A/N: This story is a part of a series being written by the Jane and the Dragon fanfiction. A complete list of stories can be found in my profile. Now with hyperlinks!
This story happens about a week or two after A Troublesome Predicament by Solitare44. You are welcome to consider it as part of our story train-chain-tree thing, or not. Take it as you will.
Gunther had questions.
Many questions.
Specifically, about things.
Things.
You know, the things pious adults whispered of behind closed doors.
The things the good shepherd friar warned against.
The things the older knights chortled and guffawed about when in their cups.
He was after all, an average, healthy young man well on his way to adulthood.
It was normal for him to have questions about...these...things. No one would fault him for wondering about such a topic or being unclear on the mechanics of certain aspects. The friar certainly not included any details, descriptions, or roadmaps in his last fire and brimstone sermon regarding the sins of things.
How was Gunther to know if he had damned himself, if he wasn't even clear on how to go about the damning?
For all he knew, he was already there.
It was so irritatingly, so sickeningly, so damnably frustrating.
Gunther growled. It left him antsy, and was starting to creep into his mind unbidden. It was distracting and starting to affect his concentration. There was that day Jane had laid him out. The afternoon Sir Ivan had scolded him for not paying attention. Hell, even his archery was suffering.
He wanted to punch something. Where was the practice dummy when you needed him?
Gunther had some understanding of what went on between a man and a woman. At least, he thought he did. Gunther wanted to believe he had a general working knowledge, but it would be a lie to say his overall grasp went any further than... well, the very, very basics.
Kissing, and...such.
Gunther's face felt hot.
It was the "such" he was as of yet, unsure. Sure, he had (on occasion) seen a dog or horse do...their...thing… in passing, but it was not as if he had stopped to examine the goings-on.
UGH!
How had he reached an age of maturity, yet remained so ignorant? It was worse than troublesome. It was embarrassing.
It was not to be borne.
But how could he rightfully sort such a matter? Clearly it was not a topic for polite conversation. If it were, he wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. He couldn't just ask!
Could I?
Never.
Gunther needed to punch something.
Why did it seem as though everyone felt the need to dodge around such a topic?
Allegories. Similes. Metaphors. Crude jokes.
Poetry. Paintings. Tapestries. Sculptures.
Epics! FABLES! LIMERICKS!
Really, Gunther mused, for something so ridiculously, so commonly, so pervasively, so BLOODY important you'd think someone would have thought to make things clear.
The topic itself had never held more than a passing interest for him, until recently. Jane and the ball and that damnable dress. In the days since Gunth had attempted to shake off his discomfort. He thought he had been rather successful, in fact. It no longer hurt to look directly at her. When he closed his eyes, it was dark instead of that shining image which had burned into his brain. He did not feel the light leave when Jane left the room.
Well, most of the time, at least.
But then, Gunther began experiencing some rather uneasy and confusing dreams. Not about JANE, specifically. Of course not. Absurd. That frizzy-headed idiot invaded enough of his waking hours. Gunther would rather eat dragon dung than let her invade his dreams.
Ridiculous.
Still, while they were not the first of such dreams, Gunther had questions.
Gunther was proud to say that he had once fought a battle for a maiden's heart. Which was more than Jester or Rake could say. He had courted a pretty young girl from the village. Brought her flowers and even received a kiss for his favor. Jester would say Gunther had captured the young miss' heart.
But what exactly did that mean? And what was he supposed to do with said heart, once it was captured?
Unfortunately, it was there his experience ended. He had indeed kissed the maiden, and eventually she had gone off to marry a baker or butcher. Between his knight's training and his father's business, there had been no time for further adventures.
These dreams were certainly no help. A mish-mash of images and feelings. Pounding heart and a deep roiling low in his gut. A sense of closeness. The smell of lavender mixed with leather. Blurred images of green and gold, and the blazing, shining light of a thousand yellow suns on shimmering red hair...
Well.
It really did not matter what his dreams did or did not mean. Without context they were just… rather…confusing.
So, Gunther had questions.
He was nearly a knight of Kippernia, and this would not do. He could not afford to remain ignorant.
If I have questions, he thought, steeling his resolve. Then I bloody well better find the answers to them.
Determined and unafraid, Gunther set out to find his answers.
Horrid.
It was far too early to be at the docks. Gunther had arrived before sunrise, cursing the morning mist which lingered before sunrise.
