A/N: This story is a part of a series being written by the Jane and the Dragon fanfiction. You do not need to read them all to enjoy this story (or any others in the series) but you SHOULD! Each is amazing in it's own right- written by fantastic authors with boundless creativity. Together they create a story arc we hope you'll enjoy.
A complete list of these fabulous stories can be found in my profile. Now with hyperlinks!
Smithy was...not fond of balls.
But an evening picnic amongst friends and family? That he could do.
And should there be dancing, informal and barefoot in the grass of the gardens?
That was fine with him.
Pleasantly attractive, even.
He might even be persuaded to join his friends kicking his feet in nimble time as they laughed and swirled.
It had taken his friends a full three days after the princess' return to make it home. Sir Ivon had not divulged any details of the princess' rescue, but word had gotten round. Jane had traded herself for Lavinia, and Gunther had left Lavinia with Sir Ivon in a desperate attempt to recover Jane.
But then...nothing.
The princess herself had been unharmed. Cold, wet, and tired, but unharmed.
Thanks to Jane, Gunther, and Dragon.
But of them there had been no word. No sign.
No one had said so directly, but they'd been feared dead.
It had been...difficult.
For everyone.
The Lady Adeline had sat vigil in Jane's tower, sorting and packing away the myriad of trinkets and other useless items still strewn about the floor. Smithy had heard her weeping, everyone had... delicate cries which had sounded so very alone.
Unable to comfort his wife, her husband had wandered the battlements, shrugging off the reassurances of Sir Ivon and the King. The Chamberlain had always been a quiet sort, but Smithy wasn't sure if he'd spoken at all during that time. Jane was his only child, loved dearly. Cherished. Now both of the women in his family were missing or lost. And he, unable to do anything about it.
Smithy understood his silence.
One night Smithy had chanced to see the Chamberlain carry an exhausted Adline down to their own chambers. She had looked so small, almost childlike, swallowed by the voluminous folds of her dress and the gentle embrace of her husband's arms. Smithy had stepped ahead, holding the door open as they disappeared into the castle.
Sir Ivon had spent his time directing runners, calling back the search parties, sending out new scouts in hopes of locating his missing squires. Unfortunately, other than a vague description from a traumatized princess, they'd had little to go on. Smithy knew Ivon trusted Gunther, loved him even, but his sleepless worry had etched new lines on his brow and around his downturned mouth. Every morning the aging knight would meet a grim-looking Magnus at the gates, shake his head silently, and go about managing the knights.
Smithy himself had split his days between sitting with the unconscious Jester and his forge. Never had he felt so restless, useless. Even now, it made his hands twitch to think about it, having to sit there while his friend hovered between wakefulness and death. After...after he'd scared the maid with the broken dish, Pepper had come to sit with him whenever her duties had allowed, taking one of his large, scarred hands in both of hers, patting it absently as they sat in worried silence.
Jester had a steady parade of visitors while he'd been insensate. Cuthbert, the King, the Queen, the maids and footmen. Rake with a basket of funny roots. Most did not stay, only pausing at the door to learn if there had been any change- but they did come, to check in, to pay their respects, to say goodbye. Jester had been well-liked and made friends easily.
It hurt to think of Jester in the past tense.
Even the princess had come down to see Jester. Smithy suspected she had crept away- it had been late, well past first watch, and there were no guards dogging her steps. Smithy woke to her kneeling on the cold floor next to Jester's cot, head buried in crossed arms, crying hiccuping apologies.
Had Jester been able to hear her, had he been able to respond, he'd have absolved young Lavinia of her guilt. Comforted her with a turn of phrase or a silly joke. But he wasn't, and Smithy was no poet.
Jester had been unconscious for so terribly long. Days.
Optimism was in short supply.
Combined with the missing squires and dragon, it was as if the entire castle was held in purgatory.
Should they mourn?
Should they hope?
Smithy, knowing his friends as well as he did, instead chose to have faith.
And then, without fanfare, they returned.
Dragon dropped two very dirty, two very smelly squires in the courtyard and wandered off to the garden to make short work of a cart of early pumpkins.
Gunther had needed to lean heavily on Jane, apparently shaking off the last vestiges of a fever from a late-summer cold. Jane handed him off to Sir Ivon who, his brogue nearly incomprehensible in his excitement and relief, was more than happy to see his student off to the knight's quarters. Smithy imagined Gunther would find himself very thoroughly and very tightly tucked in.
Then, moving stiffly, Jane made her way over to where Smithy was supporting a weeping Pepper. Jane looked tired but her eyes were clear, and she appeared no more injured than when she had left to rescue the princess. It was easy to see that she was still in quite a bit of pain, but overall seemed none the worse for wear- if she had been, Smithy suspected wild horses couldn't have dragged Gunther away.
Other than that, Smithy chose not to speculate on her overall condition.
