Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or this setting. They are property of Diane Duane.

Author's Note: Alright. I'm not dead! But I'm not in love with this chapter either, though I think it has its moments of brightness. I'm sorry I haven't updated in ages, but life has been hectic. The play went well, my birthday was great, and I have tons of homework to do. If you're waiting on an update for another story, I swear they're coming. I'm working on Can I Keep Him and Why I'm Quitting the Canons right now.

If you forgive me for the long absence, review.

Chapter 9: Round 2

Dairine woke to the sound of coughing. Her nose was stuffed up and her head felt as though it weighed a ton. She sat up groggily and looked at Roshaun who was coughing rather violently. She remembered Meera's prediction that he would get sick. It seemed to be coming true.

She figured it must be about time for tea. Well, if he could sleep through his own coughing, she wasn't going to wake him. She picked it up and pinched her nose, swallowing it. Disgusting. But changing the properties of medication of any sort, or letting them think themselves changed could affect the results. Roshaun must have been working his wizardry on her mind; it was much harder to deceive your own mind than someone else's.

Dairine studied Roshaun's face. He looked peaceful. It was remarkable how much better someone could look when they were asleep, than when they're awake. The haughty expression the King usually wore did nothing to make him particularly attractive; then again, neither did that bonnet he was wearing at the moment. She almost snickered. It was so strange to see Roshaun slumped in the chair, clothing wrinkled, wearing that stupid cap, and looking peaceful. His blanket had fallen to the floor.

Throwing the blankets off of her, she slid out of bed and padded softly towards him. She didn't want to wake him up. She picked the blanket up, and put it around his shoulders. It was better than nothing. He coughed again and rolled onto his other side. He almost looked as though he was going to open his eyes.

He didn't open them.

Dairine stood there for a moment. What was it about him? Why were things so difficult? She wouldn't say it. She wouldn't even think it.

She smiled a little. What did a kiss on the forehead mean? She shook her head. She was just being stupid. She needed to go back to sleep. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pecked him on the forehead and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over her and closing her eyes.

Roshaun shifted again on the chair, his eyes open a little. He felt the weight of the blanket on him and saw Dhairine getting back into bed. He let his eyes close again.

Dairine tossed and turned in the night, drinking tea again when she felt she needed it. Her nose went from runny to stuffy and back to runny. She coughed and coughed.

At one point Roshaun woke up and sat with her, patting her on the back while she coughed. He didn't seem to be faring much better than she was.

By morning, Dairine was feeling a great deal better. Roshaun however, looked worse for the wear.

Dairine looked at Roshaun. He was still slumped in the chair, blanket dangling half off, and clothes wrinkled. She got up and covered him with the blanket again, deciding it was best to just let him sleep…until she could find Meera and make him taste that disgusting tea.

"Wha' are you doin' in m'room?" he asked drowsily.

"This isn't your room. This is mine." For now anyway, she thought. Mine 'til I leave.

"Oh. What'm I doing here?" He yawned.

"You fell asleep in here again. I'm sure breakfast will be in soon." She considered for a moment. "I feel better. Do you want the bed? I can sit in the chair."

"No, no, stay in the bed. Rest. Sleep. I'll sit here." He attempted to work himself into a seated position, rather than his curled slouch, but his head started to hurt at sitting up.

For a sick man he was amazingly stubborn when Dairine tried to get him to trade places with her. Seeing she could do nothing, she resigned herself to reading information about Wellakh on Spot.

When one of the servants came in with breakfast, Dairine was still reading and Roshaun was still asleep. Dairine put a finger to her lips, motioning the girl quiet and pointed to the table. Once she saw that the King was in fact asleep, the girl ignored him. In some situations it was best to know as little as possible.

Dairine ate her breakfast without feeling nauseous and was grateful. She was about half done when Roshaun woke up. "Good morning," she said cheerily. She took one of the smaller plates and set a few things on it for him.

Clutching his head with the dizziness of lying down too long, he sat up fully, taking his nightcap off.

She pushed the plate towards him.

Roshaun started eating slowly. He wasn't at the nauseous stage of the illness yet and probably wouldn't be until tomorrow.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine." Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional, she thought, without much humor. Given how confused she'd been over the last two days it was a reasonable assessment. She wondered if he picked up on that thought about being freaked out. He gave no indication that he had. "What about you?"

Roshaun gave her a look. He was sitting here, feeling miserable, and he knew that he probably looked about the same way he felt. "The same."

"Liar," Dairine said, a touch playful. Well, maybe not. After all the arguing last night he was possibly as F.I.N.E. as she was. "You're sick."

"If I'm sick, I became that way taking care of you."

She snorted. "If? You're sick."

"Nom I'm not." He promptly sneezed and the sneeze brought on a coughing fit.

"I told you you were sick."

"I'm not," he insisted.

As they finished their breakfast, Dairine said, "I'll take the chair, and you get in under the blankets. You look miserable."

"No. It wouldn't be right."

