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Amy has a pile of Very Significant Looking Reports complete with Very Official Looking Seals and Very Small Writing.

She also has a slight headache, a chair by the fire, and a very strong, very sweet, very milky cup of tea.

What she does not have is company, but some is always welcome.

Especially if it means she can stop reading for a little while.

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A small girl in a blue dress approaches and sets a plate of squarish pastries down on the edge of Amy's table.

Sandry has made many marvelous discoveries in Milliways. Chocolate beignets being near the top of the list.

"You look like my uncle when he's overworking," she says with a smile. "He tends to forget to eat on days like that."

"Good evening, Sandry," says Amy, setting down the reports and smiling back.

But not taking one of the pastries.

"What does your uncle do?"

Sandry grins, a little bit sheepishly.

"He's the ruler of the realm of Emelan."

It's not something that she tends to go out of her way to advertise at home. It's the sort of thing that makes some people twitchy or else brings on unwanted attention. But there's no real reason to hide it in Milliways where it seems no one has even heard on Emelan. She nods at Amy's pile of papers.

"I imagine the work is somewhat similar."

"I think the work is similar no matter what people run. It just gets done on a grander scale when you drag realms into things."

Amy looks at the pile of papers ruefully.

"Though this is a little grander than usual, even for us."

"Nothing too bad, I hope."

Sandry well knows the sorts of things that can go awry in kingdoms that can generate such stacks of papers. She has spent most of her life in one royal court or another. Wars, plagues, trade disputes, natural disasters, pirate raids, irate ambassadors.

Grand titles mean dealing with grand problems.

"Nothing we won't get through," says Amy, Cheerfully (if not cheerfully).

"We had a rather bad hailstorm right before the harvest this past autumn, I'm afraid. But we can certainly weather one bad winter."

Weather is one of those cantankerous things that even the most compentent of rulers can't control, even in Sandry's world for all its magic. Even the weather mages would tell you that it's not something to be trifled with lightly.

"That's good--that you can weather the winter," Sandry says.

"How many more months of winter are left?"

Magicians in Amy's world don't even try it.

The fairies would not be amused.

Amy considers Sandry's question.

"About three, most likely. And then probably another two before we really start seeing anything coming from gardens and farms."

Not an ideal situation, certainly. But with adequate food stores, not a recipe for famine.

"Do you have plant mages in your world? They can help plants and crops grow strong and quickly." Sandry lives with two of them. And while Rosethorn and Briar are almost as cantankerous as the weather, their sort of magic can make a great deal of difference under such circumstances.

"And, in the meantime, would you like one of these?" she asks, nudging the plate a fraction of an inch closer. "A gentleman named Remy introduced me to them."

"Nothing by that name, no. But our magicians are doing what they can."

She gives Sandry a soft smile.

"That's very kind of you, but no. We've moved into rationing of what stores we have, and can get. No one's in danger of starving, if we manage carefully. Perry -- that's my husband -- and I decided that we should only eat what everyone else is eating."

It's made for some very grumpy courtiers at the Royal Table lately.

"Oh."

It is the sign of good rulers, according to Sandry's uncle, that they weather storms with their subjects instead of simply watching from on high. Duke Vedris would heartily like Amy and her husband.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked you first if you wanted any." Impetuousness has a way of getting the better of her.

Fortunately, they shouldn't go to waste. Sandry has never had any trouble giving away beignets in Milliways.

"It was a very generous offer, Sandry, and nothing to have to apologize for."

Amy's done her fair share of pushing food at people (well, mostly at Caspian) in Milliways.

"When things have gotten better, I'll have to ask you to introduce me to them."

Sandry is pretty good at pushing things on people (at least ones her own age). But there are certain things that you simply don't argue with.

One of which is a queen showing solidarity with her people.

"I hope things get better soon," she says. "No just because of the beignets," she adds with a smile.

French not being a known language in Sandry's world, she still rather slaughters the pronunciation.

While the mun plays a handful of other characters who could correct that, Amy is, alas, not one of them.

"So do I," says Amy.

"Our Protocol Officer is having fits over planning a christening in the middle of rationing."

Amy's privately rather amused by that.

"What's a christening?" Sandry asks curiously.

Aside from the sort of court function that causes Protocol Officers to go grey-headed and/or bald when they can't arrange things just so.

It seems to be a common personality trait among Protocol Officers.

"It's . . ." Amy debates the best way to explain. "It's a ceremony at which my son Merry will be formally named, and presented to the populace, and officially welcomed to the Church."

Merry's been baptized, just with the family, just after he was born. The christening, at least in Amy's world, is wholly different.

Because Protocol Officers need time to properly prepare christenings, after all.

"There's usually a great deal of pomp and ceremony and festivities and everything. Susan's were very, very grand indeed."

There are similar ceremonies in Sandry's world; the dedication of children to the kingdom and the gods. And yes, for a royal child, they can be very grand affairs indeed.

"Protocol Officers sometimes have the strangest ideas," Sandry says with a sage shake of her head and roll of her eyes.

"My uncle says so at any rate. He says that they mean well, but will wear themselves to a frazzle for want of a little common sense."

"But they seem determined to wear themselves away," says Amy.

"I suppose my husband's Protocol Officer enjoys being frazzled.

"And talking about napkins. He's very worried about napkins, for some reason."

"They must enjoy it, otherwise it seems like they would crumble to bits," Sandry agrees.

"Napkins?" She grins. "Why napkins of all things?"

"I haven't any idea," says Amy. "But he worries about napkins, particularly what color they should be."

Perry's Protocol Officer (or, as he would prefer to be called, King Algernon's Protocol Officer) worries about a great many things that Perry's wife (or, as he would prefer she be called, Queen Amethyst) doesn't care all that much about.

"Have you ever, in all your days, gone home from a Court function thinking that it would have been a lovely party if only the napkins had been less maroon and more burgundy?"

Sandry is trying very hard not to giggle.

"Never ever, I have to say," she says, trying for a serious look. She's not at all successful.

"Amy!"

Marian's voice suddenly sounded out in an amusement that brooked her tired expression. That was a face she'd definitely missed in this passing cold spell.

"You look to be submerged," Marian offered, quirking an eye brow up as she surveyed the pile.

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