Disclaimer: Gail Carson Levine is the genius, not I. Ella and Char are her wonderful creations, not mine.
A/N: Hey all – I know it's been awhile, but I was suddenly attacked by an idea for another part to my Char stories. It's out of sequence, but just pretend you're reading this in between The Letter and The Slipper and you'll be fine. My reviewers are the bestest - EVER. I doubt I'll be doing any more Char stories after this, but I could be convinced... and if you're a Harry Potter fan, you might want to check out my Charlie Weasley fic. Whoa! I just realized that both my literary heroes have practically the same name… freaky…
The Tavern
The biting wind whistled and darted around Char like a mischievous, invisible sprite, tugging insistently at his cloak and numbing his cheeks and nose. The sun had set and the glow was starting to fade from the horizon; he squinted into the wind, trying to see the road as the dying light dwindled to nothing.
"We should be there by now," Sir Bert said with a frown. "And I don't like the looks of this sky." He added darkly, "It smells like snow."
Sir John rolled his eyes. "Enough of your gloomy prognostications, Sir Bert. We've time enough before full dark; I remember that rock formation there, and the inn is just a bit further. We'll have warm food in our bellies inside the hour."
"Glad to hear it," said Sir Stephen. At his genial tone, Char felt the corners of his chapped lips quirk slightly. No wind or snow could dampen Stephen's spirits – the man was irrepressible. "It's a lovely inn, if I remember it aright. Hospitable family, excellent food, a great big hearth just right for roaring fires on cold nights. I stopped there one night - it must have been, oh, six or seven years back, before I came to serve your family, Prince – and I met a lovely Ayorthaian girl there. She was a serving wench, and skilled in more ways than waiting tables, friends, let me assure you…"
It began to rain, an unpleasant mix of numbing water droplets and ice. Char pulled on his hood and only half listened to Sir Stephen's typically long-winded tale, chuckling automatically when the other knights laughed at intervals throughout. The subject matter of the story had set his mind veering in a familiar direction.
Stop it, he told himself. Just stop it.
He was glad to be finally heading home; he really was. It had been a year since he'd seen his parents or Cecilia, and as beautiful and fascinating as Ayortha had been, he was more than ready to breathe Kyrrian air again.
If only it didn't hold so many memories he'd care to forget.
"There it is," said Sir Martin, interrupting as Sir Stephen paused for breath. "Those lights in the windows are looking mighty friendly right now." He breathed in deeply and exhaled in satisfaction. "I can smell the stew already."
The inn was a fairly large building, set right at the entrance to town with all its many windows lit brightly, warmly welcoming in weary travelers like themselves. Char felt his spirits lift at the sight.
A young man met them in the yard with a friendly smile of recognition and a greeting; he was not overawed and did not fawn over them, Char noted, for which he was grateful. He took their horses to be rubbed down and set up in the stables and sent a younger boy to alert the owners of their new guests.
A little dark-haired girl pushed open the great oak door just before they reached it. She smiled shyly at them and then ran to hide behind the skirts of a slender girl only a few years younger than Char who appeared to be her older sister; what looked like the whole family was gathered there in the entrance way as the dripping knights gratefully entered the warmth. The Ayothaians were smiling, a trifle nervously, but with what seemed a genuine eagerness to please.
"Hello," Char greeted them with a smile, hoping to put them at ease. He threw back his hood and absently ran a hand through his damp, tousled curls. His grin widened when he imagined his mother's reaction when she saw the state of it; she would probably insist on a haircut before she allowed him to come near her.
"Good evening, Majesty," said the father, speaking accented but precise Kyrrian. "Come in and welcome." He bowed, and the rest of the family followed suit.
"Oh, look out-" Char began, but too late; the stout, matronly woman he had taken to be the mother had backed into the table behind her as she dropped into a curtsy. The only ornament on the table was a large, ornate vase that rocked perilously and then toppled to the ground with a spectacular crash before the stunned family could do more than gasp and stare.
The older girl was the first to move. She shot an apprehensive glance at Char and before he could protest quickly dropped to her knees to begin picking up the shards with nimble fingers. In a moment, her mother, father, and younger brothers and sister, as well as an older woman who might have been her grandmother, joined her on the floor.
Afraid that they would cut themselves on his account, Char hastily knelt down and scooped up the shards nearest him. There was another, fairly large chunk just out of reach, and as he crawled forward to get it, collided with somebody reaching for the same piece. He caught a glimpse of startled dark eyes and a rosebud mouth that fell open in shock when she saw who he was.
