Jane and the Dragon and all related characters are the property of Martin Baynton and Weta.
This fic was written for Janther Week 2018 Day four.
Prompt: Foofaraw.
"You cut your hair?"
Gunther wasn't sure why he said it, really. The evidence was clear; hundreds of copper strands lay on the floor at her feet, the knife still in her hand.
Clearly he had timed his entry to the stables rather badly, if the thunderous look on Jane's face was any indication.
"My mother," she muttered.
"You cut your hair because of your mother?" Asked Gunther, his confusion increasing.
"She said I have the body of a woman now, so I must act it."
Gunther blinked, running his gaze over Jane, who seemed to him to be as gangly at fourteen as she had ever been. What body of a woman?
"So you cut your hair?" He tried to make sense of their unfolding conversation.
"It may have been a . . . slight overreaction," Jane admitted, staring at her curls on the floor. "I hate it." She mumbled, and Gunther noticed to his horror that her lower lip was trembling.
He was not sure if she was referring to her new hairstyle, or her alleged womanly body, but Gunther elected to choose the lesser of two evils.
"You have not even seen yourself in the looking glass," he pointed out.
Jane raised her head to look at him properly, and Gunther did his best not to grimace.
Oh dear.
His reaction must have shown on his face, and Jane's crumpled further in response.
"Is it bad?" She asked, voice quavering.
Gunther was at a loss. What had happened to Jane? Why was she suddenly so erratic and weepy? Was this what it meant to have a woman's body?
A dozen replies ran through his head, all of them teasing or downright cruel, but another look at Jane's face made him bite his tongue.
"Perhaps a tidy up of the edges will improve things," he said instead. "You could ask your mother to help?"
The look on Jane's face was enough of an answer to that suggestion.
"Or not," he added hurriedly. "Pepper?"
Jane shook her head. "I do not want them to see me," she said quietly, the flick of her hand at the stable doors suggesting that 'them' referred to everyone.
"I see," said Gunther, shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortably. He could leave, he supposed. Perhaps privacy would help her most.
He looked again at her dejected stance, the knife still in her hand, the hair on the floor. Perhaps not.
He sighed in defeat.
"Come along," he said, taking her by the wrist and retrieving the knife.
"Where are we going?" She asked, trailing behind him meekly -unsettlingly so.
"To the Knights' quarters," he replied, thinking it obvious.
After checking that the coast was clear he led her quickly through the training yard and into the secluded corner of the quarters that he used on the nights he did not wish to go home. This was an increasingly frequent occurrence and as a result he had a bed, table and chest with a few necessary possessions.
He sat Jane down on the low cot before rummaging around in the trunk and drawing out his hair comb and scissors. Kneeling behind her on the bed he began the slow process of combing her now much shorter hair.
Despite its reduced length her tangled curls forced Gunther to move slowly and carefully, unless he wished to pull out her remaining locks.
"Your hair is rather different than my own," he said conversationally as he worked. "But I shall see what I can salvage."
Jane's shoulders rose and fell unevenly and she kept her face turned to the floor, but Gunther continued to comb, pretending not to notice.
Once he was satisfied that her hair was tangle-free enough, and coincidentally, that she had calmed down enough to sit somewhat still, he retired the comb and picked up the scissors.
"I will need you to look straight ahead and remain still, lest things become much worse," he said, and Jane obediently lifted her face.
Gunther was pleased to note that her breathing had evened, although she stared blankly ahead. He understood the feeling of needing to retreat into oneself for a time and so he worked quietly, with only the snip, snip of his scissors breaking the silence.
He moved around her head, evening the wild ends as best he could, until her hair was mostly one length again. It would get in the way when they trained if she could not find a way to keep it back from her face, but at least she did not look quite so messy.
Climbing off the bed he stood back to inspect his handiwork. Although he could not say it suited her, exactly, perhaps because it was so unfamiliar looking, it did not look entirely bad. He could get used to it, but he wondered if Jane would.
Her gaze was focused now, upon him as it happened, watching as he assessed her.
"One moment," he said, turning back to his trunk. It took a bit of digging but eventually he unearthed the small disc of polished metal he used to check his own hair occasionally.
He held it out and Jane examined her reflection for several moments, touching the ends of her hair as she did so.
"Thank you," she said quietly, and Gunther put all of his tools away.
He shrugged. "Just do not tell your mother I had any part in it." He requested, and was rewarded with a small smile, before her face fell once more.
"Oh!" She gasped. "I shall have to see her."
"Not on an empty stomach," he said decisively, pulling her up from the bed. "Come on."
They walked out of the Knights' quarters and crossed the training yard once again, this time in the direction of the kitchen.
Pepper was outside setting the table for lunch when she saw them coming, her mouth dropping open as she noticed Jane's hair.
Gunther gave a small shake of his head and a stern look in her direction, causing her to snap her mouth closed as she took in Jane's subdued appearance.
"Oh Petal," she said, walking towards them and taking Jane's arm. "You look lovely! Come into the kitchen and we shall celebrate with a slice of fresh strawberry pie."
Gunther let her lead Jane down the stairs and into the kitchen, smiling encouragingly when she turned to look back over her shoulder at him, a stray curl brushing her cheek.
Whatever the matter with her was, Gunther hoped it passed quickly. He much preferred dealing with her in the sparring yard than with a comb and scissors.
Later that evening Gunther was stretched out on his bed in the corner of the Knights' quarters, preparing to blow out the candle when he noticed a coil of copper hair on the floor. He had swept earlier but clearly had missed some. Picking it up he reached over to the small book of verse on his table and tucked it between the pages, a memento of a strange day. Licking his fingers and pinching out the candle flame, he laid back in the darkness, smiling to himself.
Imagine Jane cutting off her hair because of a disagreement wit her mother. What a fuss over nothing!