DISCLAIMER: I don't own Jane and the Dragon.

WARNING: Contains blood and violence, possibly some bad language.

Note: This is basically a fanfiction of Krya4's fanfictions. I love the way she brings the story into adulthood and thought I'd have a go at something similar. As a result this story is practically hers, only with the roles of Jane and Gunther reversed. Krya4 - you're awesome, please keep writing!

Sword smashed against sword, and it took all of Gunther's strength to hold his ground against the weight of the man towering over him. He stood firm, flickering between his options, and then abruptly allowed his arm to give way and jerked backwards. The man stumbled forwards as he slipped out of the way and whipped his sword up. Scarlet blood flew and the man fell. He found himself in a brief lull amongst the fray and took the opportunity to look around, searching for familiar faces. Some distance away he could see Jane – not, as usual, due to her flaming red hair, which was covered now by a bronze helmet, but rather due to her rapid footwork. He may still best her in archery and brute force, but he never had been able to match her in agility. She was skipping clear of each blow that came her way, her sword flashing, her face tense with concentration. A strand of her hair had come loose and followed a little behind her with every move she made. She was coping well, but the enemy soldiers were closing in around her as her identity became more obvious – no doubt they had heard of the Lady Knight of Kippernia, and hoped to test her mettle. He flinched backwards as a sword appeared in his periphery, swearing aloud for his lapse in concentration. If Sir Ivon had seen that, he would have been on the dung jobs for a week.

He parried the attack and ducked under the oncoming arm of his opponent, delivered a short, hard kick to the man's stomach. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, saw the group of men closing in around Jane, blocking her from view… He turned towards her but, again, he was deterred, this time by two soldiers at once. He was forced backwards, staggering over bodies on the ground, desperately trying to make an attack among his defensive blocks. He barely had a chance – if anything, their numbers seemed to be increasing. They were, as Jane had reported, hideously outnumbered.

She had flown in on the back of her giant lizard only a few days ago with news of the approaching army. It had not been all that much of a surprise – over the past two years a few smaller villages beyond the kingdom's reach had fallen prey to a steadily advancing enemy, and King Caradoc and Sir Theodore seemed to have almost expected the news. The announcement had been made that very evening: the kingdom was at war. Every man would be required to take up arms and move out in a single day's time.

It had been equally exhilarating and terrifying.

Thrilling because all those long years of training were about to be put into practise, and because aside from a few smaller planned attacks and the occasional pack of bandits to despatch, Gunther had still not fought in battle. Terrifying because… well. Because.

They had moved out to meet the enemy, setting up camp some distance from the kingdom to give time for the people to evacuate should their efforts be in vain. Because of the sheer size of the army they had to face they had been forced to recruit every able-bodied man in the village. Which meant that Gunther had spent the last three days at the camp trying to teach people who had never even seen a sword before what he himself had learned in eight years. He had tried. As the King's Knights, second to Sir Ivon and the now-retired Sir Theodore, he and Jane had been required to help organise and prepare the men. It had been difficult, infuriating – farmers could not fight any more than schoolboys. But they had the basics – the very basics – and he was doing his best to keep his eye on them.

The last night had been spent pouring over a map in Sir Theodore's tent, with Sir Ivon, Jane and the King present. Dragon had poked his head through the tent flaps, his breath sending the map billowing up off the table every now and again and scattering their plans. The conversation had been tenuous, to say the least.

"We cannot divide our forces," Sir Ivon had insisted, stabbing a fat finger at the table. "There are too many of them. By the time we launched our second group's attack our numbers would be too few to cope."

"If we meet them head on, we will be revealing the only hand we have," Sir Theodore replied, his tone slightly calmer. "They will know how much we will struggle. If we could engage them and then circle from the-"

"There will be no time! True, these men are not clever fighters, but there is no need for wits when one has an unmatchable strength."

Gunther said nothing. He did not back either view – both were equally weighted. Instead, he took advantage of the low candlelight and watched her watch the map. Jane's brow was lined with fierce contemplation, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip, her arms folded tightly. He could almost see plans racing through her head like fireflies across the sky. She would not speak until she was sure, but he knew that she had already formed something better than the two older men. She was waiting for her moment to speak, tactful, sensitive. The King's sigh drew his eye away.

