Disclaimer: Jane and the Dragon is (c) Martin Baynton, Weta, and Nelvana. I claim no ownership.
A/N: This is another of the promptfics from my Centuries and Seconds series, but I felt it was a bit too big to post with all those drabbles, so it became a one-shot. Thanks to wonderful Aria for checking this one for me! (Oh, Kris! Where are you???) This hasn't been heavily Betaed, and Jester fans I'll ask for your forgiveness in advance, but he's not a familliar character for me to write! Please enjoy anyway. :) (Sorry!)
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It had been another long, quiet morning. The beginning, Jester was certain, of another long, quiet day. He plucked listlessly at his lute and gazed out from the castle wall into the empty sparring yard. The training dummy creaked softly in the breeze, and then fell quiet. Jester plucked his lute again, trying to fill the silence. Smithy was not working his forge, but standing watch at the castle gate, wielding a blade and watching the villagers as they came to partition the king.
The knights of Kippernia had gone to war, months ago now. All except Sir Theodore, who was growing too old for long journeys and hard combat. He had remained to protect the royal family, and had enlisted Smithy, Rake and the chamberlain as stand-ins.
Jester played a small tune, quickly at first, but gradually slowing, until has hand fell still. He sighed, and scuffed at the stone wall with his foot. The castle was not the same with the knights gone. No Sir Ivon to mock, nor Gunther to torment. No Jane . . . In truth, Jester could have borne the absence of the other two quite easily, but not Jane. He missed her terribly, the feeling sitting like a dull ache in his chest.
The castle missed Dragon, too. His noise, his bluster, his silly questions. They all served to make a dull day more interesting, but now the best to be hoped for was Rake digging up an oddly shaped vegetable when he gathered supplies for the evening meal.
Jester had been busy for the first week or so, distracting Lavinia from her worries with silly songs and stories, updating the castle records with the important new information, listing all parties known to be involved in the war, but especially those Kippernia had sent to the cause, helping Rake with his garden and Smithy with the horses now that their time was limited. And through it all he had suffered with worry for Jane, and to a lesser degree for the kingdom he had been raised in, afraid the war would somehow draw them in. But now Lavinia had found her own distractions, the records were up to date, and Rake and Smithy had developed new routines and required less of his help. And the sharp, distracting worry had eased with time and the occasional message, promising all was well with the small party of knights, that Dragon was striking fear into the enemy, that Kippernia was gaining respect.
If not for those messages and the absence of the knights, one might never have known there was a war going on. The sun still rose every morning, the king still met with his subjects, Rake still fretted about insects and birds, Pepper still worked too hard in the heat of her kitchen, and Smithy was quiet and calm, doing his extra duties without complaint but gazing with longing at his forge whenever he passed it.
It was all incredibly dull, and Jester was beginning to find it unbearable. He sighed again and stood, deciding to visit Pepper. He made his way to the staircase on the wall, and then paused. The breeze had died completely, but there was a noise much like the wind, just on the edge of his hearing. He turned to survey the village, and then the sky, and his heart leapt to his throat.
There, coming rapidly across the valley, was the unmistakeable form of Dragon. And on his back . . . .
"Jane! Jane!" Jester ran back to the battlements and jumped onto them, raising his lute and swinging it wildly above his head. "Oh, Jane!" His voice broke, and the stone of worry that had settled into his stomach lightened and bloomed into flower of joy, and relief, and every happy emotion one man could feel.
"Jester!" Jane called back, in that voice he had missed. She returned her sword, the source of the noise Jester had heard, to its scabbard, and Dragon hovered overhead.
"Jester, are you well?" Jane called down, her bright mass of curls hanging in her face as it always did.
"Wonderful, Jane! And you? Are you alright?"
Jane laughed, that wonderful laugh. "Better for being home at last!"
"And I am magnificent too, thank you so much for asking!" added Dragon, indignantly.
"I could see that the moment I set eyes on you, Dragon! I have never seen a more superb sight!" Jester knew he was rambling, but he didn't care. Jane was home!
"We must return and escort the others," Jane told him. "Will you let everyone know we are back? I can hardly wait to see them all!" She waved and Dragon rose higher into the air and peeled away, back in the direction he had appeared from.
Jester watched them go, heart thumping as though he had just run a mile. Then he turned and hurried down the stairs, his lute lying forgotten on the castle wall.
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It was over an hour before Dragon hovered over the castle again, and Sir Ivon and Gunther rode through the castle gates. A great collection of villagers had gathered to watch their return, and the royal family stood on the castle steps, flanked by Sir Theodore and Smithy. Jane's parents stood slightly back, the lady grasping her husband's arm.
Dragon lowered himself into the yard without landing, and Jane climbed into his hands before jumping the small distance to the ground. Dragon then went and perched on the wall to watch the proceedings with as much interest as any of the other spectators.
