AN: Yes, I'm well aware that this concept has been done to death, but I'm hoping my story will be a little bit different from all the other Char POVs out there. For one thing, it will be complete, including some scenes where Ella isn't present. Char is his own person, and we know enough from his letters and other people's descriptions of him to guess a lot about his life. So, hopefully this will be interesting. We begin with the scene he mentioned at Ella's mother's funeral, and go from there…

And, the disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Char. Or Ella. Or Kyrria, or almost anything you'll see here aside from the words themselves. Having met Gail Carson Levine once, briefly, I'm hoping she'll forgive me.

"…And never forget the allegiance that is due to our native Kyrria." My eyelids were beginning to droop, although I kept my back straight, hands flat on the table, head turned toward Chancellor Thomas as he droned on. I wondered idly just how many times I had heard this same speech. It seemed like at every wedding, funeral, and court function, Chancellor Thomas was called upon to bring out his old notecards and treat us to an hour of posturing on the value of citizenship. It was a wonder he even needed the notecards at this point.

I sighed quietly. I was being unfair. There were worse things than being a bit repetitive in support of me and my family. The man was nothing if not patriotic.

My eyes flickered toward my father, sitting to my right at the head of the table. If he was bored, he gave no sign of it, his face a mask of polite attention. My mind flashed forward to the day when I would sit where he now sat, after who knew how many more years of listening to the Chancellor Thomases of the world blather on. I had best find a way to endure.

In desperation, I scanned the room for something to distract myself. My eyes landed on the Lady Eleanor, and I could feel my mouth twitch with the beginnings of a smile. The Lady Eleanor could always be counted on for diversion. Her eyes were fixed not on Chancellor Thomas, but on her own lap, her expression one of intense concentration as her hands moved rapidly. Curious, I shifted slightly in my seat, trying to get a better view of what she was doing. Just then, her gaze shifted back toward Chancellor Thomas, and her hands paused in their work. I found myself staring at her blue paper cocktail napkin for a moment. Then my eyes flicked back up to Chancellor Thomas, his mouth open, hands waving as he made some complicated point. Looking back at the napkin, I thought I might crack a rib trying to suppress the laughter that threatened to overwhelm me as I took in the perfect miniature chancellor.

Unfortunately, Sir Peter, seated beside her, saw the napkin at the same moment. He stiffened, and his wife's shoulders drooped as he grabbed the napkin and crumpled it up, without ever so much as glancing at her. She tentatively placed her hand on his, and he relaxed slightly, but still refused to look at her.

I wondered what might have brought the unlikely pair together. A lively, playful woman like the Lady Eleanor was wasted on Sir Peter. If I were lucky enough to have such a wife, to make even these interminable banquets funny, I certainly wouldn't stifle her.

I looked up once more at the chancellor, and tried to imagine him blue, with the Lady Eleanor delicately poking at his features. It was a mistake. Unable to restrain my amusement any longer, I muttered an apology to my father and strode quickly out into the garden. As soon as the door closed behind me, I doubled over with a mirth bordering on hysteria. By the time I had control of myself and slipped back into the hall, not only was the chancellor's speech finally over, but the servants were just leaving with the empty plates. A pity, that. I caught Lady Eleanor's eye and smiled.

AN: I know there was nothing really new here, but bear with me. Coming up next, Char starts hearing from his cook about Lady Eleanor's daughter.