His father had not been at hand. While this was not unusual, it did make the chaos of unloading the clipper take longer than normal. The lack of supervision had positives and negatives. When Magnus was present the men on the docks scuttled about quickly, eager to be out from under the merchant's eye. The ship would be unloaded, the stock sorted, and the warehouses filled in double quick time. When Magnus was absent, the men at the docks tended to laugh and jest and trade insults. The lack of Magnus' disapproving glare made the work take longer, but to Gunther, his absence made the day feel less….laborious.
For his own part Gunther was largely ignored. This was fine with Gunther- it was a relief not to be under scrutiny.
As it happened, the sailors chatted amicably with the merchant's men and the work passed with general good cheer.
Gunther was rolling a barrel to a waiting wagon when he passed a group of sailors singing enthusiastically (if somewhat off-key) about sailing the seven seas. At least, that is what Gunther thought the song was about.
Happy for the lighthearted mood, Gunther stopped to listen to the men, each sunburned and cheery, raise their voices as they worked. It was not a song Gunther had heard before, but the group seemed most uncommonly emphatic about the virtues of sailing the ocean.
After a few moments, Gunther reddened.
It was clear the song had a second, more ribald, meaning.
At least, Gunther thought it did. He was not certain, but based on the sailors' faces, occasional winks, and laughter of the men around them told Gunther there was more to the song than sailing.
It was about those things.
He listened closer. Perhaps he would find his answers.
The sailors continued their racious melody. Something about raising the mast, unfurling her sails, driving through wet waves, riding out the storm, and leaving anchors in every port.
Don't ships usually only carry two anchors?
Stripped to the waist despite the cool morning, one of the men pulled the others into a suggestive jig as they sang. Absolute tomfoolery. Magnus would be livid.
Suddenly, Gunther felt himself pulled into their dance. Having noticed his interest, the shirtless sailor grabbed Gunther's hand and spun him about. The miscreant must not know who he was.
Fight or flight?
Shake him off with a curt word or reprimand, or enjoy the moment of camaraderie?
Gunther was torn.
If Magnus had been at the docks, Gunther would have shrugged off the horseplay with a harsh retort or risk his father's displeasure.
But...Magnus wasn't here, and Gunther was most decidedly, not his father.
He smiled, instead choosing to enjoy the moment. He didn't know these men. They would leave on the next ship. No one would know. Round and round they spun.
Then I took this fair maid's lily white hand,
Laid with her upon the sound,
And there within her grassy hills and golden sand,
Paradise lost and paradise found!
Gunther found himself stumbling to keep up. Perhaps he should practice his footwork. If he couldn't keep up with clumsy steps of a drunken sailor, how would he keep up with Jane?
There was more to their caterwauling, but in truth, Gunther did not understand much of it. It made him hot with embarrassment. When the last verse ended, Gunther slapped on his signature smirk, pretending to laugh with the others. The facade of confidence was easy, a comfortable habit.
He hurried home.
It was, in retrospect, a poor choice to begin with.
Gunther's relationship with his father had never been good, or close- or if he were to be truly honest with himself- anything better than distant.
Still Gunther felt that as his father, the duty of explaining something so innocuous as how Gunther was made should fall to the elder Breech. Magnus should have been the obvious choice. Gunther suspected he had been present, at least.
Hindsight is always clearer, as they say.
Gunther was glad he was not expected at the castle until later that evening. The morning's work was not any harder than his training as squire, but it inevitably left him smelling faintly of the docks: sea foam and fish, unkempt bodies, rotting wood.
He was glad to have the chance to wash before continuing on to the castle.
After changing his clothes and grabbing a quick breakfast, Gunther stood outside his father's study. He took a deep breath to clear his expression and rolled his shoulders before entering. Gunther did not want to invite his father's censure.
Not Magnus needed a reason to give one.
His father was at his desk, disheveled, and plainly drunk. It was not yet half past nine. Gunther eyed Magnus. Magnus wore yesterday's doublet and smelled of stale ale. Bogweevils. He wasn't just drunk, he was still drunk. No wonder Magnus had not been at the docks to supervise this morn.
Gunther could feel the cold ice of fear sluice through his veins.
Do not react.
"Father, today's shipment was unloaded and inventoried. I settled up with the quartermasters, but they still require your signature to release the goods."
"Of course they do. I am the Master Merchant, after all." Magnus' words slurred slightly, but were thankfully, without bite. "I am expecting another ship this evening. I want it unloaded before tomorrow's morning tide."
