Author's Note: As I'm sure you've all noticed, the story has very quickly become less of a lighthearted affair than I had originally wrote it to be. It's going to get a little more complicated and a little less funny, though I'll definitely try my hand at dark humor, if I can do it well enough. So, um, let me know how you feel about this development.

ALSO I'm so sorry about the rushed nature of chapter 14-15! I pulled an all-nighter (unintentionally) and my judgment (and the story) suffered for it. But I've tried to fix it by changing the very end of this chapter, thus slowly things down a bit in the next two. Sort of. Anyways, sorry for two totally crap chapters!

Now, on with the story!

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Vaguely, Ayla could feel the mid-morning sunlight filtering through the window as the soft summer breeze blew across her naked torso. It was an interesting sensation. She felt freer now, in this one moment, than she had in last few months. Oh, it felt so refreshing! It was so delightfully wicked to be naked in one's room, away from prying eyes and chatty mouths. But even as Ayla gave a languid yawn as she stretched, cat-like, her back arching up from the bed, she knew this paradise wouldn't last long. There were healers to see and laundry to do. Suddenly, she heard a soft rapping at her door, swiftly slamming her back down to reality.

Oh, god, she was naked and there were people outside her door! All traces of devilish amusement vanished in a flash as she looked around the room for her clothing. Oh, no! Where was everything?? Remembering the visitor, she called out in a strangled, panicked tone for whoever it was to wait. The door began to open and her clothes were still nowhere in sight, so, doing the only thing she could think of, she grabbed the sheets and wrapped them around herself as best she could, mentally willing her bedhead to go away as she strove to act natural. Pretty easy when you're practically au naturel, eh? Oh, shut up. Steeling herself, she looked up and directly into the soft green eyes. It was Artie, whose face now held an odd, strangled look. If Shrek hadn't run off so suddenly, he might have said something funny by now! Doesn't that guy ever feel awkward? Naw, he's shameless.

"Oh, uh, I -- I'll just be going then." His voice cracked loudly as he turned made to shut the door behind him when suddenly Ayla yelled,

"¡Espera!" The boy whirled around, a stunned and bewildered look on his face.

"Huh?" Ayla, in turn, eyed him strangely. What was the king doing here? Didn't he have . . . kingly stuff to do?

"What?" Suddenly a look of comprehension dawned on her now reddening face. "Oh . . . " At his still confused look, she pretended to pick at the lint balls on the sheet, "Linguistic slip-up." She cleared her throat as quietly as she could, though in her head, it sounded like she was hacking up a lung. "What brings you here so early in the morning, your Majesty?"

Artie shrugged in what he hoped was a casual way, "Oh, you know. I was just in the neighborhood - " In the neighborhood??? " - and I thought maybe you'd want to get out of here for a bit. We wouldn't be able to go outside the gates or anything, but, um, yeah." Venturing a glance at the girl beyond the doorway, he suddenly wished he hadn't. Her dark hair was wild from sleep and, in the morning sunlight, the skin of her shoulders glowed a soft gold. It was a sensory overload for the boy, who had never even been given the time of day by a female who wasn't related to him. "I'll - " His voice was a little too high. Clearing his throat, he pushed his voice into a slightly deeper register, "I'll just come back later."

"No!" Ayla was now no longer frozen in horror at the state of her dress -- she was frozen in horror at what she had just done. Slowly, she shrank back, a sudden sheepish look sweeping her features that warmed his insides. Well, at least I'm not the only one embarrassed. "I mean, yes. I would like to go for a walk with you, so, 'no,' don't come back later." At Artie's vague gesturing to the state of her, an odd look on his tomato face, Ayla hurriedly explained, "I can just ask to wear one of their apprentice uniforms, can't I? I mean, they must have tons of them, considering how many people were bustling about yesterday."

Artie looked thoughtful for a moment, his lower lip wedged between his teeth. "I suppose I can ask Fritz. I don't think he'd mind."

"Mind what?" They two teenagers jumped and Ayla lost temporary control over her makeshift dress, almost letting it slip. Recapturing the cloth, she held onto it with white knuckles. Artie stepped towards the man and explained the situation quietly. Observing him for a moment, Ayla couldn't help but smile a little. He seemed much more at ease with this Fritz -- she snorted in her mind -- It was less than she could say for herself. She hadn't seen or spoken to the man since her 'escape.' "I see. Unfortunately, Miss . . . " he looked to her expectantly, trailing off. Oh! He wants . . . but if I give him my legal last name . . . She knew that her silence was making her look strange, but she just couldn't tell him. If anything went wrong, it'd be too easy for someone to find her. Just use mom's! Quickly, they're staring!