"We have no more time for discussions. We must decide tonight, one evil or another."

Gunther straightened, drawing their attention towards himself. After so many years at her side, he knew exactly what would coax her to speak. She had the answer, he could tell from the gleam in her serious green eyes. He arched an eyebrow as she lifted her gaze to meet his, twisted his lips into a slight smirk.

"Perhaps we should just flip a coin. We seem to be stuck between a rock and a hard place – there is no other option possible for us to consider. It hardly seems to matter which plan we choose at this stage."

Sir Ivon cast his eyes skywards in despair. Although a talented fighter, Gunther had to pity his mentor at times. The huge man did not seem to understand the importance of saying just what you didn't mean to get what you wanted. To him, everything was taken at face value. Sir Theodore was not so superficial, smiling slightly, and for a moment Gunther thought he was going to give him away. But then Jane's eyebrows were arching sharply downwards, her hands flying to her hips, her head cocking slightly to one side.

"Of course, Gunther, what could it matter? It is only a war, after all." She stepped up to the table, glancing at Sir Theodore as if for permission. "I have a suggestion."

"Oh yes?" Gunther leaned back against one of the thick posts holding up the tent, turning his attention to wiping a speck of dirt from his sword hilt. "Spit it out, then."

He could feel her glaring at him and swallowed back a laugh. She spread her hands over the map, scrutinizing the area one last time before drawing breath to speak.

"They must have heard about Dragon – his presence here is no secret. But I feel that this is all the more reason to keep him away from the fight for as long as possible. They will be waiting for him, and his absence will make them nervous. Their attention will not be on the fight at hand, giving us the upper hand."

Sir Theodore was nodding. "Go on."

She pushed her hair back with one hand. It snatched at the candlelight like fire, tangled against her slender fingers. Her tongue appeared briefly between her teeth before she lowered her hand once more, pointed to a set of low hills off to one side.

"Early tomorrow, before light, we take a third of our army to this spot-"

"A third?" Sir Ivon spluttered.

Gunther shot him an icy look but Sir Theodore was already raising a hand to him, indicating with a nod that Jane should continue. She nodded steadily, returning his gaze.

"It must be a third. Any less would be of no use, and any more would be too conspicuous. They will hide there until the battle begins. This group must be mostly knights. And then we will lead the rest against the enemy here, out in the open."

"And then?" Gunther nudged.

She scowled at him. "And then, once we have fully engaged the enemy, we bring in the smaller group from behind. Waiting for Dragon to appear, they will be caught off guard and believe he will be with them. And once they have rallied whatever forces they can spare from fighting with our main group, and they are ready to engage with this second group, Dragon will come in from the side. If they are as stupid as you say, Sir Ivon, they will find themselves suddenly surrounded and panic. Their instructions will be confused, their organisation poor, and they will fail."

She finished in one breath and stopped quickly, gazing around at them all with a flicker of triumph. She knew she had won. She looked at him across the table smugly as Sir Theodore began to nod, daring him to disagree. He gave a small shake of his head, just to infuriate her a little.

"Champion," he murmured.

Jane's face cleared slightly in surprise, but Sir Theodore was already speaking.

"It is the best plan we have. We can only hope that our main body of foot soldiers do not lose too many lives acting as bait."

King Caradoc had agreed, and the plan had been settled. The next morning, Sir Ivon would lead the small group around to the hills to lie in wait for their moment. Jane and Gunther would lead the main body of soldiers. Dragon would wait above cloud level for Jane's signal. Sir Theodore would escort the King back to the castle to safety that night before returning to run the camp, and wait for the news of the outcome.

They left the tent slowly, Gunther emerging last. Jane strode away into the night, Dragon padding beside her, her bright hair swinging behind her in an unruly mane. He watched her go, drank in her fast, determined pace and her straight back, her copper waves of brightness. He did not notice that Sir Theodore had waited to speak with him until it was too late, and he had already been caught staring. He schooled his features into emptiness, stepping forwards to meet his mentor.