"What wouldn't be right about it? I'm healthy now and you're not." She rolled her eyes and stood up from her breakfast chair. "I'm going to wash up." She passed by her t-shirt and cargos. She considered putting them back on again but went to look in the dresser on a whim. In the drawer above where she found the nightgown the night before, she found the same sort of gauzy outfit that Lady Miril wore. Satisfied, she took the clothing and shut the door behind her.

After a quick bath, she came back into the room, happily tossing the nightgown in her growing clothes heap. It was like she was home. She looked at Roshaun, who had fallen asleep. She debated whether or not to stay with him or see more of the palace. She supposed she could do some of her homework. She had promised.

"Spot?" she said softly.

There was a scuttling noise under the bed. Sighing, Dairine got on her knees and lifted the edge of the blanket. Spot was under the bed next to a pair of sandals that must have been put there for her at the same time as the clothing.

"Spot, come over here. I need my schoolbooks. Would you please open a hole to my backpack?"

Soon she was seated cross-legged on the bed, breezing through her math homework.

Meera came in with a pot of tea. "You're looking well today."

"I am, but he's not."

"No, he's not," Meera agreed. "Why is he in the chair in the first place?"

"He picked it. I offered to trade."

"Well, when he wakes up, give him his tea and see what you can do about coaxing him back to his room. Might as well convalesce in a fresh environment.

It wasn't long before Roshaun did wake up, hair knotted from tossing around on the chair without his nightcap.

"Awake, Sleeping Beauty?" she chuckled.

The joke was lost on the Wellakhit King and he only understood it literally. He gave her a questioning look.

"Never mind. It's tea time." Again the joke did not have the same effect it would have had at home. At home she might have gotten a response somewhere along the lines of, "What? It's not four yet!"

Dairine made the tea taste like hot chocolate while he drank it. "Come on, I can do my homework anywhere. Let's go to your room. This one is all germy."

"I'm perfectly fine here."

She only just barely managed to keep her eyes from rolling. "Well, I want a change of scenery."

Roshaun glanced across the room.

Dairine followed his eyes and saw he was looking in a mirror.

"I can't leave this room. My hair is a mess."

Dairine giggled.

He glared at her. "It's not funny, Dhairine. I have an image to keep up."

"There's got to be a hairbrush in here somewhere. I'll brush your hair for you. Then would you be willing to leave the room?"

He acquiesced.

Near the mirror Dairine found a hairbrush and comb and brought the set over to the boy. "With the back of the chair here I can't brush your hair. Move to the bed," she ordered. She eventually convinced him to sit cross-legged on the bed, facing away from her so that she could work all the knots out without anything in the way.

With the sheer amount of hair he had it would be a long and tedious process. Dairine started at the scalp and was going to work her way down.

"No, no! What are you doing?" His voice was uncharacteristically upset.

"Brushing your hair," she said, puzzled at his outburst. She ran her fingers through her own short hair.

"Top to bottom? You're crazy. That creates more knots. You have to start at the bottom of the hair and work your way up section by section," he instructed.

"That will take forever."

"It's the only correct way to do it," he insisted, right before coughing.

Dairine rolled her eyes but complied in changing her strategy. "This is why I keep my hair short," she remarked. "Much less work."

"The long hair is a tradition," he said. "And it's beautiful besides."

She snorted. "Maybe on women, but on you it just looks ridiculous."

"It does not."

"Yes. It does."

He crossed his arms. "Humanoid, the men where you come from wear their hair entirely too short. So do many of the women." The second sentence was a little pointed and possibly directed at her, but there was a touch of humor evident in his voice.

"I don't get it."

He looked over at her and she accidentally brush a little too hard. He suppressed an, "Ouch!" Instead he said, "What don't you 'get'?"

"Your fascination with long hair and big jewels. That Sun Stone is huge, and the green thing at my throat is about the same size."

He shrugged. "The Sun Stone has meaning and power here."

That didn't answer the question, but she let it go. She brushed his hair a while longer.

"Ouch! Careful."

She was sorely tempted to find a pair of scissors and cut all his hair off right now.

"I heard that," he said, scooting a few inches away.

"Wow. That's first time you heard me since, what, yesterday afternoon?" she asked, a little surprised.

"Yes. You're right. Have you heard me at all since then?"

"No."

They were quiet for a while longer as she brushed his hair. She was half done now and the work was going more quickly. They didn't say anything else until the work was finished. When she was done brushing his hair, she put the brush down. "Now I think you're presentable enough to walk to your room." She reached for the sandals she'd seen earlier and put them on.

He nodded and stood up. He reached out an arm to steady himself and Dairine took his hand, letting go once he seemed steady. She gathered her schoolbooks—and the pot of tea—and, with Spot scuttling along behind them, they went to Roshaun's room.

Roshaun's room was more lavish even than Dairine's guest room. Dairine found a couch and settled herself on it with her schoolwork.

"Are you sure you're comfortable there?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Do you find it odd that we haven't really heard each other since that argument began last night?" he asked, seating himself on his bed.

"No," she lied.

Roshaun looked at her face carefully. Dhairine was a good liar. But not perfect. "Why were you so upset last night, Dhairine?"

