Fairly short. Just a little one-shot. It's based off of the episode "Fathers" and is in Jane's dad's POV. Enjoy!
Daughters
a Jane and the Dragon fic, by Emiko
Sighing, I lean out the window, the cool spring night air blowing gently across my face, calming my spirits. The sun set nearly a half hour ago, and Jane has still not returned from her patrol duties. I do realize that I cannot protect her forever, but I still worry about her sometimes; and therefore I continue to watch the skies until she returns from patrol. It is a dangerous business, being a knight, and I sometimes wonder if it is the right sort of business for a sixteen-year-old girl.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sudden sound of large wings flapping through the air, and not a moment later, Dragon descends, with Jane riding on his back. I can breathe a sigh of relief as she jumps off his back and bids him goodnight. She waves as he lifts into the air once more, and I turn to go.
Jane, however, does not rush off as she usually does; instead, she glances around the courtyard, as if in search of someone. I turn back to the window, curious as to what she could be thinking. Who, or what, would she be looking for this late at night, when everyone is certainly in their beds asleep?
As these thoughts cross through my mind, someone slips out of the shadows in the courtyard, creeping silently to where Jane stands, still waiting. My heart rate increases dangerously as I watch this unknown figure stalk nearer and nearer to my daughter. She is alone and, while not entirely defenseless, I can see from here that her sword is not with her. She must have left it in her bedchamber.
My heart nearly stops as the dark stranger slides one arm around Jane's waist and covers her mouth with the other to keep her from screaming. Quickly, I move to dash down the stairs, crying at the top of my lungs in hope that it scares the stranger off, but I suddenly catch sight of Jane turning in the stranger's arms, a sudden smile illuminating her face. It is a look I have never seen on her face before, and it takes me a moment to place it.
It is love.
Love? My daughter, Jane, who vowed to her mother only last week that marriage was not for her—that she would only ever consider marriage if it would save the kingdom from the gravest danger—in love? Love and marriage, I suppose, are not the same thing, but I still get the feeling that she was keeping this from us even when she announced her feelings on the subject at breakfast. In fact, I am quite certain that this is one secret that Jane has kept from everyone—even her beloved Dragon.
And what of the young man? I think, fleetingly—hope, almost—that it might be Jester, whom I know she considers her best human friend around. Years have passed and things have certainly changed, but one thing that has always remained constant is their camaraderie. Even at sixteen and eighteen years old, they still run around like the pair of fools they are.
But as Jane leans up to offer her young lover a kiss, I realize that it cannot be Jester. Jane has never seen him that way, even if she knows he is desperately in love with her, and she also knows that their friendship is too precious to even think about risking love. No, it is not Jester that she tugs so passionately closer to her, nor Jester whom she lets push her up fiercely against the courtyard wall, unaware that they are being watched.
I ponder the young man a few minutes more. It is not Rake, that is certain, for Jane has already announced that Pepper finally got fed up with his beating around the bush and told him her feelings herself. They are blissfully happy, Jane assures us.
Nor is it Smithy. The young stable boy, while fiercely loyal to Jane, is nothing more than a friend to her, I am certain.
But then, I think, it can only be one person, and the answer seems to make no sense. How could Jane ever be in love with the one she hates? It is not logical, and yet, in a twisted way, it makes perfect sense. Jane has always been a passionate, headstrong, and, frankly, stubborn mule of a girl, and Gunther matches her in wit and temperament. Their love, I am certain, is not a calm one, but one of passion and heated arguments.
There is quiet laughter, and I look down once more to find Jane being twirled in the air as thought she is a child. Sure enough, the moonlight catches on her young man's face, and I see that it is Gunther, though a very different Gunther than I have ever seen before. He is smiling up at Jane as though she were the only thing in the world, and it occurs to me that in the past few weeks, Gunther has been a bit better-natured than usual. Now I know why.
As Jane leans down to kiss Gunther once more, I turn to head to my chamber, content that my daughter is safe and in good hands.
After all, she is growing up, and, hard though it may be, I will one day have to let her go—whether it is to a young man or to that grand adventure she's always wanted.
Until then, I will be there, silently, waiting to catch her when she falls. Just as any father would.