"Zhang."

"Right. Well, Miss Zhang, I don't mind." Her face brightened, causing his to sag. "The Healer's Guild, however, would most certainly mind. I cannot give you an apprentice's robe unless you are officially working for us." Ayla looked about the room, searching one last time for her missing possessions. Even her sack was gone! The only thing left was the big blue scarf at the head of the bed. "But even if I could, I still would not recommend walking around at this time in your treatment, which -" He fumbled around absently in his pocket. "- is right here. Has anyone brought you breakfast yet?"

Ayla shook her head. "Pity. This draught is more effective fresh. Well, I'll have that sorted in a moment, but until then, do not drink this! It is meant for full stomachs only!" He made to leave when he suddenly pivoted on his heels, snapping his fingers in recollection. "Oh, and about your clothes, they were so damaged that the launderers took it upon themselves to dispose of them." With that, the man strolled off, whistling a merry tune that sounded suspiciously like "Happy Birthday." The two teenagers simultaneously thought, What a nut job!

Artie was still leaning awkwardly against the doorframe, again worrying his lower lip. "Your poor mouth. You'll run a hole through it like that." Inside, Ayla wanted to smack herself. She had forgotten who she was talking to! Luckily, he didn't look upset -- just amused and slightly pink in the face.

"Sorry about that." Ayla waved a hand, leaning back onto the headboard,

"It's not your fault." It's so partially your fault. Hey, cut him some slack! He did the right thing! Oh, shut up, I know you're both right! "I'll just, um, keep wearing this thing until I figure out what to do." She turned to eye the scarf. Maybe it could make a short dress? Ugh, this was hopeless.

"Be right back!" Artie suddenly blurted out and jogged out of the threshold and into the corridor. Ayla listened as his footsteps faded away. Jeez, for a king, he suffered terrible social ineptitude. Crap, he left the door open. She got up quickly and her vision swam as she clutched the headboard, her breathing suddenly ragged with fear and effort. Healer Fritz was right. She shouldn't be walking around. But she only had to walk the several steps to the door, shut it, and walk back. How hard could it be?

Placing one foot in front of the other, Ayla slowly but surely made her way to other end of the bed, when, again, she felt her head condense and the room sway. The figure of Artie stunned her into better consciousness. "Artie?" She breathed out, rooted to the spot. He smiled sheepishly,

"Sorry. Didn't really explain myself." He produced a small leather bag, much more structured than her own. Curiously, she noted that its resemblance to a student's knapsack. "Here." She looked up and saw that he was holding out what looked to be a pair of dakr gray tights, a long crimson tunic and a brown leather belt. Surprised, she gawked at him, before feeling her legs shake a little.

"I couldn't - " She slowly sat down, her dark hair falling into her eyes. "-accept. I really - I'm incredibly grateful, but I'm sure - " What? Sure that some seamstress was making a dress? For her? A stranger and commoner? And who knows if that crazy Fritz is even going to help me on this one. "On second thought, I change my mind. Thank you."

Artie politely stepped out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him as she changed.

Meanwhile, three stories up and several rooms to the left . . .

"So, let me get this straight, Fiona." Shrek put a hand to his forehead, massaging the temples. "You're sending your mother to some French spa, because she's going through an interior designer phase?" Fiona sighed exasperatedly, flopping down on a nearby chair,

"No, Shrek! I'm sending her to a therapy clinic slash spa, because she clearly has a problem!" She paused, choosing to ignore Shrek's mutter of 'Got that right!', before continuing in a calmer tone, "I think this whole redecorating thing . . . it's just a way for her to get rid of everything that reminds her of dad. It's like she's trying to erase him or something." Fiona took one of Shrek's hands as she looked pleadingly into his eyes, "Shrek, I'm worried. She clearly hasn't allowed herself to deal with - with it."