"Your – your majesty," she stammered. "Please, forgive – "
"Oh, please, think nothing of it," he said quickly. It always made him feel awkward when people apologized for something that hadn't even been their fault, all because of who he was. He stood, cradling the pieces of the vase in one hand while offering the other to the girl and helping her to her feet.
Her mother began apologizing in rapid Ayorthaian with a tremor of tears in her voice.
"No, no, I am not hurt in the least, madam," he hastened to assure her. "Please, don't trouble yourself any more. It wouldn't have happened at all if it weren't for me." He reached into his knapsack, pulled out a few gold KJs, and pressed them into her astonished fingers. "I hope this will cover the cost of the vase," he said, knowing it would be more than enough, "and I am truly sorry if it had any sentimental value."
"You are very generous, Majesty," said the father, bowing again. "Thank you. How may we be of service to you tonight?"
Char smiled. "My knights are hungry, so a meal will be first. We also will need accommodations for one night – we are in a hurry to return home."
"Of course, Majesty," he said. "Ollo, Uflimu, please take their things up to their rooms. Areida, please show these gentlemen to their seats."
The girl curtsied again, and when they had handed off their small traveling sacks to the two eager young boys, beckoned them to follow her into the adjoining tavern.
It was a long room with wood-paneled walls and soaring rafters, filled with smoke from long-stemmed pipes and the snapping fire in the great stone hearth at the far end. A gleaming bar was the centerpiece of the room; it was evidently a slow night, for only a few seats at the bar and less than a quarter of the tables were occupied. The other lodgers looked up from their ale with ill-concealed interest as the conspicuous party of tall knights and a royal prince crossed the room.
"I'm sorry about before," Char said, leaning over to address Areida as they approached the table. "I was afraid I'd hurt you, banging into you like that, but you seem to be all right."
Her dusky cheeks flushed. She nodded and looked down, unconsciously displaying her dark lashes to great effect. She took a breath, and he thought for a moment she was going to say something. Instead, she bit her lip, saw them all seated, and whisked off to the bar. He watched her go, his attention captured by more than just the girl's unusual beauty. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"I see you eyeing that lass," murmured Sir Aubrey, nodding in the direction of the bar, where Areida was filling some tankards of ale.
Char looked up, startled. Aubrey winked at him.
"Don't blame you, lad," Sir John put in. "She's a sight for sore eyes, that one."
"Oh, no," Char said hastily. "I mean, yes, she's pretty, but I wasn't thinking…"
"Come now, lad," said Sir Stephen knowingly. "You don't spend nearly enough time with the wenches, now. No one would blame you if you were to – "
"Stop it," said Char, more sharply than he'd intended. He instantly regretted his tone; his friends looked surprised, and they lapsed into silence, but not before exchanging some glances. The glances didn't go unnoticed by Char, who sighed inwardly. He knew he hadn't been easy to live with for, oh, the past six months. He had never been able to bring himself to tell anyone the truth about his feelings for Ella. Too damn proud, he thought savagely.
Areida returned, balancing a tray of ales with rare skill. She handed Char his drink first before going around the table. He had never much liked the stuff, but tonight he took a swig with more than his usual enthusiasm.
He didn't want to spoil the easy mood with petty self-pity, so he did his best to make up for it by asking Martin to tell the story of the crazy old woman in Bast who had taken a fancy to him several years back. It had been before Char took command of their company, but most of the others had witnessed it and it was a familiar and much-loved tale on their travels. He joined whole-heartedly into the laughter as Martin impersonated the crone.
"So she says, 'Give us a kiss, love.'" He hunched over in an exaggerated fashion, blinking rapidly as if to see better and speaking in a deranged falsetto. "So I laughed, thinking she meant on the cheek, but she grabbed me and said, 'Come on, love, make it a good one,' and planted her shriveled old lips right here!" He suddenly grabbed Aubrey, who was sitting to his left, and made as if to kiss him.
Aubrey almost went over backward in his attempt to avoid Martin's energetic smack. Char choked on a gulp of ale and sprayed it all over the table before succumbing to a snorting fit of helpless laughter. The others roared with mirth as an outraged Aubrey strove to regain his balance and his dignity. He wiped his mouth unnecessarily on a napkin several times, shoved Martin's shoulder, and said darkly, "Hell, Martin! That was NOT funny."
