It was a bright sunny day two weeks after the Beltane festival. The King had been spending every day in his counsel room pouring over maps, and numbers pertaining to the cost of a war. He had also issued the call to arms to all the noble families and their communities with young men willing to volunteer themselves for the army.

“Your majesty, your Chief of Military is gravely ill again.” The King’s assistant, a man only slightly younger than the King himself named Kevin Howard informed him. The sandy brown haired fellow had dark blue eyes, was incredibly organized, and despite his penchant for aggravating noble women and conservative noblemen, was invaluable to the King.

“Again? Didn’t the court physician examine him and cure him?”

“It appears the illness has resurfaced. He keeps sending food back to the kitchens demanding nothing but whiskey, and now for some reason the cook wants to speak with him.”

The King blinked slowly.

“The Royal Cook, Finlay Ashowan?” He clarified.

“Yes your highness. The cook believes he may have an idea of what pains the man.”

Norman sat down heavily in his chair.

He wondered what he had done wrong in his life to inherit the curse hidden as a blessing that was the House Witch. Nobles all around the table shared concerned expressions. The idea that an uneducated peasant was trying to take care of one of their esteemed selves was abrasive to them all. Not that they knew he was at the very least as educated as a Baron.

“The cook’s mother was a healer. I will allow one meeting between them under the supervision of the court physician and Mr. Howard.” The King nodded to his assistant who was puzzled over why the King appeared aggrieved by a mere cook, but thought nothing more of it.

This of course would change in the course of the afternoon, but he had no way of knowing it.

*

“So I can finally meet the man?” Fin questioned tightly as he worked on sewing the stuffed pig shut to ready it for the spit outdoors.

“That man is a Lord and the Chief of Military.” Mr. Howard reminded calmly while raising an eyebrow at the cook skeptically.

“My apologies. He is called Lord…?”

“Fuks.” Mr. Howard reminded hastily.

“I beg your pardon?” Fin straightened immediately.

Kevin’s mouth tightened into a thin line.

“His name is Fuks. Lord Fuks.”

The corner of the cook’s mouth twitched as he fought to keep a straight face.

“I…I look forward to… meeting with Lord…” Fin breathed heavily with his mouth pressed closed. “Lord…Fuks.”

Mr. Howard continued looking blankly at the cook.

“Finaly Ashowan, I do not recommend any poor behavior in front of the Chief of Military.” He warned sensing what was giving the cook difficulties.

The explosion of laughter that came, wasn’t from Fin.

It came from Sir Lewis, Andrews, and Taylor who were wearing aprons while hauling out buckets of vegetables to peel beside Hannah.

“You three already know his name!” Mr. Howard shouted exasperatedly.

The trio kept howling until finally, while clutching his sides, Sir Lewis managed to speak.

“W-We know! I’ve just never seen the cook about to lose it!”

Fin’s eyes were watering as Mr. Howard threw up his hands and stormed out of the room while shouting;

“You’re all imbeciles!”

Fin immediately was doubled over pounding the table with the palm of his hand as his laughs wracked his body.

This only made the Knights laugh harder alongside him.

Hannah poked her head in to see what the commotion was about, and became thoroughly stunned to see the Knights and Fin all laughing so gaily.

“What is happening?” She asked loudly over the din.

Fin straightened, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Ah, sorry Hannah. I just uh… I just heard the Chief of Military’s name.” Fin placed his hands on his hips and resisted with all his might the urge to laugh again.

“Oh, you mean Lord Fuks?”

The immediate snort that came out of Fin sent all of the men back into hysterics.

“Why are males all so childish!” Hannah turned and stormed out of the doorway, forcing Fin to attempt unsuccessfully again, to straighten and apologize. The aide suddenly stopped, and cast a sly smile over her shoulder.

“Hard to believe you are laughing that much without even knowing his first name.”

Fin was already wheezing, but managed to catch enough breath to ask;

“W-What is his first name?”

“Richard. Though he goes by-”

*

“Dick why are you allowing a cook try to heal you?”

The Chief of Military glowered at his son who stood at his bedside exasperatedly.

“It’s my business! Now go do something useful instead of tormenting me, and stop calling me by my first name! It’s ‘Father’ to you!” The Lord raged while doubling over from the pain in his stomach.

The younger man rolled his eyes, and stood, deciding to leave his feisty father to his own devices, despite the antics being more than likely to lead to more harm than good.

Fin had been outside the door, his hand suspended in the air ready to knock, when it swung open. He found himself blinking in surprise at a man in his early thirties with thin blonde hair, round spectacles, and dark brown eyes.