The question itself and the soft manner in which it was asked stunned Dairine into unintentional honesty. She knew that he'd seen through her façade and could feel her defenses breaking down. "Do you want the truth?" She broke out in the Speech without meaning to. "Because I've never been this close to anyone before. And it scares me."

Roshaun was quiet.

Blushing, Dairine explained herself. "I don't have close friends. I never had any, even before I took up wizardry. I can't tell anyone about my wizardry who doesn't already know, and I work my spells alone. There's never been anybody but me. And now…now there's you. You know what I think whether you're reading my mind or not, you're almost as smart as I am…we're the same, but not." She didn't know how to explain it any better. In some ways she was very comfortable with him, but at other times, he completely confused her and made her worry.

A thin smile appeared on Roshaun's face.

Embarrassed, Dairine turned away. She couldn't believe she said all of that. She should leave immediately.

"Dhairine, you're just as scared as I am." There was satisfaction in his voice. "All the while yesterday you pretended you weren't, but you are." And a little wonderment.

"So what, if I am?" she asked.

"You shouldn't be ashamed to say so."

She said nothing.

"Not saying so is an indirect lie, an omission of the truth, Dhairine. Watch your words and your feelings, lest your wizardry betray you."

He had a point there. She snorted a laugh.

Roshaun looked at her, affronted. "I was serious."

"I know. You're always serious. I was just thinking, by your logic, I'd think Nita and Kit's wizardry ought to have gone haywire on them ages ago."

Roshaun smiled. "We are birds of a feather, aren't we?"

This was starting to get fairly sentimental.

Roshaun looked as though he might say more, but turned away with a slight blush instead.

"Where do you keep your nightcap?"

"What?"

Dairine repeated glibly, "Where do you keep your nightcap? Honestly, after spending all that time on your hair, I'm not letting it get knotted up again." She put her schoolbooks down and rose to her feet.

With a sigh, Roshaun pointed to a wardrobe across the room. "Third drawer in the door on the left."

Dairine opened the wardrobe, it's drawers attached to the inside of the doors. She found half a dozen nightcaps waiting there, with slippers. Dairine picked a green cap with a purple ribbon. Walking over, she asked, "Green and purple suit you?" She could have sworn he muttered the word "violet," but she ignored it. She settled herself into a seated position on his bed and started fixing his hair into the cap. She tied the ribbon around his chin to keep it on. He looked ridiculous, but she smiled, wondering if she could find any scissors.

He pulled her into an awkward hug, but started coughing a few seconds later.

"I think it's time you drank more tea."

He drank the tea (again how chocolate flavored in his mind) without protest and she continued sitting next to him in silence.

"Are you hungry, Dhairine?"

"A little."

"I'll send for lunch."

She put a hand on his arm. "Don't waste the energy. I'll go. Where's the kitchen?'

"Do you don't have to go."

"I want to stretch my legs." She had more or less been cooped up since she got to Wellakh. She'd wanted to go exploring today anyway.

With a sigh, he gave her directions.

"I'll be right back." She squeezed his arm and left, her sandals slapping against the floor quietly. Roshaun leaned back into his pillows and lay against them, smiling.

Dairine normally had a fairly decent head for navigating, but somehow she must have taken a wrong turn, because at the end of her directions, she found herself in a gallery of family portraits. Generation upon generation of Sun-Kings and their Queens stared at her eerily, some more benign than others. One portrait was only a blank canvas with the familiar name engraved on a placard underneath. Roshaun's portrait hadn't been painted yet. Judging by the other portraits, they were waiting for him to have a bride.

"Dhairine! How good to see you up and about."

"Lady Miril." Dairine was relieved.

"Those clothes look lovely on you." She hugged her.

"Thank you."

"What are you doing here? I'd think you would be resting." She looked up at the portraits.

"I'm fine now. I was coming to get lunch for us. I got a little distracted by these paintings."

"I'll come with you then. I'm so glad the clothes fit."

Lady Miril led the way and they reached their destination in no time. Lunch for three was readied and the two went back to Roshaun's room.

"Do you hear something?" asked Dairine, just outside the door.

"Music." Lady Miril smiled and opened the door.

Roshaun lay against the pillows, his eyes closed, playing a flute-like instrument.

Dairine took a liking to the tune and settled down on the couch. Lady Miril put down the food and sang softly.

Around the third verse since they'd come in, Roshaun's eyes popped open as he became aware that someone was singing.

A little embarrassed, he put the flute down. Dairine clapped and Lady Miril laughed. Pulling a table and chairs over from one side of the room, they set up lunch.

"I didn't realize I had an audience."

"It sounded nice."

"That, was a very old song," Roshaun's mother said. "An ancient lullaby of sorts."

"What's that instrument called?"

"It's a cathaw." Miril picked it up. "Roshaun learned to play this when he was very young. I'm sure there must be another one around here somewhere."

"I don't think I've ever been particularly gifted at music," Dairine said, sensing where the conversation was going.

"I'm sure there's another one around here. I'll find it after we eat. I'm sure Roshaun is boring you."

"No he's not. I've been catching up on some schoolwork," Dairine said.

"Then you've most definitely earned a rest."