Shrek's ears drooped visibly. "I did notice a, er, slight change in her personality since we got back." His wife snorted in a rather un-princess-ish manner,

"Slight change?" The redhead exhaled noisily, gesturing for the ogre to sit down. She took another deep breath. "Shrek. You know that, normally, we don't mix our family problems with people outside of it --ah! Don't argue! Donkey, Puss, and Dragon are just as much a part of our family as mom and Artie! -- Anyway, I got to thinking and it's - well, we can't help her. This is something she needs to be eased into, but we can't do it for her and with the babies, we certainly don't have the time." She paused, biting her lower lip before going on. "It's a place called Fairest of Them All."

"Isn't that Gladys' new business?"

After Artie had been crowned king, many villains were moved to give up their lives of crime and pursue their dreams. Gladys was an, ahem, older witch whose dream had always been to open up a spa in France, and a few weeks (and many bundles of lavender) later, she had achieved it. The woman had actually kept in steady contact with Shrek and Fiona, and though the correspondence had started out of guilt, it grew into a tentative friendship that seemed to strengthen with each letter. For Fiona, personally, it was nice having another woman to chat to -- well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. The swamp could sometimes be a lonely place for a woman.

"Yeah. I already wrote to her about this. She wrote back yesterday. According to Gladys, mom is displaying all the signs of repressed depression and anxiety." Shrek's eyes widened considerably. Sure, he knew that his mother-in-law had been sad, but -- oh, he had been so blind in thinking her totally invincible! Sure, she was a strong woman, but what strength could successfully battle the depression following such a loss? Wincing, he thought of how obvious this all should have been to him.

"So, when are you going to tell her?" Shrek paused. "And when are we going to tell Artie? It's not going to be easy, you know. The kid's probably going to be a little shaken up. You remember what his father -- "

"I know." Fiona cut him off. "I thought we could them together."

"But Artie might feel like, I don't know, like he's being abandoned again or something! I realize this is all necessary, but it's just a little . . . "

"Yeah. I know," she breathed, "but this needs to happen and soon . . . " She took a shuddering breath, not daring to look him in the eyes, lest she burst into tears. "I'm scared for her, Shrek." He nodded sadly before getting up to pull his wife into a tight embrace. It would all turn out for the better, they knew. But when?

"You know, if you want, I could try to tell Artie in a while, maybe about a week or so. Then we can tell your mother together. Might make it easier for her to see . . ." He felt Fiona against his chest before one of her hands gently pushed him away. Taking the hint, Shrek nodded.

"Wow." Ayla said plainly. "That's probably the second most exciting coronation story I've ever heard."

"What? Only the second most exciting? Who's the first?" To Ayla's delight, Artie had started to loosen up a bit, and in turn, she her nervous stammering began to fade as they conversed about many things. He still clammed up every now and then, but, once she began to get over his royal position (or maybe she simply forgot because of his age and down-to-earth behavior), she persisted in her attempt to crack him open.

"Well, the first most exciting one happened when King Albrecht of Visigoth disco-danced to the throne, grabbed the crown, and tossed it on his head!" Artie snorted,

"Didn't he knock himself out with the weight of it?" Ayla nodded, feigning a serious look,

"Yep. And, actually, it didn't really land on his head. That was the romanticized version of the story. In reality, he was just incredibly drunk and his coordination was so bad that in attempting to crown himself, he very nearly missed his temple! In fact, the man was semi-conscious for the first three days of his reign, if I remember correctly." Artie laughed loudly,

"Yeah, then there's no way I'm disco-dancing. It clearly leads to trouble." (Author's Note: I couldn't help myself! I had to put that in there! It was so tempting . . . ) She smiled as she gently picked up the bowl from the tray above her lap and took another sip of the hot broth. Suddenly she jerked it away from her lips and hissed. "What happened?"

"Burnt tongue." She swore a string of colorful, but unintelligible things under her breath; they were not in English. Artie's eyes widened a little in teenaged admiration.

"How do you know so many languages?" She shrugged, though inside, she panicked a little. She had to watch what she said, lest she let loose too much information. Oh, come on! What's with you? It's not like he'd send you back there -- right? Her stomach clenched. Fighting her fears, she replied casually,

"My father was a merchant in a major port city, so we often entertained guests from many different kingdoms. I might have listened in on a few things." She lips curved into a cryptic smile, mischief dancing in her black-brown eyes, though inside, she was praying that he wouldn't ask her more about her home. Artie looked thoughtful for a moment.

"So what was it you said to me. It was a while ago, but I was about to leave the room and you said something in another language." Ayla dug through her memory, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember.

