(grin) Well, this was written at work on a prompt from my dear friend Von. Obviously, I don't in any way condone writing fanfiction when you should be doing other things.

It's a god-send when you're bored out of your mind and have no internet connection, though. Just sayin'.

ANYway, yes, the prompt was "Alex meets the Queen". It's only a one-shot, but I may - depending on prompts from her - write more snippets in this universe. Definitely not intended to be taken seriously, means no disrespect to real people, and no corgis were harmed in the making of this story. ^_^

Quick note on that, because some people don't have grandmothers who are slightly obsessed with the Queen (Gran, I'm looking at you here), and therefore might not know about the Queen's own apparent minor obsession - corgis are the dogs that the Queen keeps. She has a fair few of them, they're small, beige-fawn and waddle a bit.

DISCLAIMER: Alex Rider is not mine. The Queen is, though. Obviously.

Alex was probably, he reflected, one of the few people in the world who could say that they had met the Queen of England by accident. After all, she wasn't someone one tended to just bump into down the shops.

He'd been sent into the Palace, posing as one of the footmen to flush out a suspected assassination plot. As the youngest and most junior footman in the entire palace, he didn't see any of the royals at all, unless it was from a distance - and even then, it was a big distance.

But things had come to a head, and during a chase through the palace, he had been forced to run straight through the Queen of England's private sitting room, disturbing her tea and very nearly tripping over a corgi as it lay, replete, by the sofa. "Sorry, ma'am." he said, hastily, and was off again.

To her credit, the old lady didn't even blink. Her expression was, however, rather bemused.

At the end of the assignment, with the would-be assassin safely caught and put away and being 'pumped for information' - Alex was absolutely sure he didn't want to know what was involved in that - the Queen requested the chance to meet 'her rescuer'. Blunt was surprisingly vocal in his misgivings, but she was insistent, and faced with a direct order from his sovereign, there really was very little the Head of Special Operations could do (a piece of information Alex filed away, for later use).

Therefore, three days later, Alex found himself being ushered into the same private drawing room, neatly dressed in a suit and tie (his footman's uniform had been unsalvageable, and was surprisingly ugly, anyway).

"You should know all the protocol by now." The butler told him, stiffly; he wasn't entirely sure of his ground here. What, after all, was the standard behaviour towards someone who had been in one's employ (at a very low level, no less!), who HAD been disdained before, but who now turned out to be working for the British Empire, and had saved the life of the reigning monarch? Bereft of hard-and-fast rules, he resorted to disapproval. "Do remember not to sit unless her Majesty invites you to do so."

"Yes, sir." Alex said, his voice just dry enough that the butler would never know whether he was being truly respectful or not.

After the butler's stiffness, the Queen herself was almost a relief. She was formal, but there was none of the butler's uncertainty; she was quite at ease.

"It seems that you are a very remarkable young man." she told him, gravely. "I am very grateful to you."

"Thank you, ma'am." he said, politely, carefully rhyming 'ma'am' with 'ham', not 'arm', as he had been taught in his rather patchy training.

"Do sit down." She offered him an equally polite smile. "Tell me a bit about yourself. Do you plan to continue in this line of work when you have achieved your majority – or do you have other dreams?"

They talked, politely and inconsequentially, for the next quarter of an hour, until the Queen stood, the typical polite signal that the meeting was coming to an end.

"I think when you are older - and less of a 'state secret'," She smiled, faintly, "As I'm told you are now - I will have to make you a knight of some sort. It would be so nice to have someone sensible as a knight; they're all actors and musicians now. Excellent people in their own way, of course, but not people one feels one can rely on." Another faint smile. "And you were my knight in shining armour."

"Actually, it was livery, ma'am." Alex said, dryly.

The smile was a little less faint. "Armour would have been terribly difficult to run in I suppose. As so often, romance is sacrificed for expediency." She held out her hand to him. "It has been fascinating to meet you, Mr. Rider. I do so wish we could do something real for you, to thank you properly." She paused. "I don't suppose you'd like a corgi?"

Thus ends a Very Tiny Tale. (grin) Hope you enjoyed this little bit of silliness!

Great story about corgis (sharing because - hehe - I CAN): an actress (Sheila Hancock? I think?) was invited to the Palace for a meal, and tripped over one of these dogs on the way in. As she stammered out an apology, the Queen waved one hand and said "Oh, don't worry in the slightest, it's her fault for blending in with the carpet." Oh, your Majesty. (grin, mark II)

-amitai