"You should make your own suggestions, Sir Gunther, rather than simply provoking hers," the older Knight admonished quietly. "Your ideas have just as much right to be heard."

"If I had any, I would make them," he replied coolly. "Truly, Sir Theodore, I could not choose between yours and Ivon's approaches. Jane is, as usual, only too eager to contribute."

Sir Theodore's lined face creased into a smile, and for a moment Gunther felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if he had somehow been unmasked. He cleared his throat, made a quick salute.

"I should see to the men," he said, moving away. "They will, no doubt, be nervous."

"Do not hesitate tomorrow," Sir Theodore warned. "They will look to you both to lift their spirits and their swords."

He had ducked his head and excused himself. When the morning had come, and with it an army to face, he had found himself strangely… anxious. He and Jane had led the main body of soldiers forth until the horizon became dark with shields, and the approaching army had come into view. Signalling for their forces to halt, the two of them had ridden out to meet the other side's messengers. Their enemy had sent two of its own members – both large and smeared with war-paint and dirt.

"King Caradoc wishes to offer you a final opportunity for peace," Jane had called out as they approached. Gunther could feel her words reverberating within his chest, her clear, high voice breaking over him and stilling the panic in his stomach. "We have no desire for war. Draw back now, or we will both feel a loss."

"Feel this!" one of the men had roared, rising in his saddle and jerking his hips forwards.

Gunther felt his lip curl and nudged his horse forwards, drawing his sword. "Make your answer," he said. "And make it quickly."

"We do not fear King Caradoc's army of whores," the other man had said, looking Jane up and down. "Retreat or fight – it makes no difference to us. This soil is ours now."

The other man had moved his horse forwards, as if to advance on them, and Gunther raised his sword. He heard Jane hiss his name, but he did not care. He did not care if there were not supposed to be weapons drawn during negotiations. His eyes were on the piece of scum currently leering at Jane, his tongue sliding over his lips, his face horribly… possessive. Gunther pointed his sword in the man's direction, finally drawing his gaze away from Jane's chest. His words dropped from his lips like hail stones.

"One step closer, and this battle begins with your blood."

The man had laughed, but then turned his horse sharply away and began the gallop back to his own side, followed closely by his comrade. Gunther waited until they were a good few feet away before lowering his sword and tugging his horse around. Jane was livid, her lips trembling with fury as they rode back.

"How dare you, Gunther Breech, how dare you champion me like some maiden, ruining any chance of-"

"Come off it, they were never going to negotiate on friendly terms," he retorted. "They were pigs."

"You are a pig."

"Oh, you can talk, frog-rider."

They had reached their forces, and Jane was forced to let it go. Together they turned, and she sent up the battle cry. He had taken the opportunity to collect himself, grip his sword, steady his nerves. As they readied for the plunge, he let himself throw caution to the winds, just for once, just in case this was the last time… He reached out, settled his hand on her arm. She looked at him in alarm, incredulous, scowling, her green eyes narrowed to slits, her jaw clenched. He felt himself smiling.

"Fight well," he said, unable to think of anything better.

She blinked at him, and then nodded. "You too."

And then they had been roaring, thundering forwards, and his horse had not lasted five minutes in the fray.

Now, he finally drove off one of the two men that were bearing down on him and slit the throat of one, spinning to sink his sword into the side of the other as he recovered. He pulled free even as the battle cry went up through the air – the second attack. He felt a rush of dizzy relief – he did not know how long they had been fighting, but it had been too long, and their numbers were decreasing numbers. He could see bodies on the ground, far more of their own than of their enemies. Blood soaked the soil.

Just as Jane had predicted, the cry rallied the opposing forces and the crowd thinned almost at once, rushing to meet the others. Gunther launched himself after one of the soldiers, slammed the hilt of his sword down on his helmet. The man span around dizzily and then dropped to the floor, stunned. Gunther pressed on, cutting down another of the enemy trying to sprint past him, felt his sword hit bone.

"Cover! Take cover!"