"I'm sorry. I don't recall." Blushing a little at her earlier slip-up, she couldn't help feeling slightly foolish. After all, language was her domain. Still, she thought, it was one mistake. No big deal. "Sometimes, when I'm speaking anything but my native tongue, I say things that don't make sense or I mix up one language with another. It's like, anything that isn't my first language falls into a second category; it's like one big mess that I pick things out of." She paused to look at him, her gaze, open with the candor that Artie had seen in them the day before. There was something so singularly simple in that look that just pulled him in, though not in the romantic sense of the phrase; it was more fascination than anything else. Perhaps it had been this look that had made him want to see her again. "Does that make sense?"

Artie nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so." Ayla took another bite of the bread, chewing slowly as she thought of what to talk about next. "Shouldn't you be taking the draught soon? The longer you wait, the worse it tastes." An eyebrow quirked up as she swallowed the bread,

"Do you know this from personal experience?" Artie felt a little heat creep into his face.

"Well, yeah. It's a long story, but I, uh, had to help out this friend who happens to like gambling. Calls it high risk investing. Anyway, it was about two weeks ago and it was really hot. Anyway, long story short, I came home with heat stroke and bruised chins." The girl blinked for a moment, her expression unreadable. Oh god, was he . . . un-funny? He began to chew his lower lip when suddenly he heard quiet chuckling.

"Would this friend of yours happen to be an orange cat with a penchant for saving people in dark alleys?" Artie felt his mouth turn up into a small grin,

"Maybe." Ayla's face suddenly darkened as she remembered the captain and her laughter ceased, bread and soup momentarily forgotten. She looked down at her hands as she traced the patterns on the medicine bottle. At a loss for what to say, Artie remained silent. Had he said something wrong? It had only been one word, after all! Maybe his expression??

Meanwhile, the ravenhaired girl couldn't stop thinking of gruesome possibilities. If the captain came back for her, would he simply kill or would he finish what he had set out to do in the first place? She shivered. Artie's eyes softened in concern,

"Are you cold?" Ayla looked to the window.

"Artie. What floor are we on?" The boy looked at her, clearly confused with her question of choice.

"Uh, the ground floor. Why?" Despite her effort to keep her tone light, she couldn't fight off a growing grimace,

"Would it be possible to for me to move to another floor? I mean, I'm grateful for everything, but I just - I mean, what if . . . " Artie couldn't help but wonder where the look had gone. She took a cleansing breath. "Do you remember the man from yesterday?"

Yesterday? Feels like it happened ages ago. He had so many questions about that, but, as he had decided the day before, he was going to wait until she was feeling better. Something about badgering a sick person just didn't sit right with him, though it was especially hard, as she brought it up, to fight his curiosity -- but he managed. Artie nodded slowly, trying to see where she was going with this. It took him a moment to put the pieces together, but as a look of understanding finally dawned on his face, he turned to her and said, "Don't worry about it. He'll be caught for what he did. Or, well, what he was going to do. Whatever that was." Artie scratched his head, losing his conviction with each new word. "I think."

He looked at her apprehensively, hoping desperately that he hadn't just said the wrong thing. After all, he had such rotten luck with girls, but to his surprise, Ayla started laughing, her eyes sparkling, (though a little less brilliantly than they could have been,) mouth wide open in mirth, her messy head haloed in the golden light from the window. This, Artie mused, must be what she looked like when she was healthier. Maybe Aunt Lillian was right, he continued, maybe laughter really was the best medicine. Oh, right, medicine!

"Hey, you might want to drink up now. It's bound to taste horrible, but it should make you feel better." Ayla rolled her eyes, though she knew he was right. It was more to hear his concern than anything else. Suddenly, she thought of how long it had been since someone had badgered her into taking her medicine. Pushing that thought away, she forced herself back into the present. Now was not the time for sad reminiscing.

"But I feel fine."

"But you're also sitting down in a bed in some very comfortable clothing, if I say so myself." She paused a moment before allowing herself a small smile as she brushed the hair out of her eyes,

"Point taken." She paused, "And thanks for the clothes. You didn't have, though I'd have to really be touched in the head to refuse. I mean, prancing about in a sheet is not exactly the most desirable activity."