After enduring what had to be a painful embrace from the tearful Pepper, she'd caught Smithy's eye and asked after Jester.
Smithy hadn't known what to tell her.
In the end, he had settled on the truth.
Holding Pepper's arm and waving off the attentions of her mother, Jane had followed Smithy to Jester's sickbed. She stood over him for a moment, her mouth a grim line. Pulling a stool over to his cot, Jane had taken his limp hand in her own, and joined their vigil.
The next morning, a much recovered Gunther joined them.
Later that evening, Jester woke up.
It had been the Queen's idea, to celebrate the return to normalcy- an indirect thank you to the people who had protected her daughter at the cost of, well, almost everything. Smithy suspected there was some guilt there as well.
Smithy knew she had personally requested that Jane train the princess- perhaps she had been trying to steer Adeline away from Algernon? Had she seen him for what he was, but in her maneuvering accidentally put her own child in harm's way? He supposed that would...sting. A harsh reminder that even as queen, she was as vulnerable to evil as everyone else. She could not have known what would happen of course, she'd had no way to predict just how depraved the noble had been, but to have had your own child stolen away?
She must have felt powerless.
Smithy was surprised Princess Lavinia wasn't locked away in her room- or at the very least, currently wrapped in the queen's pale arms.
A strong woman, the queen.
He glanced to where she sat on the top of the stair, surrounded by cushions and rugs, looking uncertain as her guests began to arrive. She had not invited nobles or royalty, just the people who worked and lived in the castle, their families, their friends. Tonight's party was a far cry from the lavish balls which had so recently occupied the castle's attention and it was clear the queen was out of her element. Her legs were tucked under her in a pose of deumure confidence, but slender fingers restlessly tugged at the hem of her gown.
King Caradoc seemed oblivious to her discomfort. He sat beside the queen on a low stool and raised his hand in friendly acknowledgement at the arrival of Sir Theodore. Unlike his wife, he was the picture of relaxed poise. Confident the threat to his family had been eliminated. That is not to say the King had remained unaffected by the events of the summer. He looked older, weary. A family man and ruler who had not realized he had grown lax in his complacency.
It wouldn't do to think of his king in such a manner- as a mere human- but Smithy had seen. The king had cried at the return of his daughter. Wept as he collected her bundled form from Sir Ivon and bore her into the castle, shouting for his wife.
The resulting departure of King Robert had been...cordial, but it was unlikely there would be any close ties with the kingdom in the near future. It was an unfortunate blow to both royals. Trade agreements had still been struck, but nothing that would bolster either kingdom's coffers. Perhaps one day.
Smithy sat in the grass, watching his friends and neighbors. A boisterous Sir Ivon handed him a mug of ale before wandering off to make merry with some of the other resident knights and their families.
They'd trickled in alone or in pairs. Jester being led along by Lavinia and Cuthbert, his lute hanging loosely from his shoulder. Rake and Pepper, then Gunther, who looked anxious in his attempt to appear at ease. Even Dragon had come,curling up atop a low tower. His head bobbed in time with the music, one languid eye turned downward to watch the proceedings. Smithy had greeted each of his friends in turn with a genial wave or nod of his head, glad to see them all.
Having finally shed her sling, Jane had quietly arrived at their party in a blue dress, hair loosely bound with beribboned braids, making her way through the gathering crowd until she found her quarry. Gunther must have sensed her coming, for he turned to face her before she could finish closing the distance between them.
Smithy bit his cheek to prevent himself from laughing at the gob-smacked expression of wonderment on Gunther's face. Gunther had tried to hide it, to cover up his blush and gaping jaw with a cough into his hand, but Jane had noticed. She'd quirked her mouth into a little half-smile and sauntered, yes, sauntered, up to her fellow squire, swinging her hips with deliberate exaggeration. It had been subtle enough, nothing her mother could scold her for, but Smithy had seen- as had Gunther.
Frightening new weapon Jane wielded.
Smithy almost felt sorry for Gunther.
Almost.
After collecting himself -he had been flushed down to his roots and had even stammered a bit- Gunther had bowed over Jane's proffered hand and leaned forward to murmur something in her ear. What it had been, Smithy hadn't heard; but based on her resulting scowl and his smirk, they were back on familiar, equal footing.
It was good to see them so well.
Smithy's attention was suddenly captured by Pepper's outstretched hand. He shook his head at her invitation, but after being reminded she was solely responsible for seeing him fed, he found he was quite unable to refuse her request.
A turn or three later, Smithy breathlessly passed off his pretty partner to the oblivious apple of her eye.
Turnip of her heart?
Fancied words and clever turns of phrase were for Jester, not the blacksmith. Though if the gardener did not feel the steady devotion that wrapped around him with each curtsey and turn, Smithy would put on his own bells and prance around.
Smithy thought that Rake was aware of Pepper's love - peripherally, at least - but would the gardener ever find it within himself to take action? Pull the lovely cook behind the trellised beans and kiss her until her cheeks turned pink?