"Yes, Father." Lovely. More work. Gunther shifted uncomfortably, waiting to be dismissed. Should I ask? It was a risk. It was hard to gauge how much Magnus had imbibed. Gunther certainly did not want a cuffing.
"What is it, boy? You look like you are choking on a frog. Was there something else? Do not waste my time."
"I… Yes, Father. I was wondering... " Gunther hesitated.
"Spit it out, boy!" Annoyed, Magnus stood up, glowering.
Do not react.
Gunther cleared his face of emotion. An old habit.
It is now or never.
"I was wondering if you could tell me what happens, between a man and a woman?" Gunther fought the urge to swallow against the regret crawling up his throat.
Idiot.
Now his father would be angry and he would have to go to practice favoring his arm, or shoulder, or side.
Magnus stood silently for a moment, a blank look on his face. Gunther tensed. Then without warning, Magnus let out a loud, braying laugh.
Gunther must have jumped a foot in the air.
So much for stoicism.
"A man and a woman, my son?" Magnus laughed uproariously. "A knight's squire, a merchant's son, and ready to sow your oats already! My business associates will be jealous I have such a verile, strapping youngster. Though I was probably a year or two younger than yourself before I plowed my first field. Yes, two. She was young and pretty and fertile!" Magnus' face was bright with the memory. "I enjoyed her feasting on her ripe apples and hoeing a row in her big tracts of land!"
Gunther's brain stuttered.
Wh...What?
Oats? Plowed? Ripe apples? I do not understand. What does farming have to do with...kissing and women and…?
Bother.
"Um, well," Gunther ventured, unsure if it was wise to interrupt. He could feel his composure slipping. "I am not sure that I am...well that is, ready...to… I suppose I just wanted what occurred after…Since I do not know what..." Only his father could leave him so tongue-tied. It was maddening. Gunther struggled to regain his control, jaw flexing.
Almost a knight and unable to ask a simple question. Unfortunately, Magnus was no longer listening.
"Yes, a strapping young boy indeed! Though I have yet to look suitable match for you. Her family would need to be rich, of course. Perhaps some of my associates have a daughter to spare? She would have to be young enough to train into wifedom, but old enough to bare sons. Yes…we can make a pretty penny on such an arrangement." Magnus' eyes were unfocused as he pondered. "I shall send out letters this fall."
"But Father, what I really wanted to know was…"
"In the meantime," Magnus cut in, "We shall take you to town, and get you a whore. Perhaps that lovely dark-haired wench I frequent."
Oh no.
Oh no. No. No. No. No.
Wouldn't that make her his step-whore?
Surely there was some rule, some edict, some commandment in the annals of debauchery against such a thing?
What had Gunther done?
"I..." Gunther was mortified. His question had been simple enough, yet somehow in the asking he had been saddled with a wife AND a mistress.
Not that he understood what to do with either.
Tracts of land?!
Thankfully they were interrupted by the maid. She bustled in with his father's breakfast, frowning slightly at his father's state. Magnus was quick to focus on his repast, pouring another cup of ale.
"Yes, yes, yes," Magnus mumbled under his breath.
Maybe Father will continue to drink, and forget this conversation ever happened.
Gunther did not flee, exactly.
Gunther was far too proud to scamper off in defeat. No, he definitely did not run.
It was a strategic retreat...yes... a strategic retreat.
He was not required to be at the castle until early evening, but Gunther had no desire to stay at his father's house.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Or so he hoped.
He cut through the gardens, past the kitchen, and into the practice yard. Dragon was asleep on the wall, and based on the screeching coming from the other side, Jane was watching a most upset Lavinia. Or maybe they were practicing their singing? How was Dragon sleeping through that?
Gunther ducked into the weapon shack, and in an attempt to forget the morning, set about polishing the practice swords. The repetitive motion helped dull his racing mind.
By lunch Gunther felt better. It was unlikely Magnus would remember their conversation.
Please let him forget.
Unfortunately, Gunther still had questions.
He wandered over to the table near the kitchens, in hopes Pepper had something ready for lunch. As luck would have it, she was just returning with a basket of fresh eggs.
"Good day, Gunther. Are you looking for something to eat?" She gave him a cheery smile. For reasons unbeknownst to him, Pepper had -as of late- made an effort to engage him in conversation.
"Yes, please. I had cheese and bread earlier, but that was this morn."