Martin, unable to speak, just pounded his fist on the table and wiped away tears of unholy glee.
Areida was back with another round of drinks, her lips curving slightly at the display of hilarity. She acknowledged Char's thanks with a nod and turned to leave, but almost immediately turned back and blurted, "I'm a friend of Ella's from finishing school. Do you know how she fares?" She had clearly been sitting on the words since they arrived.
They wiped all expression from Char's face. His fingers clamped around the tankard of ale so tightly his knuckles turned white, Martin and his crazy woman forgotten.
A friend of Ella's. Areida. Finishing school.
Of course.
"Dancing Mistress, now - I was a favorite of hers. She said I was the only student she ever had who could make an entire house shake in its foundations just by attempting a pirouette."
Ella's words sounded in his head as clearly as if the vibration of her voice still hung in the air.
"My friend Areida was always far better at dancing lessons than I – she was better at most things, really. She is Ayorthaian, and she moves gracefully, stepping lightly, like a gazelle." Ella demonstrated, the corners of her mouth turned down in mock concentration as she tiptoed and twirled. "Like so. I, on the other hand, was often compared to an elephant with bricks for feet. According to Dancing Mistress, a lump of coal has a better sense of rhythm."
"Oh?" Char said, grinning. "And what would my father say if you were to dance for him?"
"The horror of it would be too much for the poor man," she said gravely. "He would require strong smelling salts and a fire before he could ever rule again. I would be banished from the kingdom in disgrace, or better, drawn and quartered and sent to the four corners of the earth."
He laughed and she smiled at him, her face so vivid, her eyes so laughing and bright that his stomach turned over. He gathered his wits and cast about for something to say.
"Surely there was one subject in which your skill put Areida's to shame," he said.
"Writing, I suppose," she conceded. "Writing Mistress was the only one who taught anything worth knowing, although it is helpful to know the proper way to behave, so one can decide whether or not to be proper."
Proper. Oh, heaven, Char thought guiltily.
"I should have introduced you long ago to my knights," he said, embarrassed. "Friends – John, Aubrey, Bertram, Percival, Martin, Stephen – meet our ogre tamer…"
"The ogre tamer!" Sir Stephen exclaimed. "What ever happened to her?"
Char didn't speak for a long moment, still reeling from the assault of memory and emotion.
"You were her friend?" he said finally, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "You liked her?"
Areida looked him in the eye. "Ella was the best friend I ever had." The statement was simple, spoken without hesitation or doubt. She regarded him anxiously, and he realized she was waiting for an answer. It was another moment before he found his voice again.
"As far as I know, she is well," he said flatly. "I received word some six months ago that she had married a rich gentleman."
Her brown eyes widened; this was clearly not the answer she'd been expecting.
"She is happy, I think," he said, and couldn't stop himself from adding bitterly, "She is rich, so she is happy."
"Ella doesn't care about riches!" Areida cried. She flushed immediately and looked subdued, embarrassed by her outburst.
"How do you know?" he said, aware that his tone was almost accusatory. But there was a note of hope in there, and he wanted to kick himself for it. It was foolish to hold onto the memory of the Ella he loved – the Ella he had loved, he corrected himself. Beyond foolish to hope that there was some truth to it. Yet he found himself waiting for her answer with bated breath.
"At school everyone hated me because I wasn't wealthy and because I spoke with an accent," Areida said, her expression tuned inward, as if remembering. "She was the only one who was kind," she added, and there was a bit of a challenge in her voice as she looked at Char.
He wanted to believe it.
"Perhaps she's changed," he said.
She looked at him almost sadly. "I don't think so, your Highness," she said, her voice heavy with disappointment. She made as if to leave.
"Areida," he said quickly, reaching out to take her hand.
She turned back, and something passed between them. He wasn't sure how much he had managed to convey with just one look, but her brow furrowed and she looked at him thoughtfully. He wondered how much she was able to guess.
"Call me Char," he said at last.
She nodded thoughtfully. "Char," she said. "I never liked that vase, you know."
She had known Ella. She walked away, leaving him to thoughts of the road to Frell thathe would take tomorrow.
Please review! And check out my other stories, especially "The Hogwarts Four" because that's my current project and I need all the encouragement I can get! Yes, my name is Emily and I am a review whore - but aren't we all?