Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is my very first attempt at writing a fanfic! (I've always loved to read stories on this site but didn't actually set up an account for myself until recently…) I was inspired by the wonderful show "Jane and the Dragon" and I absolutely ADORE Gunther and Jane's relationship and how it's portrayed in the show. This little prompt was just something I came up with on a whim at 1 A.M., fueled by my desire to contribute to this small, adorable little fandom. Reviews and friendly criticisms are more than welcome!
Disclaimer: I do not own "Jane and the Dragon". If I did, Jane and Gunther would've gotten A LOT more screen time.
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" . . .Which is not to say Jane is without any good qualities. . ."
- Gunther Breech "Mismatched"
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Gunther heaved the last heavy cask of roofing tar atop a shelf in the castle's murky storeroom, wiping the salty sweat that had taken residence upon his brow. The last hour of sunlight was fading, and the first stars of dusk were now visible in the sky. The setting sun was always a signal for Gunther to return to his home in the village, but truth be told, Gunther dreaded sundown. The dying rays of sunlight meant returning to his cold, cramped bedchamber in lieu of the castle's warm, spacious courtyard; they meant returning home to Magnus who was, at this hour, most likely stretched across his favorite armchair, snoring with impressive vigor, bare feet extended towards the dying embers of the hearth, with a near empty bottle of ale held in his limp grasp.
Internally grimacing at the thought, Gunther trudged the steps leading from the castle's storage to the upper castle grounds. He could hear faint laughter coming from the garden table, where the younger members of the castle staff would be having their 'end-of-the-day gathering' with one another at this time. A small pang of envy stirred within Gunther's heart, for despite what the others believed, Gunther truly wished he could be accepted by the lot of them; perhaps even included in their little circle of friendship.
Rake and Smithy were fairly mild in their temperament and the cook was kind enough, but after a long day's work, tolerating Jester's company was asking a bit too much for Gunther's liking—the way he babbled on about poetry, the annoying jingle of his ridiculous hat, his painfully obvious fumbling infatuation with her. . .
A second pang of envy found its way into Gunther's heart, but this one, unlike the first, was pushed away with bitter denial.
What do I care if the court fool dotes upon Jane like some lovesick puppy? Jane is annoying and stubborn and pushy and. . . and. . . I could not care less about her! Right? Right.
Gunther nodded curtly after this thought, as if to physically reassure himself, before stalking past the garden table and its inhabitants, and towards the front gates of the castle.
Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Gunther's eyes scanned for one head in particular. However, to his unwarranted disappointment, the head in question was absent from view. Even from the forty feet or so he was in proximity to the garden, Gunther knew he would have been able to spot her head from a mile away. Or a dozen.
With hair that bright, she could be her own personal flare. Hell, who needs a candle in the dark when her hair glows brighter than the godforsaken moon! The stars. . .the sun, even. . .it is uncanny, actually. I wonder—ugh! Enough! Jane's hair is unruly and unkempt and. . .and. . .completely uncouth!
Frustrated yet again with his involuntary musings concerning his fellow squire, he quickened his pace and with an intimidating glower, made way to finally exit the castle grounds.
Gunther had almost reached the large archway when a loud, dragon-sized snore stopped him in his tracks. Incredulously and albeit a bit startled, Gunther turned to see Dragon, dozing on top of Jane's tower, his emerald scales luminescent in the now star-littered sky.
Apparently, the big lizard wanted to spend the night away from his hole in the mountain. Cannot say that I blame him, really. That is odd . . .his scales seem brighter now than they are in daylight . . . so green . . . I have seen that color. . .where have I seen that color before?. . Ah, yes! Dragon's scales resemble the eyes of Ja—
Oh, for the merciful love of Caradoc.
Fit to burst with absolute rage, Gunther growled and virtually hurled himself past the gates and onto the long trail leading towards the village, muttering curses and kicking himself for his vain attempts to keep a certain red-headed, boastful, heart-wrenchingly noble, good at everything bane of his existence girl out of his mind.
Dragon, due to his exceptional sense of hearing, cracked one golden iris open upon the not-so-discrete vocal distress of the raven-haired squire, before slipping back into his deep slumber—but not without an amused grin gracing his lips.
And just below the big frog, was Jane, sleeping soundly. Peaceful, quiet, serene; totally, completely, utterly unaware of her fellow squire's inner turmoil and the cause thereof.
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