"Wonderful! How do a few eggs sound?" Pepper gestured to the basket in her arms. "I do so love this time of year. The garden is blooming, which makes Rake cheery. There are always extra scraps and weeds for the chickens, which makes for happy hens and happy eggs!"
"I would appreciate anything you have available, Pepper." Gunther gave blank nod as she bustled off, feeling a sense of relief. Pepper could get quite chatty at times. He was not in the mood for a conversation.
Later Pepper sat, watching as he inhaled the fried eggs.
.
"If you keep sneaking over here for meals, I am going to have hatch a few more chickens." Gunther stiffened. Was she making fun of him? No. It was hard not to assume the worst and become defensive.
"I do not sneak," he replied between mouthfuls.
"No, I suppose not," she conceded, "but you do not often join us all for a meal." Pepper paused, thoughtfully. "You are always welcome, of course." Gunther relaxed. Pepper was never mean-spirited, though he never fully understood her graciousness. Shamefully, Gunther knew he had not always shown her the same consideration.
"Duties" he offered, still chewing.
"Yes." Pepper remained quiet for a moment. Gunther seized the opportunity to redirect the conversation before it wandered into uncomfortable territory.
"How do you hatch more chickens?"
"Well, the hens do that." Pepper giggled. "It is just a matter of letting the biddies sit on the eggs."
"I know that much," replied Gunther, somewhat put out. It took effort not to grumble at her. He was not a dunce. He sat back from his empty plate, sighing with satisfaction and annoyance. It was not Pepper's fault he was in a foul mood.
"But how do you know which eggs have chicks in them? And how do the chicks get into the eggs? Don't you need a rooster for the hens to lay eggs? You don't have a rooster in your hen house."
"So many questions!" Pepper clapped her hands excitedly. Not many people took an interest in her day-to-day activities. Gunther gave a small smile at her response. She was kind. "No, I do not have a rooster in the hen house. The crowing would wake up the king and queen. The hens do not need a rooster to lay eggs." Pepper leaned on her elbows, gesturing with her hands.
"For chicks to get into the eggs, you need a rooster. If I want to hatch eggs I will have to get a batch from one of the farms. I do so wish we could have a rooster. I love their dancing. They court the hens, you know. Dancing, pecking the best scraps to bring to his favorite ladies, keeping away rivals." Pepper babbled on.
He had never heard her say so much, at one time. Gunther had a hard time keeping up.
"A good rooster will protect his flock like a sultan and his harem. A young rooster will mount as many of his flock as possible." Gunther could feel the beginnings of a headache. "I can tell which eggs have chicks in them by holding them up to a candle flame, though it is usually easier to just let the hens be."
Huh?
His mind wandered for a moment.
Court? Harem? Favorites? Candle?
Uncomfortable territory, indeed. Gunther winced. He had done this to himself.
"...Many people will call it a vent," Pepper continued to ramble, oblivious to Gunther's discomfort, "but really it is a cloaca. You can check it by just taking two fingers..."
Whhaaaaaat?
If I don't get out of here soon, I will be more muddled than I was to begin with.
How had he managed this yet again?
What a day.
Gunther excused himself quickly, earning a worried look from Pepper. He left table for the garden, where Rake gave him a friendly wave.
"Good afternoon, Gunther!" Hailed Rake. "Isn't it lovely out? Just look how the flowers have spread their petals open, welcoming the busy bees!."
No.
Rake shifted his attention back to the flowers, having already forgotten Gunther.
"Come hither my little bees! See how my squash is waiting! Stamens strong and proud, pistols waiting. Oh how I love spring!"
Sweet Lord in Heaven.
Gunther picked up his pace.
As he passed the barracks, two of the older knights clashed, taunting each other with good-natured rivalry.
"Is that the best you can do? I have seen a stiffer sword on leprous beggar!"
"Oh ho! Soliciting beggars now? You are just jealous mine is bigger!"
"Ah, but it is how you use it that makes the difference! Your sister certainly appreciated my expertise!"
Too much. It was too much.
To HELL with his questions. Gunther was done. He did not want to know. By the time he had reached the practice yard, he was practically running. It was just TOO MUCH.
Dragon had not moved from his spot on the wall. He had however, been joined by Jester who was juggling lazily in the afternoon sun. Gunther could hear Smithy plinking away in his forge.
