A/N – Thanks everyone for your reviews… they're all so lovely! Well, I'm proud of myself, because in this chapter, I have managed to use the word 'platonic'. This word fascinates me, because it doesn't really seem to exist in novels (not the ones I'm familiar with, anyway), yet it had made an appearance in almost every fanfic I've ever read! I didn't think mine would be complete without using it at least once! Oh, and sorry to anyone who was an Illa/Charlie shipper…. Though I must say I've been trying to warn you from taking that stance! And for all of you who said they appreciated the inclusion of Neal in Chpt.10, I have included a dose of him at the end of this chapter as well! – Lady Muck
Chapter 11
The next day dawned rather chilly, which was not really surprising, as it was only a week until midwinter. Neither was it surprising that Illa's mood reflected the frosty weather, as she rehearsed Charlie's death sentence over breakfast. Upon arriving at his quarters, she was annoyed - but in keeping with the theme, not altogether surprised - to find the door firmly locked. She knocked until her knuckles hurt, spat a few choice curses through the keyhole, and, as a stunning dénouement, kicked the door in a fashion which, while it probably would have made Charlie himself proud, did nothing to alter the situation other than resulting in what Illa suspected were several broken toes. But while hopping up and down on one foot in agony, Illa had a stroke of inspiration. Pulling a non-essential hairpin from her secretarial bun, she eased it into the lock, twiddled it impatiently for a moment, and was somewhat astounded when the tumblers clicked and the door swung open. She limped inside, and, seeing no one in the sitting room or either of the studies, ventured further back to the room where Charlie slept. There he was, still sound asleep, with his pillow clasped over his head as if to black out all the evils of the world. Not allowing her wrath to be mellowed by the innocence of his sleeping form, she picked up the jug of water from his bedside table and dashed it over him, then quickly escaped to her study before he could wake up enough to throw something back at her.
He must have entered without a sound, because when Illa looked up some minutes later, he was standing over her, haggard and dripping, with a defeated air about him, but looking so glad to see her that Illa couldn't bring herself to make the carefully rehearsed, scathing speech just then. Instead, she remarked vaguely:
'If I hadn't been there listening at a keyhole last night, I might wonder indignantly why my employer did not see fit to get out of bed this morning, let alone leave the door unlocked so that I could actually enter my workplace without sustaining serious bodily harm. But as I was there, and therefore heard everything, I'm not going to ask either of those questions. Neither shall I enquire as to why you look so dreadful this morning. I'm merely going to state that we both have work to do, and we really should be getting on with it, you in particular, as you've already lost time today.' After a moment's silence, Charlie's still-half-asleep brain finally succeeded in processing Illa's monologue, and his mouth dropped open.
'You mean you were there?'
'Well done, Charlie,' said Illa acidly, returning to the pile of reports she was sorting through.
'But if you were there, if you heard all the stupid things I said, you shouldn't be here now.'
'Why?'
'Well, haven't I been made redundant? Stripped of my title and position?'
'Gods, Charlie!' Illa's temper flared. She stood up, albeit still wincing, and prodded him in the chest with her finger. 'Tell me, then, is that the sort of defeatist attitude that led to you becoming the youngest naval captain in a century: that lie-down-and-let-them-wipe-their-muddy-boots-all-over-me approach? I bloody well think not! If you care about these people and these issues, my friend, you'd better buck up and start trying to do something about it. Get over your self-indulgent melancholy fit, Charlie, and do your damned job!' Out of breath, she limped back to her desk, sat down, and began shuffling papers again. When Charlie was sure she'd stopped yelling, at least for the time being, he knelt down beside her chair, so that their eyes were on a level, and asked, 'How come you're so sure that I haven't lost my job?' A small smile flitted over Illa's moody features.
'I assume you didn't take a leaf out of my book and start listening at keyholes, then?' He shook his head. 'Well, after I fell out of the cupboard and got acquainted with Sir Gareth –' here Charlie looked as if he might have interrupted, but he rather wisely remained silent,
'- The King realised who I was and who I worked for, and asked me my opinion of your actions. I explained that you had acted rashly and inappropriately, but that the basis for your argument was – in my opinion – correct, and that your outrage was motivated by nothing but concern for the subjects of the Realm. Somehow, I think I made a good impression – I think I even convinced them to look further into our theory – and I believe the worst you can expect will be a private meeting with His Majesty. If you conduct yourself with dignity and humility on that occasion, I see no cause for further alarm.' She broke off and arranged her face into a more friendly expression.