He looked genuinely annoyed at the sight of the tall red head, who was flanked by the court physician and King’s assistant.

“I cannot believe the court standards have fallen so low.” He spat at them before storming off past the physician who had already been in a sour mood over his esteemed position apparently being no better than a cook.

Fin paid it little mind as he stepped over the threshold to the chamber, and gazed at the rich red silk coverlet that covered the frail elderly man. The Chief of Military was completely bald atop his head, but the hair along the sides were wiry and stuck straight out, making him look quite demented.

“My Lord.” Fin bowed. “Thank you for trusting me to examine you, I doubt this will take a long time.”

The Chief of Military glared at him.

“The King ordered me to comply! Why he listened to a commoner like you is beyond me.” He huffed and winced as his stomach clenched painfully.

Fin tilted his head and studied the man for all of thirty seconds before nodding.

“You’ve developed alcohol intolerance.”

Every eye snapped to the cook.

“What… What malarkey are you spouting?!” The Lord spluttered.

“During Beltane you indulged in excessive alcohol, so I’m guessing you started feeling ill shortly after the festivities. Since then, you’ve cut out all food and resorted to drinking whiskey for your meals.”

The Lord was turning redder and redder in the face, while the physician stared at Fin with a look of slow dawning horror, and the King’s assistance began cringing.

“When you get older your body sometimes doesn’t process foods the same. You’re flushed, have nausea, stomach cramps, and diarrhea?”

“I SHOULD HAVE YOUR TONGUE!”

Fin fought off the urge to smile.

“It’d be healthier for you to consume my tongue than more whiskey at this point my Lord. The good news is it isn’t serious. Stop drinking, and eat some plain foods at first to get your strength back. I will have some sent to you.” Fin bowed as the Lord reached for the whiskey glass at his bedside, and hurled it at the cook.

Fin swiftly dodged it, but all three men were splattered with its contents as the glass smashed against the stone floor.

“Lord Fuks, I will have a word with Royal Cook Finlay Ashowan outside to ascertain why he is under such an odd impression.” The physician ground out while Mr. Howard pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

“You’ll have that ‘word’ in here! I am no simpleton, I can decide for myself how valid his reasoning is!”

The physician, a man named Frederick Durand, was short but solidly built. He had a curling black and gray beard, and dark brown eyes. He wore his black physicians robe with the white sash around his shoulders, a mark of a man at the top of his field. He faced off with Fin, planting his feet firmly on the ground.

“Royal Cook, please explain your findings.”

“His symptoms and his diet. I also have a… keen instinct on what someone’s body is craving. Call it a painfully accurate hunch.”

Kevin Howard was unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

Without looking away from the physician, Fin pointed a finger at the King’s assistant behind him, while his other hand remained firmly on his hip.

“Mr. Howard wants a bottle of red wine and toast with cheese on it. What his body needs is a glass of red wine, with a mushroom cheese omelet, and maybe a few weeks without stress. He is actually quite well balanced compared to Lord… Lord Fuks.” Fin’s right eye twitched as he fought with every ounce of self-control he possessed not to burst out laughing.

The physician looked unconvinced, while Mr. Howard looked all kinds of disturbed.

“You, Mr. Durand, are craving crab and white port, you are… incredibly well balanced actually.” Fin raised his eyebrows impressed.

The physician blinked several times.

“Mr. Howard I can only speak for myself, but that is exactly what I am craving.”

Fin looked back at the assistant who was staring at the cook with a suspicious grimace.

“Mine was right as well. At least about what I’m craving.”

Fin nodded.

“Do me next!” Fin turned to stare at the Lord who clearly didn’t like being left out of the discussion.

“My Lord, you want whiskey because you think it makes you feel better, but your body is so horribly off balance, it actually needs plain broths, ginger tea, and mashed apple for a few days to help you hydrate yourself. After that, keep eating what I serve at meal times. Maybe choose more of my salads, the dishes with beets, cabbage-”

“This is preposterous!”

Every eye turned to the Lord’s son who had reappeared in the door, clearly unable to withhold his opinion and keep his distance.

“You cannot possibly think of trying the health instructions from a cook!”

“Les, I told you to bugger off!” Lord Fuks demanded the color in his face climbing.

“With all due respect my Lord, what do you have to lose? It is non-invasive and- wait did you say his Lordships son’s name is… Les?”

Sensing where this was going, Mr.Howard shot Fin a warning death glare that could have melted his face.

“I am his Lordship’s only son, and heir to his titles and land!” The man stomped into the room glowering up at Fin’s face, as the witch did his best to remain expressionless.