Sir Ivon and Gunther stopped their horses near the gate, and a pair of village boys ran and grabbed their reigns as a cheer went up from the crowd. Jester barely registered any of this as he watched Jane stride purposefully towards her two comrades, hair bouncing and eyes sparkling as she waved at familiar faces in the crowd. Sir Ivon dismounted, and then he and Jane moved towards Gunther, who remained in the saddle. This caught Jester's attention, and he watched with a puzzled frown as Jane moved to the far side of Gunther's horse, seemingly un-strapping something.
Then Gunther stood in the saddle, and silence spilled over the whole courtyard like a thick soup on the kitchen floor.
"Oh, gods," Jester heard someone mutter, and then realised it was him.
Gunther's right trouser leg had been cut off and pinned neatly under the end of his leg, above where the knee had once been. The young knight's hair was pulled sharply back from his face, and now Jester was paying attention he could see just how much that highlighted the shallow cheeks and pale face.
Now Sir Ivon was lifting him easily from the horse, and the royal family saw for the first time what had so abruptly dimmed the crowd's joy. Jester heard the queen's horrified gasp.
With Sir Ivon supporting the weight of Gunther's right side and Jane walking close to his left, the three knights slowly made their way towards their king. The crowd hurried out of their way, and then slowly resumed their cheering, the cries growing louder as the knights grew closer. They stopped before the steps, and bowed, Gunther gripping Sir Ivon's arm tightly.
King Caradoc raised his hand for silence, and got it.
"Well met, my loyal knights," he said, his voice unusually thick.
Jester saw that Lavinia was crying quietly, and Cuthbert had gone pale. Sir Theodore was looking every moment of his age as he gazed at his comrades.
Gunther's face was stone.
"You have served your kingdom well," the king continued. "And so tonight we honour you with a great feast!"
The crowd began to cheer again, and Caradoc allowed it for several moments before silencing them once more. "You must be tired after your long journey. You may return to your quarters and rest until then."
The knights bowed again, and then Sir Ivon beckoned for Smithy, who, after a few quiet commands, took the Scottish knight's place at Gunther's side. Sir Ivon strode up the steps and grasped Sir Theodore's hand warmly, while Jane moved with Gunther and Smithy towards the knights' quarters. It was only as he moved to follow them that Jester noticed the Merchant, standing to the side of the parting crowd, shock written on his face.
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The next day, in the Hall, Jester played his lute softly in the corner while the king offered Gunther a pension of land and a title.
Smithy had constructed a rough crutch for Gunther to use while he crafted a better one, and Gunther leaned on it heavily as he bowed.
"Thank you, Your Highness, but I would much rather remain here and serve you in whatever way I can, if you will permit me."
"I could never refuse the request of a loyal knight, who has served me as you have done," King Caradoc assured him. "But surely your father would like to see you well set up?"
"My father has no use for me now, Majesty." Once again Gunther's face was stone. "I would much prefer to serve you in any case."
"Very well," said the king. "So be it. You may live here until the end of your days if your loyalty continues and it is your wish to do so. But my previous offer will always stand."
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Gunther's strength returned as time passed, and he was soon able to move quite quickly with the aid of the fine crutch Smithy had made him. He continued with his duties as a knight, in archery and jousting, although he had to be strapped into the saddle. He took his turn at watch, and even helped to train the new squires that the castle had taken on. But he would never fight with sword nor stave again, and even Jester knew what that meant for the young knight. He could never watch Jane or the others sparring for long before he would leave the yard, but he always wore his stone face.
Occasionally he could be found talking quietly with Jane, and their shared solemnity was normally enough to keep Jester away. He had listened, once, from around a corner, his curiosity besting his conscience.
"Gunther," Jane had begun, and there was the faintest whisper of a hand on fabric, but Gunther cut her off.
"Do not, Jane. Not you. I can not stand any more pity."
Jester had left, then, recognising the swell of pity in his own chest. Of all the people in the kingdom, he had never expected to pity Gunther.
"It was a cannonball," Jane had told him once, quietly. "They had to cut him out from under it. He was unconscious, but he woke as they were sewing him closed." She frowned then, and changed the subject.
Jester didn't mind; he was grateful just to be talking with her. It had occurred to him more than once that something similar or worse could easily have happened to Jane, and each time he could not repress a shudder.
---
Seasons changed, and life returned to some normality. Smithy spent the days in his forge, Rake in his garden, and Dragon could once again be replied upon to hover in at least once a day with a terrible joke or ridiculous question.
The rains had come, heavy fat drops that soaked everything in seconds, just as it did that night, as Jester ran through them. Water ran down the castle walls and increased the size of the puddles that Jester had to dodge as he went. He had been sent to call Gunther in from his watch at the gate, to tell him to go eat some of Pepper's broth.
He saw the knight, and prepared to call out, but paused for a moment and then turned to run for the stables instead.
Gunther had been leaning against the wall, his face raised to the sky. Water cascaded down his face, dripped from his hair and soaked his clothes. He had been so absorbed in that moment that Jester doubted he would have been heard even if he had yelled. And if Gunther's breathing had been a little uneven, what of it? Even stone wept in the rain.
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A/N: And oh, wow, happy one hundred stories everyone!! Great work, I look forward to the next hundred. :D
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