Gunther gave Jester a precursory glance, his eyes snapping back when he noticed something odd. Jester was wearing that awful new jacket, oranges and yellows dancing haphazardly. But for reasons unknown, Jester was also wearing an old loose shirt as though they were a pair of pants. The fool had shoved his legs through the billowing sleeves, then pulled the collar back through his legs, tucking it into his belt behind him. It… it left little to the imagination.
Gunther decided he did not want to know.
"You looking for Jane, short-life?" Dragon swung his head to look directly at Gunther. "She'll be difficult to find. Her mother is looking for her." Dragon feigned a shudder.
"I am not." Certainly not.
The very last thing he needed now was the source of his consternation. Gunther sat heavily against the wall. He rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes. They sat in silence for a few moments.
"Are you feeling alright? You appear out of sorts." Jester seemed genuinely concerned.
"I am fine."
He was not. Gunther was anything but fine. He was tired, he was frustrated, and he still had questions about things. Gunther tried desperately to gather himself.
"I am fine," he repeated, voice low as he struggled to regain control. Breathe.
In. Out. In Out.
Dragon and Jester exchanged a look.
"Then how about you tell me a good dung joke?" Dragon gestured dramatically." Jester may be the castle fool, but his dung jokes stink. Get it? STINK!" Dragon laughed at his own cleverness.
"I can hardly be faulted," Jester countered, frowning, "if you lack the sophistication necessary to enjoy the delightful cornucopia of material that is my repertoire." Dragon rolled his eyes.
"Says the man without any pants." Jester stopped his juggling.
"Really, Gunther. What is the matter?" He sat, placing his palm on Gunther's shoulder.
"Shove off, Jester." Gunther shrugged away the hand. "I do believe your nappy needs changing."
"AH! DIAPER! I knew you were good for a laugh, Gunther!" Dragon chortled.
Jester ignored the jibe, and gave Gunther a look. It was half exasperated, half patient. How did he do that? Dear lord, Jester actually wanted to know. Jester was not looking for weakness. He was not just being polite. Jester was being nice. Gunther felt his armor slipping.
"I cannot tell. You will confuse me further." Gunther realized he was pouting. It took physical effort not to bark at Jester. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Or worse, laugh."
"Laugh at you?" interjected Dragon. "Absolutely, we will. Cross my heart." Dragon leaned back and made a show of scraping his claw across his chest. "That is what friends are for. Jokes, ridicule, teasing. Mutual embarrassment. All in good fun. Bonding, you know." Jester shot Dragon a dirty look.
"Honestly, Dragon. You are not helping." Jester turned back to Gunther. "We may not be bosom buddies, you and I, but if there is something I can help you with, I will. Dragon as well.'
Gunther almost snapped at him. Almost. He could feel the retort on the tip of his tongue.
I do not want your pity.
Gunther inhaled, ready to let loose his usual string of bravado when he paused. Gunther looked again. Really looked. There was no pity, just concern. Honest and open, the only thing he could see in Jester's eyes was compassion.
When was the last time someone had shown Gunther compassion?
When was the last time Gunther had lowered his defenses enough to look for it? To see it?
And that was all it took.
A little bit of kindness and an honest offer of help when Gunther needed it most.
The day spilled out of him in a great vomitous, jumbled flood of frustration, denial, incertitude, and anger. The confusion at the sailor's' song, the intolerable promises from his father, the perplexing habits of the chickens, Rake's bees, the soldier's taunts… it felt like he would never stop.
He was careful to leave out the source of his consternation. A certain shining, enchanting, red-headed complication in a celestial green dress.
That, he would never admit to.
Never.
With the last barbed burning admission wretched from his throat, Gunther fell silent.
He was too spent to feel embarrassed.
Jester looked at him apologetically.
"I am sorry, Gunther. But I am afraid I cannot help." Gunther's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Ah, here came the taunts.
"That is, I am not able to answer your questions." Now it was Jester's turn to look embarrassed. "I am the King's jester, but I spend much of my time in service of the Queen and her children. I am often alone with the queen or princess. There are...conventions." Jester sighed. "Like you, I find myself with gaps in my education. I am truly sorry."
Gunther's shoulders fell in disappointment.
There was a pause, and then Dragon burst out in great peals of laughter. The courtyard rang with his merriment. The tapping in the forge stopped.
"Oh you short-lives and your ridiculous hang ups." Dragon's voice boomed. "If any species has a more complicated mating process than you humans, I will eat Jester's hat."
"Quiet, you horrid beast." Gunther shushed Dragon.