“Of course my Lord, I was just wondering if ‘Les’ were short for something. My apologies, it is none of my business.” Fin bobbed his head subserviently, desperately trying not to think about the name any more.

“Royal Cook Finlay, was it?” Grateful for the distraction, Fin looked to the old man in his bed.

“Yes my Lord?”

“Is there something wrong with my son’s name? Les Fuks?”

Fin pressed his lips together so tightly that all color drained from them.

“N-Not at all.” He took a quiet breath through his nose before adding on “My Lord.”

The old Chief of Military threw his coverlet off of his ghostly white legs, and stood up in his sleep shirt, clearly unbothered by his disrobed state.

“Father, don’t.” His son spoke out while closing the door firmly behind himself. He sounded angry, but also desperate.

“Les Fuks, you will be proud of your name.” The old man offhandedly ordered while he too neared the cook while glaring up at him.

Fin glanced at the son over his shoulder.

“You should care less about what I think.”

He didn’t know why he did it.

Did not know what in the world possessed him, but the snort that escaped from the physician only made it worse.

“Alright there Big Red, tell me, do you find my name humorous?” Lord Fuks demanded.

Fin’s face paled.

It was torture.

He was being punished for every misdeed he ever committed.

'Please don’t say it, please don’t say it, please-' The witch begged internally over and over.

“Dick Fuks?”

Fin glued his eyes to the man’s forehead, and took several deep breaths through his nose.

“An… esteemed name… for an esteemed family.” The witch said, his cheeks aching from the effort of keeping still.

“I am glad to hear you think so! My father Gaylord certainly knew it to be true!”

“Your father was… Lord Gaylord Fuks?” Fin deadpanned the question the best he could, while the Chief of Military stood inches too short, but close enough that he could smell the man’s breath.

“Yes, he was a great man. His nickname-”

The physician seemed to explode in spasms between snorts as he turned and fled the room, while Fin remained rooted to the spot, the King’s assistant glued by his elbow watching in horror.

After a long minute, Fin finally locked eyes with the Lord again.

“My Lord, were you perhaps… trying to garner a reaction?” Fin’s voice was light, but distant.

The man grinned maniacally.

“You think we don’t know, how ridiculous our names are?!”

Les, to his credit, was remaining remarkably in control as he had one arm folded across his chest, and his forehead pressed into his other hand.

“Your names aren’t ridiculous my Lord-”

“DICK FUKS!” The old man shouted with pure lunacy glinting out of his eyes.

Fin lost it. He was doubled over wheezing and crying on the ground.

If he was executed for this, it was worth it.

*

When Fin had finally calmed down and the King’s assistant had finally finished apologizing on his behalf, the elderly Lord crouched down to the floor where Fin was still working on wiping away tears.

“Now you see lad, you have just walked into my trap. You now owe me a debt of servitude for your insolence, which I will collect on my terms.” He remarked proudly before straightening, and continuing.

“For generations of our family, fathers have given their sons difficult names, and when asked why, would say;

‘Become the type of man that regardless of how ludicrous your name is, when people meet you, they wouldn’t dare laugh again.’ ”

The Lord straightened, and gripped his left hand behind his back with his right as he strolled towards his chamber window.

“Of course it’s important to let people get their titters all out in the first meeting, if it is obvious that they are too immature to handle it. It is also important in life to never take oneself too seriously. Ego easily gets in the way of true success- a skill I am still teaching my son.” The Lord turned suddenly, and frowned at his heir who now had his mouth covered and was shaking his head shamefully without making eye contact with his father.

“No, you see these challenges given to you by life, and it gives you the chance to get stronger! You become better, you become worthy of respect, and take your triumphs knowing without a doubt you have earned them.”

Fin slowly stood, listening to the man lecture. The Lord halted his pacing, and cast a sly look over his shoulder.

“Not to mention, I doubt anyone has ever forgotten meeting me. I have become a legend in my own time, and not only that!” He turned to be fully facing Fin again, his fist raised triumphantly to the heavens.

“I have inspired people not to settle. Take what life gives you, and grow with it!”

“My Lord?” Fin asked, a pained expression wracking his face.

“What is it cook Finlay? Speak!”

“When you raise your fist, your shirt hitches and we can see your-”

*

“Well Kraken… Lord Dick Fuks agreed to try my idea to give up alcohol, and he was right. I will never forget him.” Kraken purred happily as Fin scratched his cat’s neck, while sipping his peppermint tea in front of the warm kitchen fire. A cool breeze rolled in through the open garden door, crickets serenaded the night, and the only other sound to be heard were the chortles of the redheaded witch.