without meaning to—huffs out a quiet laugh.
Vex glances over, brow raised. “What’s funny?”
He shakes his head lightly, almost embarrassed. “Nothing. Just… thinking. I learned to cook very late. Much later than I should have, probably. I’m still not entirely used to it.”
Vex hums, low and knowing. “You had cooks, didn’t you?”
Percy hesitates. Just for a breath. Not stiff or guarded—simply choosing his words with care.
“In a manner of speaking,” he says. “There were always staff around, yes.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Vex doesn’t push. She never has—not in the short time they’ve known each other—and he appreciates that more than she realizes.
Instead, she turns back to the pot and stirs softly. “We didn’t cook for ourselves for a while either,” she says, tone light as if talking about the weather. "Meals prepared, plates set, everything done for us.”
She flicks her eyes to him briefly, then back to the stew.
“It was fine,” she continues. “Efficient. But it never felt as warm.”
Percy nods slowly. “I… know what you mean.”
He’s not looking at her, but at the steady, simmering pot—a safer focal point than the memories her words tug at.
Vex adds, “There’s something grounding about making your own food. It’s simple. Clear. You put things together, and they become something better. It’s… satisfying.”
Percy gives a soft exhale, almost like a laugh. “Predictable, even.”
“That too.” She smiles faintly. “A rare luxury in this group.”
A thud echoes from the bar, followed by Grog shouting, “THE BROOM BIT ME!”
Vex closes her eyes. “Especially with them.”
Percy’s lips curve just slightly. “Then it’s good we have you.”
Her hand stills for a moment on the ladle—just a second—but enough that he notices.
Then she moves again, smooth, composed. “Well. Someone has to manage things properly.”
“Agreed.”
Vex checks the pot, tastes a bit from the ladle, then gestures Percy closer.
“Come here. If you’re going to help, you should learn something useful.”
Percy steps beside her, hands clean, posture attentive in that overly proper way he hasn’t managed to shake.
Vex points to the cutting board. “Start with the onions. Even pieces, not too thin or they’ll burn.”
Percy studies the half-chopped onion like it’s a device. “So… consistency of size to ensure even heat distribution.”
Vex blinks. “…Sure. That.”
She slides a small bowl in front of him next. “And when those are done, dice these. Same idea.”
Percy nods, already lining them up with precision. “This is much easier when you think of it like calibrating components.”
Vex snorts a laugh. “I’m fairly certain most people don’t think that way.”
“Most people don’t build firearms,” Percy replies dryly.
“No, thank the gods.”
He moves efficiently, and Vex watches for a second, mildly impressed—not at his technique, which is definitely still beginner level, but at how quickly he adapts.
She turns back to the pan, heating it before tossing in a pat of butter. “Alright, next—when the onions hit the pan, you want them to soften without browning. Too much color and it changes the whole taste.”
“So it’s a controlled burn?” Percy asks, already stepping closer with the bowl.
“A what?”
“In engineering terms,” Percy says, “managing heat exposure over time to alter the material without damaging it.”
Vex stops stirring just long enough to look at him. “…Percival.”
“Yes?”
“It’s onions.”
He gives the smallest smile. “Everything follows rules, if you know them.”
She shakes her head but she’s grinning now. “Fine. Then apply your rules. Toss them in.”
He does, careful and precise. The sizzle fills the kitchen, warm and sharp.
Vex steps in beside him, guiding his hand. “Stir like this. Gently. They need to soften, not scramble.”
Percy mirrors her motion. “It feels… methodical.”
“It is methodical,” Vex says. “Cooking isn’t all intuition. It’s ratios and timing.”
Percy perks at that. “So it’s like assembling something. Piece by piece.”
“Exactly.” She points at the carrots. “Those go in once the onions start turning translucent. Harder vegetables first.”
“Because they take longer to break down,” Percy finishes, pleased with himself.
Vex’s eyebrow lifts. “Look at you. Quick learner.”
“I prefer systems,” he admits, stirring carefully. “This feels like a very edible system.”
She bumps him lightly with her shoulder. “See? I knew you weren’t hopeless.”
Percy pauses, eyes on the pot. “I… appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Don’t make it weird,” Vex mutters, tossing in a handful of herbs. “It’s just cooking.”