"Well, technically, there'd be no prancing involved, just lots of sitting and lying down." She smirked quietly,

"Touché." His soft chuckles died away as his face became more serious. He got up from his chair and grabbed the wooden chalice from the nightstand. Walking over to her, he plucked the bottle from off of the nightstand and poured the draught as he sat down on the side of her bed.

"Here." She thanked him quietly and took it from his hands. "Just do it all at once. Sipping is . . . inadvisable." She nodded once before taking a deep breath. Then, throwing her head back, she chugged the greenish liquid, leaf chunks and all. Oh god, she thought she was going to vomit and it had only just begun! "But about the floor-changing," Artie continued, "well, unfortunately, this is the only one for patients. The rooms directly above us are for the apprentice healers." Ayla barely heard him as she slammed the cup down, a violently ill look on her face. Artie had to hide a snicker behind his hand.

"UGH! I thought it would taste like the one from yesterday! You know, the nice one with no chunks!" Artie chortled,

"No, the one you had yesterday was probably an invigoration draught. What they gave you today was for speed in healing weakened muscles and dehydration."

"Ugh, are you sure that's supposed to make me better? Because I think I've just contracted a new illness." Dramatically, she gripped her stomach with one hand and placed the back of her other one to her forehead as she closed her eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" He couldn't keep a grin off his face, "And what new illness would this be?" But Artie never got to hear the name, as a rather loud knock shook the door, breaking their conversation with its sound.

"Jeez! Somebody really wants to see me." Ayla twittered. While she had managed to keep the apprehension from taking over her face, she could hear it creep into her voice. Artie shook his head as he waved a hand dismissively,

"It's probably just Shrek." The girl's eyes practically bugged out of her head.

"Wait. Shrek? As in the Shrek? As in the ogre who almost ascended the throne??" Artie wasn't sure he liked her tone and he was about to say something when a huge grin seized her lips. "Oh, my goodness. I'm not even a noble and I have a king and prince to visit me!"

Artie blushed at this and, searching for something to focus on, he suddenly recalled that there was someone at the door. It was indeed the (in)famous ogre, eyebrow raised in question. Artie, in turned, nodded and, after a quick exchange between the two, Ayla bid them goodbye.

The next day, to Ayla's surprise and delight, he was back around the same time and he stayed until the lunch hour, at which time Shrek came around to find him. Over the course of the next few days, this pattern solidified until Ayla, finally able to walk a little, was meeting Artie at the door to let him in before he could even knock. Though it took some time and a little prodding, King Athur eventually, between the hours of 8 and 12 became just Artie to her.

And as their companionship quickly progressed, he asked her, once or twice, to describe the landscape of her homeland, but she only gave him the vaguest of details. After that, they seemed to reach a tacit agreement about not discussing their personal lives in depth, though the two daily exchanged many anecdotes and local tales, as well as many a discussion about the various ways to make healing elixirs taste better. ("Oh, that one's easy!" cried Artie, "Chocolate syrup!" Ayla snorted, "So if I had leprosy -- " "I wouldn't talk to you." She laughed loudly as he ducked away from her hand, grinning contagiously. "You're terrible, Artie Pendragon!")

One day, late in the morning, Ayla sat back on the bed as the conversation came to a lull and silently watched as Artie straightened up the pile of books on the nightstand. The day before, he had brought in a mighty stack of novels and collections of essays; Ayla was stunned to see that each one focused on something she'd mentioned days ago. While she greatly appreciated it, she couldn't help but wonder if the boy was rather lonely. It would make perfect sense, but . . . he was king! Or perhaps he was lonely because he was king? Maybe he was just irresponsible or -- no, she was probably over-analyzing a simple act of kindness -- even if it was a bit much. A loud thumping at the door quickly pulled her back into reality. Ayla's brow furrowed, a bewildered expression on her face, "He's early." Artie shrugged,

"Maybe he's really hungry." The girl deadpanned, though he could detect a mischievous gleam in her eyes,

"Maybe you're in trouble." Artie rolled his eyes and, glancing one last time at the nightstand, he said his goodbyes to Ayla. Steadily, he walked towards the door, puns and sarcastic jokes swirling about in his head, but his grin dissolved the moment he pulled the door back. "Uh," the boy swallowed slowly as he shot a nervous glance at the girl, "I think you're right."

The golden-toothed captain grinned malevolently, but he wasn't looking at Artie. "Good morning, Miss Nedim."