The shout went up as he straightened. He was about to duck when a heavy mass slammed into him head-on, sent him stumbling. He drove his sword down into the man's back, pulled free as the body slumped against him, aware of a shrill whistling in his ears – and something drove into him with the force of a pick-axe through rock. He heard himself gasp, felt a sharp, stinging pain. The shock sent him to his knees, even as his hand groped for the arrow shaft sticking out of his shoulder. He stared at the feathered end in surprise, struggling to draw a breath.

They have archers.

Blind panic surged through him. Their enemy had been more organised than they had expected. He struggled to his feet, cried out in pain as someone rushed at him. He clumsily parried them – luckily, the arrow had not struck his sword arm. But the man clipped it as he dropped to the ground, and pain screamed through Gunther's blood like poison. He forced himself to breathe, to remember his training…

Do not take it out.

He knew that much, at least. He braced one hand against it and, with a shuddering gasp, managed to break off the feathered end. Now only a short length of the shaft emerged from his shoulder, not enough to get in his way as he fought. He dragged his thoughts away from it, panting, thinking of the battle… If the other side had archers waiting far from the field, they would not last another hour longer… He took a step forwards, uncertain of where he was going, his brain racing…

A shrill, piercing whirring reached his ears, and he felt his limbs sag with relief. Dragon. He searched for Jane, but he could not see her. But she must be alright, because she was using the sword to summon her beast. That certainly meant that she must be alive, did it not? He turned on his heel, made for a nearby soldier, slammed his sword into the rusted metal that was thrust before him. He had almost forgotten about the arrow already – the adrenaline was driving him onwards. A distant roar lifted over the sound of the battle, and he could almost see the fire, sense the heat. He felt an air of panic descending on the battlefield and smiled grimly. They still had a chance, it seemed.

Beneath the ear-shattering volume of Dragon's war cry, someone was calling for help. He could hear the voice somewhere close by, dwarfed by the roar of the flames coming from the other side of the battlefield.

He threw down his last opponent, his injured arm shaking slightly, and squinted across the carnage. He found himself towards the back of the action – most of the enemy had run to face the small group that had attacked from behind, thinning out much of the fray. But those who had remained were still fighting in full force, and the dwindling numbers of the first group were struggling. He could see such an example of a poorly trained, barely prepared man fending off a group of enemy soldiers not so far away from him. The man was dancing from foot to foot in a strange, panicky way, his blows causing minimal damage, his speed of movement the only thing keeping him safe from his attackers. They were closing in on him rapidly, and he was shouting shrilly for help like a lamb beset by wolves…

And of course, it would be Jester.

Without the hat he looked shorter. Gunther gritted his teeth and pushed himself into a sprint, reaching them as one of the soldiers moved around behind his prey and lifted an axe.

"Move!"

Jester span around and ducked as Gunther delivered his blow – his sword sliced through the enemy soldier's gut. He leaped over the buckling figure, pushed Jester behind him with one arm, wincing as his shoulder protested. His sword met the force of the nearest man and he struggled to regain steady footing.

"Remember, Jester, you are being attacked from all sides," he grunted, lashing out with his leg. His booted foot connected with the man's knee and in seconds he had the upper hand, bringing his sword down on his neck. "Your enemy is not so polite as to introduce himself first!"

Jester said nothing, his tight breathing enough to explain that he was already engaged in combat. But his fear was making him clumsy – from the corner of his eye, Gunther saw him drop under a heavy swipe and lose his balance, falling heavily onto his side. He jerked backwards, fending off the man before him with a wide swipe, and span around to send his sword through the belly of the man advancing on the juggler. More soldiers seemed to be coming, as if sensing their struggle, aware that their opponents were weak. He counted four, five… Gods, he could not take them all on his own, not whilst defending Jester at the same time.

Jane will never forgive me if I let him die.

The thought sped him forwards with added strength, and he sent a man's head flying from its shoulders with a jerk of his arm. He stepped forwards, pushing the rest back as they fanned out around him, swords raised, hesitating, apparently trying to decide how best to overrun him. He could hear his own blood roaring in his ears. He felt a hand close over his arm and it took a great deal of effort not to instinctively whirl around and stab – instead, he shook it off gently.

"Come on, Jester," he muttered under his breath. "A captive audience, as you like."