...Probably not.
Smithy shook his head. Poor Pepper. Being the romantic she was, would probably be waiting forever for Rake to take the initiative.
Jane she was not.
Smithy took a drink of his ale and looked over to where the lady squire was learning a new dance from a very patient Gunther. He was having far better luck than her mother (or Jester, for that matter) had ever managed. Probably a result of long hours of practicing footwork. Not that Gunther's toes weren't getting trod on, because they were. Painfully so ...but he was taking it with good humor and laughed heartily at her barely muffled curses.
The Lord Chamberlain and his wife spun by, stepping lively. They paused for a moment, swaying in time before whirling away again, no less enthusiastic than the younger dancers. At one point Jane's snorting laughter drew the Lady Adeline's narrowed eyes, her head whipping around to glare at where Jane danced with Gunther. Before a scowl could fully settle on her features, the Chamberlain leaned forward to whisper something in her ear and place a surreptitious kiss on her neck. The lady colored prettily and resumed her dancing, thoroughly distracted by the attentions of her husband.
Smithy suspected she'd warm to the idea of Jane and Gunther soon enough.
The tune ended and the dancers turned to applaud the healing musician. Jester sat near the queen, playing his lute, singing when the song called for it. Newly returned to his duties, the queen had expressly forbidden him from his usual acrobatics and physical tomfoolery. At least for now. The young man seemed to be recovering, but no one wanted to risk another bout of that terrible stillness which had nearly claimed their jolly friend.
Every now and then, Jester would glance furtively at the laughing squires, a quiet heartache lurking behind his eyes. Ever true to his nature, after a moment of sadness Jester would smile at their happiness, and strike up another cheerful tune.
Princess Lavinia was being rather ...solicitous to the jester; showing off her cartwheels, backbends, dueling in mock battles with her brother. It was an interesting, if not a little ironic, turn of events. The royal children quite literally bending over backwards, trying to entertain their former babysitter.
It was...exhausting to watch.
How Jester managed to divide his focus between the children and his music, Smithy would never know.
Jester finished his song, receiving a rather enthusiastic round of applause from Lavinia. Her devotions seemed a little...devoted, though Jester seemed oblivious. Smithy thought there was perhaps a small amount of hero-worship in the princess' attentions.
Dangerous thing, that.
Smithy took another drink, glancing at the queen over the rim of his tankard. She was placidly watching her daughter prance about, the picture of contented boredom.
Yes. Dangerous.
Jester smiled fondly at Lavinia's comical antics and looking down at his lute, plucked out another dancing tune.
Eventually the party wound down, fathers balancing sleeping children on their shoulders, friends clasping hands in farewell, lovers slipping off into the darkness. Only a few still remained, mostly the unwed knights and staff trading stories over the banquet table.
The queen had departed several hours earlier, curtseying a respectful good-night before leading her tired children off to bed. The king had followed shortly thereafter, bidding the staff to leave the mess until morning. This party had been for them, after all. The mess would keep. With a final cup of wine, the king wished them a merry night.
Not yet tired, Smithy wandered around occasionally joining a group here or there, gathering forgotten cups and plates as he went, depositing them in a neat pile for the scullery maids. He wasn't avoiding his bedroll, exactly, but the ancient Pig didn't make the most attractive of housemates at the best of times.
Moving through the garden, Smithy came across a snoring Sir Theodore, apparently deeply asleep, his outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, his hands clasped lightly on his stomach. Smithy went to wake him, to send the graying knight off to bed, but was stopped by a sharp bark of warning by one of the younger guards.
Knights didn't reach old age by waking gently, he supposed.
Stepping away as quietly as he could, Smithy resumed his business, tidying up where tidying was needed.
Task complete, Smithy scanned the courtyard for any missed dinnerware. A movement up on the battlement caught his attention.
Gunther and Jane sat on the edge of the wall, legs dangling, partially silhouetted by the rising moon. They were talking quietly, Jane's hands moving as she argued one point or another. Gunther threw back his head and laughed, which she responded to by crossing her arms.
Reaching behind himself, Gunther produced a loosely wrapped package and handed it to Jane with a flourish. Smithy watched as Jane removed the fabric to reveal some sort of knife or dagger. A replacement for the one she had lost, perhaps? Even from where he stood on the garden steps, Smithy could see how it gleamed brightly in the moonlight.
Jane set the dagger between them and with infinite, tender care, reached up to pull Gunther down into a lingering kiss.
Realizing he was being a voyeur, Smithy took himself off to bed.
A/N: And this concluded Arc #1 of this little story game! Thank you to everyone who participated, read, reviewed, favorited, edited, or just cheered Jane and Gunther on.
Also, a special thank you to biscuitweevil for the her amazing cover art. Like, seriously. Can we get a round of applause?
Arc #2, coming up!