'I don't want to preach at you too much, though, and I'm sorry about yelling at you like that. I've done the same thing more than once: opened my mouth when I would have been far better served by keeping it closed. These things happen, from time to time. They're bad, but they're not the end of the world.' Charlie looked immensely relieved, but at the same time, rather awestruck.
'Mithros, Illa, I think you've just saved me my job! I've always been in your debt, for the amount of work you do around her, but now I'm starting to realise just how extraordinary you truly are. I'm afraid to say,' he said quietly, but with a strange look in his eyes, 'that you've become quite indispensable to me.'
'That is only to be expected,' said Illa, swelling with mock self-importance, 'It isn't every minister who has a super-human clerk to come and save the day every time he loses his marbles.' Charlie chuckled, but immediately became serious again.
'I didn't mean as my clerk. You should have realised by now that I see you as more than just an employee.' Illa was by now becoming slightly worried by the direction things seemed to be taking. Her immediate desire was to make a plausible excuse and run away, but instead, she tried to steer the conversation into marginally safer waters.
'Yes, well, considering the amount of time we've been spending together over the past months, I suppose it is only natural that we should become friends. I personally find you to be most amicable, and I'm glad to hear that my feelings are returned.' Charlie sighed, but found it impossible to frown while she was still within his line of vision.
'Illa, you don't understand what I'm trying to say.'
'On the contrary, Charlie,' she said grimly, 'I understand exactly what you're trying to say.'
'So then-'
'Lady Keladry's sent two squads of the Own to each of the fiefs that were sacked. It says here that we can expect detailed reports from them in about a week.'
'Illa-'
'And there's been a reported sighting of another pirate vessel off Port Legann. A bit further north than we've been expecting.'
'Illinen of Shadowflax-' Ooh, thought Illa, full name and fief, someone must be getting frustrated, but she kept to her ploy, trying to ignore the fact that with each attempted interruption, Charlie's face was drawing closer to hers.
'Oh and this one's from your mother. She says-'
But Illa was cut off by the brush of Charlie's strong hand against her cheek, and the feel of his lips on hers. Alarm bells immediately began clanging in her head, but it was still a moment before she had recovered sufficiently from her shock to disentangle herself from the situation. Panting, she scrambled to her feet and made a kind of limping dash to the other side of the room, barricading herself behind a conveniently placed chair. Glancing back at Charlie, she saw that he looked rather stunned, though disappointedly so.
'Charlie, you dolt!' she exclaimed, trying in vain to repress the quaver in her voice. 'That was exactly the type of scene I was trying to save you from. I figured you'd had a bad enough day already, without me breaking your heart!'
'Don't you love me, then?' He asked. At heart, he was still a rakish, flirtatious young sailor.
'Honestly, Charlie! Have you always had so many women fawning over you that you find it unusual when someone views you in a strictly platonic manner? No, Charlie, I don't love you, and I believe that if you consider it carefully, you'll find that you don't love me either. A volatile combination of friendship, over-tiredness, extreme gratitude, and my own breathtaking beauty and personality, has caused your overwrought brain to trick its self, and the sooner you realise it, the better.'
'But are you certain we couldn't make it work?' His eyes had taken on an annoyingly pleading expression.
'No,' said Illa unexpectedly, 'I like you well enough for it to work, but only for a while, and I for one am not even vaguely interested in a relationship that is casting no illusions of permanency.'
'Why, pray?'
'That is a very stupid question.'
'No, I meant why don't you think we could work out in the long-term?'
'Because we're too similar. We're both ambitious, impulsive, intelligent, and hot-tempered, and would probably kill each other within a week of moving in together. Charlie, you're going to hate me for saying this, but eventually you're going to have to accept that you need to marry a court lady. Someone gentle, calming, ladylike, and tolerant, who can put up with your pigheadedness and soothe your tantrums without having one herself. She can still be smart and kind, with a good sense of humour (you needn't pick one of the vipers!), but I'd say trying to court the aspiring Prime Minister is a little too far off the mark. We get along well as friends and colleagues, but anything further would be suicidal.'
'But Illa, you need someone who can stand up to you. Someone who can say 'no' to your ridiculous demands. Someone who can live in the same house as you without getting steamrollered or brainwashed. Someone… someone like me.'