He heard a high-pitched, slightly hysterical laugh behind him. One of the enemy soldiers chose that moment to advance and Gunther leapt forwards to meet him, clashed against his sword, twisted it from his grip, sliced off the offending arm. He side-stepped his next attacker, parried him, sensed another coming in from his right… He span away, made a quick, low swipe, felt his blade tearing through skin. A glance over his shoulder told him that Jester was coping well, but not well enough – he threw himself into the path of an axe aimed at the juggler's neck, managed to deflect it, thrust his sword forwards into the neck of the man. Even as he began to turn back he knew he had cost himself too much time – never turn your back on your opponent was one of the first rules of hand to hand combat.

Even as he whirled about to face his enemy once more something hard clipped his face. He had left one man unchecked in order to get to Jester in time, and he instantly felt the gravity of his mistake. Stars punched into his vision and he shook himself, staggering, blinking desperately, keeping his sword before him. Half-blind, he just about noticed a flash of metal coming towards him and parried it off, but his arm was unsteady, dark spots flickering before him – his arm was knocked aside, a hand came down on his injured shoulder. Even as he lifted his sword something speared into him, tore through him like a fish hook, freezing his breath in his lungs. It ripped free almost as fast and, as he took a breath, fire exploded over him. He heard himself make a strange, unfamiliar noise. His hand moved automatically to his side and felt hot, sticky warmth flowing through his fingers like a river, like molten lava… He was dimly aware of a figure in front of him lifting its weapon for another attack and, summoning everything he had, flicked his sword upwards. He heard the scream and knew his weapon had found its mark. It pulled free of his hand as it met flesh, but he did not care.

Besides, he was beginning to feel really quite horrible. His head was light and airy, and he still could not quite see due to the damn shutter-vision the blow to his head had caused. His knees were suddenly refusing to hold him up, crumpling like paper. His body dropped backwards, even as he screamed at it to obey him, and he came up against someone's back.

"Wha… Gunther! Oh no…"

The someone, to his relief, did not seem to want to kill him. Thin hands were lowering him to the ground, and then the touch vanished abruptly. He could hear clashing metal above his head. Blinking viciously, he finally regained his sight. He was on his side on the ground, his own breathing heavy in his ears, swords flying above his head. He made out Jester, whose face was suddenly bloodless with sheer terror. The fear seemed to be helping – he was attacking more, striking out at his opponent. Gunther tried to rise, sliding up onto one elbow, but agony erupted in his side and he felt himself crumple like a straw toy. God, he hoped it was not he that was making those pathetic, moaning noises. He forced his hand down to his side. His tunic was soaked. Soaked with something warm.

"Ah."

He was surprised to find he had spoken aloud. Trying to use his good arm, he manoeuvred himself onto his back, biting back a scream. He found himself settling against something hard, enabling him to lean, slightly upright. He wondered dimly if it was the man who had stabbed him, and savagely hoped that it was.

"Gunther! Are you alright?"

Jester. He squeezed his eyes shut, placed his hand over his side. Apply pressure. Do not let the blood flow out. It hurt more than anything in his life, more than the time his father had shoved him down the stairs in their house and broken his rib. At the time, he had thought that was the worst pain he could ever feel. He was sorely mistaken. He could feel himself breathing fast and shallow, tried to address the issue, but his head was pulling away from his body like a balloon and he couldn't quite think straight…

"Yes," he said at last. "I'm alright."

"Hold on! It's… Just hold on, I'll be right there, as soon as I can…"

Gunther's eyes were having difficulty remaining open. How inconvenient. He pressed down hard on his wound, muffled a cry, forced them open. He could not die, not now. The battle was not over. There was still the possibility that she would need him…

"Can you see Jane?"

His voice sounded very far away. He listened to the raging battle, waited, squinting through cracked eyes at the rapid motion around him.

"No," came the faint response.

There was nothing for it, then. He would have to remain alive, if only until he knew for sure that she had survived. No doubt she would have – Dragon would have protected her, surely. He let his head fall back against the object he was leaning against, caught a glimpse of the clear blue sky stretching on and on forever above them, waited for his vision to snag on the flash of bright ginger hair that would put his mind to rest.

Hope you enjoyed, see you next time.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.