He chuckles—quiet, genuine. “Right.”
But the ease between them is something new, something small and unspoken.
Vex moves around him, reaching for spices. “Alright, Professor de Rolo. Let’s see if your ‘controlled burn’ tastes good.”
Percy stirs the pot like he’s tuning a mechanism.
And he admits—only to himself—that learning from her feels strangely natural.
The stew simmers richly, the whole kitchen filling with warm, savory air. Vex steps back, wiping her hands on a towel just as the tavern’s regular cook—his arm in a sling—leans into the doorway.
“Everything going alright in here?” he asks, sounding both worried and hopeful.
“Actually,” Vex says, brightening, “I think it’s ready. Do you want to try it?”
The old chef blinks at her, surprised she’d even ask. But he steps forward and accepts the ladle she offers. He tastes a spoonful.
And then his eyes widen.
“By the gods, lass…” he murmurs, savoring it. “This is amazing. Better than what I’d manage with both hands working.”
Percy watches—as Vex’s eyebrows lift, her lips part, and the faintest blush warms her cheeks. She doesn’t preen. Doesn’t beam. She just looks… quietly pleased. The kind of pleased she tries not to show too openly.
“Oh—well,” she says, ducking her head a little as she turns back to the stove. “It’s nothing fancy. Just something my mama used to make.”
The chef smiles, warm and approving. “Then she taught you well. This will bring half the town back after what happened today.”
Vex’s shoulders relax, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. “Thank you. Truly.”
The old man gives a respectful nod and retreats, humming praises under his breath.
Percy, still at the counter with the towel in his hands, watches her—not staring, not intruding—just quietly observing the way she carries herself after the compliment. How she smooths a stray hair behind her ear and turns the pot once more, like she needs to focus on something steady.
He sees the pride. And the softness beneath it.
“You really did do it justice,” Percy says mildly. “Whatever your mother taught you.”
Vex doesn’t look at him, but her smile widens—small, almost secret. “It’s just a family recipe.”
“Those tend to be the best kind.”
She hums in agreement, stirring gently. The pot bubbles, warm and fragrant, and for a moment the kitchen feels like its own little world:
calm, steady, and safe enough for Vex’ahlia to let herself blush.
By the time the afternoon sun turns amber through the tavern windows, the place feels transformed. The regulars sit with full plates and warmer smiles, the air thick with the scent of Vex’s stew and fresh bread.
Percy sits with a mug in hand, half-listening to Scanlan regale a nearby table with a dramatic retelling of the brawl. Grog is already on his third helping. Pike helps the bartender reset the last of the crooked chairs.
Vex is seated at a small corner table, finally taking a moment to breathe.
That’s when the young woman—the one Vex headbutted the brute for—approaches. She’s maybe three, four years younger than Vex, still shaken but steady now, standing beside her mother.
She clears her throat softly. “Miss… Vex’ahlia, wasn’t it?”
Vex looks up, offering a gentle smile. “Just Vex is fine.”
The girl steps forward, eyes shining. “I—I wanted to thank you. For earlier. You didn’t have to—”
Vex waves off the words. “Of course I did.”
But the girl shakes her head with quiet determination, bends down—and presses a soft kiss to Vex’s forehead, right where a faint bump still rests from the headbutt. It’s a small gesture. Tender. Honest.
Vex blinks, surprised—but then her expression melts into something warm and fond.
The girl whispers, “Thank you."
“It was nothing,” Vex says, voice gentler than usual. “Truly.”
She queezes Vex’s hand once, full gratitude, then steps away to return to her table.
A beat of quiet settles.
Then Vex slowly turns her head toward Vax, who’s lounging nearby with his arms crossed.
She lifts her chin. Smirks. And gives him the smuggest grin imaginable.
One eyebrow arched, full of “see what my heroics get me?”
Vax throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—yes, yes, you’re very impressive, sister mine.”
Vex sighs dramatically, touching the bumped spot on her forehead. “Some people appreciate my efforts.”
Vax retorts, “Some people risk concussion for the drama.”
Vex grins wider. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
Percy hides his laugh behind his mug. Badly.
Keyleth, passing by, whispers to Percy, “Don’t get involved.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he murmurs back.
But he’s staring at Vex—with just a little more understanding now.
And maybe a little admiration too.