Disclaimer: JatD is not mine. It is Mr. Baynton's, Weta's, and Nelvana's. This fic is mine, though.
A/N: Thanks to Hyperpsychomaniac and Vicki for looking this over for me, and convincing me to post it. :P
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Swinging his wooden sword, Gunther strolled towards the practice yard, looking forward to another spar with Jane. He had beaten her yesterday, and knew from past experience that if he planned to make it twice in a row, he would have to be well prepared. So he had arrived early, planning to do some warming up before she arrived. His thoughts circled around techniques and taunts he might use to distract her, until he reached the stone arch that separated the castle and gardens from the smaller buildings. He paused, hearing the haphazard plucking of strings that indicated Jester was preparing to play his lute. Hesitating for a moment, Gunther pressed his back to the stonework and then stayed still, training his ear towards the forge, where Jester sat, keeping company with Smithy.
Although he'd never admit it, Gunther loved to hear Jester play. His ability had improved over the years, until he could make the instrument sing, and reduce hardened old knights to tears. Gunther envied Jester his ability to take the tunes in his head and make real songs out of them. He also envied Jester's courage to play and sing his songs in front of others, something Gunther knew he would never do.
Sighing softly, Gunther clutched at the handle of his sword and gazed absently at the dirt. He would love to play an instrument, but the only person who could teach him was Jester, and there was no way Gunther would ever ask the Fool. The two of them had never been close, and Gunther knew there would never be any real friendship between them. A certain girl knight had seen to that without even realising it.
Closing his eyes, Gunther stilled his thoughts as Jester began to play, the gentle strumming and plucking lifting his mind from the depressing turn it had taken. The melody was stunning; undoubtedly Jester's best. It was fiery and intense, but delicate and sweet. It stole his breath and left his heart racing, his hands shaking. It reminded him of someone . . . .
Overwhelming silence slowly crowded around Gunther, making him realise the song had ended. He stood away from the wall where he had been leaning, listening, with his eyes closed, and blinked, before drawing a shaky breath.
The silence continued, as though all of nature had paused to listen, and forgotten to begin moving again. The spell was eventually broken by the tink of metal striking metal, just once, before Smithy began to speak.
"Jester, that was . . ." the Smith paused, searching for the right words. "I may not know much about music, but I can appreciate true beauty when I hear it. Your finest ballads until now cannot compare."
"Thank you, Smithy," came Jester's unusually quiet response. "I . . . I wrote it for Jane," he admitted in a sudden rush, and behind the wall, Gunther winced unconsciously.
"I just sat and thought about her, and it all flowed out so easily. I want to play it for her, but I just cannot find the words to sing." Jester sighed. "Sometimes, I do not think there are words in all the world that are good enough for her."
"They will come," replied Smithy quietly.
It was at that moment that Gunther left his hiding place behind the wall, punching the arch as he passed through it and stalking past the forge.
Smithy raised an eyebrow as the squire passed by, but made no comment. He turned instead to stoke the fire, knowing that Jester would not want to continue to discuss Jane in Gunther's presence.
Jester hopped down from his perch, bowed briefly to Smithy and turned to leave. "I shall leave you in the good company of Sunshine over there," he said, the mocking edge back in his voice. "It is back to the archives for me, where I shall continue my search for worthy words." He tinkled his bells and was gone.
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Suppressing a groan, Gunther hauled himself up the stairs of the house he shared with his father, and sank onto his bed. He had lost to Jane. Badly.
Jester's song had haunted Gunther all day, distracting him. But it wasn't Jester's song, not really. It was Jane's, every beat of it.
He lay on his back, staring at the gently sloping ceiling. It was Jane's song, but it had no words.
Good, he thought. No words, no wooing. But he knew that was untrue; knew that the music alone was enough to impress even Jane.
Jester's words from that morning echoed back at him. 'Sometimes, I do not think there are words in all the world that are good enough for her.'
"Fool of a Fool," hissed Gunther. Of course there were words. All one had to do was look at her and there were words.
He sighed, and the music continued to echo, and words were forming, and pressing for release.
With a frustrated growl, Gunther pushed away from his bed made his way over to his table, collecting pen, ink, and parchment. He sat and stared at the blank parchment, head in his hands as the pen lay waiting. The house was quiet; his father out trading at distant ports. He hadn't eaten, and his stomach was a solid knot that left him doubting he'd be able to hold down a meal anyway. He ached all over, his heart as well as his body. The song echoed in his head, relentless. He thought of Jane, picked up the pen, and began writing.
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Jester yawned and stretched as light spilled through the cracks in his shutters. He stood up, pushing them open, and stared blearily at the world outside. He had not slept well, words running through his head keeping him awake, and none of them good enough. He wondered where his previously boundless well of creativity had run off to.
Turning away from the window, he spotted a piece of parchment lying on the floor, covered in writing. A small, optimistic part of him hoped it was a love letter from Jane, but he immediately squashed it. That was not Jane's style, and this was not her writing. He sat back on his bed to read, and within moments his mouth dropped open. These were words. These were passionate words, perfect words, worthy words. His hand trembled as it held the parchment, his gaze distant. He realised with a start why he had not been able to write the right words.
"How could I write something like that, knowing I would sing it to her?"
He did not know who had written these words, but they had seen his soul. Had it been Smithy? He was the only one Jester had told, but . . . . Jester shook his head. Smithy could neither read nor write, and surely he did not comprehend the depth of these feelings for Jane. Jester turned the parchment over, seeking to identify the writer, and found more words, written in the same unfamiliar hand.
'Mean each word you sing, or do not sing them at all.'
He exhaled slowly, and lifted his gaze to the ceiling of his room, the boards creaking as Jane moved about in her room above.
Am I brave enough to do that?
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Gunther, in the practice yard, paused in his attack on the training dummy to observe Jester leaving his room and head for his retreat; the royal archives. He carried his lute, and the piece of parchment.
"It is done," Gunther muttered to himself, before turning and attacking the dummy with renewed passion. It is done.
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A/N: Er. Yes. This is another one I wasn't sure of, but I decided to post it, anyway. In my mind, Gunther saw the lyrics as a challenge, a way to best Jester, and a way to tell Jane his feelings without actually telling her. I'm not sure it came out that way, though. I think the instrument Jester plays is a lute, but my knowledge in the area is fairly basic. Please tell me if it's something else. :)
For those of you who weren't aware that Gunther secretly writes songs, go to qubo(dot)com's JatD section and read his bio. Read all the bios while you're there. They're a lot of fun!