A hearty feast featuring slow-roasted lamb neck slices with a medley of root vegetables, inspired by Bronze Age Britain.
A hearty feast of lamb and roots inspired by Bronze Age Britain. Slow-roasted for warmth, strength, and balance.
📜 Cost: approx. £9.00 – serves 2 generously 🌱 Dietary Notes: Contains meat; gluten-free; diabetic-friendly (low glycemic impact with honey optional) 🍴 Setting: Ideal for House Terra or the Hearthrest kitchens of Emberhelm
Ingredients:
2 lamb neck slices (bone-in or boneless)
2 large carrots, chopped
1 large parsnip or swede, cubed
1 red onion, quartered
2–3 small potatoes, halved
1 tbsp honey (optional for diabetics, or substitute with erythritol/monk fruit)
2 tbsp oil (rapeseed or olive)
2 sprigs fresh rosemary or thyme
½ tsp coarse sea salt
Black pepper to taste
Optional: splash of stock or water for braising
Method:
Prepare the fire (or oven): Preheat oven to 180°C (fan) / 200°C / gas mark 6. If cooking over a firepit, get embers glowing steadily.
Sear the lamb: In a cast-iron pan or heavy skillet, sear neck slices on high heat with a splash of oil until browned on both sides (~2–3 mins each).
Assemble the roots: In a roasting tray, toss chopped vegetables with oil, herbs, salt, and a drizzle of honey (or sweetener). Spread in a single layer.
Add lamb & roast: Nestle the lamb among the vegetables. Add a splash of water or stock to keep it moist. Cover loosely with foil.
Roast in the hearth (or oven): Roast covered for 1 hour. Remove foil, baste with pan juices, then roast uncovered for another 20–30 mins until browned and tender.
Serve with: Crusty barley flatbread, pickled roots, or a handful of wild greens.
Historical Insight: In Bronze Age Britain, neck cuts were favoured for slow roasting near the fire – tough, flavourful, and nourishing. Root vegetables like parsnip, swede, and onion were common near settlements, roasted in clay ovens or embers. Honey added rare sweetness and symbolised prosperity.
Health Notes:
Rich in protein and iron
Root veg provide fibre, vitamin C, and potassium
Slow cooking softens connective tissue, making it easier to digest
Possible Substitutes:
Lamb: beef shin, pork neck, or plant-based roast (e.g., seitan)
Veg: beetroot, celeriac, or turnips
Honey: maple syrup or date molasses for vegan option
✅ Diabetic-Friendly: Yes, especially if honey is reduced or replaced with low-glycemic sweetener ✅ Gluten-Free: Yes, provided stock & honey are checked
Freezer safe
If you recreate this recipe, tag #StormborneLore so I can see your version.
A colorful illustration of a bird soaring above a vibrant landscape, surrounded by a decorative border.A striking illustration of a red wolf howling, symbolizing strength and kinship in the narrative of Emberhelm.A howling wolf painted against a vibrant blue background, embodying themes of kinship and wilderness.A striking artwork of a wolf howling at the moon, set against a vibrant purple background, symbolizing strength and spirit in the context of kinship.A vibrant illustration depicting a dragon surrounded by nature, showcasing the essence of storytelling and fantasy.
The great hall of Emberhelm pulsed with firelight. Smoke curled upward from the long hearth, rich with the scent of charred lamb fat, root vegetables, and sweet herbs.
It was a scent that stirred memory of winter hunts. Harvest feasts, and nights when the storm howled but the fire held fast.
Taranis stood at the head of the long stone table. His arms folded behind his back, a rare softness in his eyes. To his right sat Lore, robes still dusted with ash from the spell that broke the curse. To his left, Drax toyed with his carving knife, his appetite as fierce as ever.
But it was the spaces beyond that caught the eye.
Boldolph sat with his broad, wolfish shoulders hunched, a strip of roast meat gripped in one clawed hand. Morrigan.
Once white wolf, now flame-haired woman, laughed as she stirred a pot near the hearth beside Solaris. Who sprinkled crushed nettle and wild garlic into the steaming soup.
And near the fire, two boys sat on a bench Nyx and Rayne. The latter still bore the bruises of captivity, but his shoulders had relaxed, his collar gone. Nyx offered him a chunk of honeyed root and a crude wooden spoon. The boy’s smile was slow, cautious. But it came.
Taranis raised a horn of wild berry wine.
“Tonight, no war. No judgment. No weight of kingship or curse. Tonight, we eat.”
A cheer rang through the hall.
The first course was served hearth-brewed vegetable broth, thick with barley, wild leeks, and stinging nettle. Simple, earthy. Morrigan’s touch. The nettle had been boiled thrice, mellowing its sting but keeping its iron-rich heart.
Then came the main feast braised lamb neck, rubbed with ash salt and roasted on iron spits. It fell from the bone into honeyed mash made of parsnip and turnip, flanked by fire-roasted carrots. leeks, and bruised apples wrapped in dock leaves.
A vegetarian version of roasted nuts, wild mushrooms, and legumes. Bound with barley and wild garlic was passed to those who’d taken vows of gentleness.
The hall grew louder with warmth and full bellies. Solaris poured ladle after ladle of broth. Boldolph, face still savage, offered a growled blessing in the tongue of old wolf-warriors. Even Lore smiled briefly.
And then came dessert.
Forest fruit compote slow-stewed blackberries, crab apples, and hazelnuts served over a rough cake of grain and honey. It wasn’t sweet in the way of sugar, but it hummed with the wild tang of the land.
As the fire cracked lower, Taranis rose once more.
“We have reclaimed brothers,” he said. “Rayne is free. Draven will return soon. Boldolph and Morrigan have chosen forms of their own. Solaris has cast down his chains. And you my kin you have chosen your Houses.”
He turned, gesturing to three newly hung banners behind the head table.
Tempestras storm-grey with blue lightning: the House of the Storm.
Ignis flickering red and gold: the House of the Flame.
Umbra shadowed silver moon eclipsing a burnt-orange sun: the House of the Shadow.
“Caernath lives again,” Taranis said. “Not through conquest but through kinship. Through the storm we were broken. But by fire and shadow, we are reforged.”
Rayne rose, slowly, holding up a crude carving the three brothers etched into a cairnstone, side by side.
“Then let it be known,” he said, “that Stormborne is no longer just a name. It is a vow.”
Lore pressed a hand to the stone, then nodded.
“A vow… and a future.”
And beneath the storm-beaten beams of Emberhelm, the wolves howled once more not from pain or exile, but from joy.
Feast Notes (Modern Budget Version approx. £10 total):