'Fortunately, though, it is not your responsibility to decide exactly what I need.'
'Neither is it yours in relation to me. In fact, I was under the impression that I was your boss, anyway.' Illa groaned, covering her face with her hands, and when she spoke, it was in a soft voice that showed little of her customary spirit.
'This is going nowhere. What can I say, Charlie? I don't love you like that, and I never will, and there's nothing that either of us can do about it. The sooner we just forget this little episode, the sooner we can get on with what we're really here to do.' Heroically, Charlie managed to wipe the woebegone expression from his face and most of the lovelornity from his mind, replacing them with resolve. He really did want to make good at this job, even though his unorthodox (to use the most flattering term) approach had caused some people to think otherwise, and his most treasured ally had just declared her 'un-love' for him.
'Will you still be my clerk, though? Even after all this, I don't want to lose you as a colleague.'
'Charlie,' Illa began sternly, 'How hypocritical would I be if I came here and gave you a speech on not giving up just because of a minor setback, and then went and did the same thing myself. No, I will be here bright and early, the first day after the midwinter break,' she said with a grin, which Charlie found, to his surprise, was easy to return, 'And I will get you organised to tackle this whole pirate thing, which unfortunately we seem to have forgotten all about, at present. Though I think you might have to excuse me for the rest of today,' she stood up, gingerly tested her injured foot, and winced, 'I believe I need to visit the infirmary.'
Sir Nealan of Queenscove worked quickly, unlacing Illa's boot to reveal a row of toes that were alarmingly swollen and purplish-black in colour.
'If I may ask, My Lady,' he said with a faintly amused expression, as he began to prepare a salve for her injuries, 'What exactly were you doing?' Illa turned beet red, and looked down mutely at her lap.
'You tried to kick his door down, didn't you?' Sir Nealan asked shrewdly. Too stunned to make a denial, Illa nodded.
'Impressive. What did he say to that?'
'You mean after I'd gently woken him with a pail of ice-cold water?' asked Illa, getting into the spirit of things.
'Err, yes. Did he yell at you?'
'Not as much as I yelled at him.'
'What did he say, though?'
'Not a whole lot, really.'
'What did he do, then?' Illa hesitated, but not for long. She was beginning to like Sir Nealan very much.
'He kissed me.'
'Kissed you! Well, I imagine he's feeling much better now, then.'
'You overestimate my seductive powers, Sir,' said Illa with a grin, 'and actually, after what I said to him afterwards, after I'd run to the other side of the room and hidden behind a chair, he's probably feeling much worse!' Neal chuckled, but only said,
'Hold still while I heal these toes of yours.' Illa watched in fascination as bright green fire flowed from his cool fingers to envelop her foot.
'You know,' she said conversationally, 'I've never been healed before.' He looked up in surprise.
'What? Not even when you were sick?'
'I wasn't often sick, and I think my mother preferred just to let nature run its course. She said something about not wanting to build up a resistance to healing in case we ever really needed it.'
'Sensible woman. Just take it easy for the rest of today, though. Sometimes healings can tire you out.'
'Nonsense,' Illa scoffed, 'It's only a couple of toes. I'll be-'
'Yes, I surmised as much,' said Neal wryly, as her eyelashes fluttered and she fell, floppy as a rag-doll, back onto the cot she'd been perched on the edge of.
'Odds-bods,' he muttered to himself, as he tucked Illa under a blanket. 'What is it with these determined youngsters. Even the ones who aren't training to go off and chop our enemies to pieces seem to end up unconscious in my infirmary far too often!'
A/N – sorry, that was a bit long, but I really wanted to add the bit featuring Neal, and it wasn't long enough to warrant inclusion as a separate chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, as I really do like Neal. And I hope the, er, 'unreciprocated fluff' turned out all right – the fluff is the hardest bit for me to write, as, sadly, all my 'fluffy' experiences have been tied to the pages of romance novels. (sigh). Please review… you will make my day (especially if you write something about how wonderful I am, but please don't feel obliged) And by the way, I know 'un-love' is not a real word, but my policy is that if you can't think of an existing word that means exactly what you want it to, you just have to make one up yourself! Oh, there's a ball coming up, and Illa has a plan… concerning Charlie and his love life… stay tuned, all will be revealed! – Lady Muck