"Short-lives are not like the ocean, or ships, or apples, or dirt, or the birds, or the bees. Eggs indeed! A Dragon such as myself would be closer to the chickens. You all are more like my cows, I'd say." Gunter looked at Dragon sharply.
"People are not like your cows, Dragon." He felt that mask of arrogance settle over his features. He hated the feel of it.
"Of course they are. Your females go into heat, and then there is all this overly dramatic mooing and looing, head-butting and horns, until the female finally decides on a male. Such a lovely sound, the moo. MMMOOOOO!"
Moo?
Gunther and Jester's eyes were wide as saucers.
"The male mounts the female, if he can manage to catch her. Such dramatics! Then it is all flying hooves and scrib-scrabbling about until boy moo-cow can put his boy parts into the girl moo-cow parts. You would think it would be easy, but they miss half the time! Then, once you think everything's set, one or the other gets bucked off! Tragic, really. Almost guaranteed to break a bone. Just imagine the flailing about. Everything akimbo." Dragon rolled over, waggling his claws in the air with great gusto. "I suspect it would be difficult for any cow to right himself in that position, even with the right motivation. But, eventually he'd spring back up and get back to business... More mooing and bingo-bango! You get spring cow babies." Dragon smiled proudly.
Gunther though perhaps his head would explode. Jester cleared his throat, at a loss for words.
"Noble creature, the cow."
"DRAGON!" Startled, all three jumped at the shrill cry. There, having seeming snuck up on their conversation with the stealth of an assassin, stood Lady Adeline.
Maybe she hadn't heard?
Please let her not have heard.
"What poppycock are you telling these poor boys?"
Never mind.
Gunther was mortified. Maybe the ground would shake, a great fissure would open, and it would swallow him whole? Yes. That sounded like a plan. Or he could drown himself in the lake. Perfectly acceptable way to go. He could feel that old, cold veil of disinterest fall over his expression.
Jester himself had paled considerably. It clashed with the colors of his outfit.
"Where did you come from?" asked Dragon, surprised. He righted himself. "I can see the whole courtyard from up here. You weren't there and then *poof* you were. Do you have wings like mine?" Dragon shook his wings, for good measure.
"How droll." Lady Adeline was without humor. "If you had not been so engrossed with your questionable ramblings, you would have seen me." Gunther did not think so. Adeline's arrival was positively uncanny. No wonder Jane was hiding. She would need all her training to avoid such a stealthy foe. "Do you know where Jane is? Do not lie. I will know." Gunther had no doubt she would.
"No, I do not."
"That girl can blend in with the shadows, when she wants to. Go find her, and be quick about it. You are to have her report to me, before dinner." She brooked no argument. Dragon left hurriedly, without further comment.
Intimidating woman, Adeline Turnkey.
"This way, please." Lady Adeline looked pointedly at Gunther. "I have a book you can borrow, provided you return it when you are done." Gunther hung his head. "You will also need to attend confession."
Him and his questions.
Jane and that damnable dress.
Gunther had made it perhaps three steps when Lady Adeline turned.
"You had better follow as well, Jester. I'll adjust your duties, accordingly."
Jester paled. With a slight jingle and reluctant plodding steps, he followed. A quiet snicker reached Gunther's ears. Glancing up, Gunther saw a Smithy peeking out of his forge.
"Oh do hush, Smithy." Adeline scolded. "It was not so long ago you and I had this conversation." A flush stained Smithy's face. "Do we need to revisit what malarkey your brothers told you?"
"No, Ma'am." Smithy ducked back into his forge. Who knew he could be so fleet of foot?
Questions, indeed.
Adeline turned to her charges.
"Come along, then."
Additional Author's Note and Acknowledgements:
The stories which precede this one are A Troublesome Predicament by Solitaire44, Jane Learns to Take a Compliment by Lareepqg, Pepper Speculates by JatD4ever, Jane Ruminates by Kyra4, How Does One Conquer the Sun? By poshkat and a side-ficlet The Misadventures of the Unfortunate Pants by Lareepqg. This story can be seen as part of the main story thread, or another side ficlet. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it.
A special thanks to my sister, TraeCan52. This story got away from me, and she helped me reign back it in.
Finally, I realize Gunther may be a little OOC, but I feel like without a mother, a father that is and manipulative, and no real friends, Gunther would have some major gaps in his overall knowledge base. He'd also have a very hard time admitting he didn't know something.
It seems like Gunther's projected worldliness would be mostly braggadocio. That is: he fakes it until he makes it.