DISCLAIMER: I don't own Jane and the Dragon.

WARNING: Contains blood and violence, possibly some bad language.

Note: This is basically a fanfiction of Krya4's fanfictions. I love the way she brings the story into adulthood and thought I'd have a go at something similar. As a result this story is practically hers, only with the roles of Jane and Gunther reversed. Krya4 - you're awesome, please keep writing!

Jane dragged a hand across her forehead, sweat and blood mingling in a salty smear on her skin. Her legs were trembling and her sword arm ached like hell, but the day had been won. The field was theirs, and for now the kingdom was safe. Shielding her eyes from the late afternoon winter sun, she smiled and lifted her sword in a wide arc. A huge shadow crossed over her. Dragon had changed as much as she in the past seven years - his features had hardened, his scales darkened to a deeper shade of emerald, and there was a new leanness to his limbs. Like she herself, he seemed to be entering adulthood. She often forgot how young he was in Dragon years - despite being around 300 years old, he was still an adolescent in his own kind's terms. Now, he wheeled once more to show that he understood her sign and soared away after the retreating backs of their enemies. He would chase them a good few miles beyond the boarders of the kingdom, as agreed, and then return to report on their new whereabouts. Their ranks had been sorely shaken, and Jane doubted that they would return for some time.

She studied his huge wings for a while as his shape grew smaller, lit occasionally with bursts of flame. She had noticed a small tear in one wing, probably caused by an arrow, but he didn't seem to have noticed it. The volley of missiles had appeared out of nowhere, threatening to overwhelm them, but to her relief Dragon had plummeted out of the sky with a blaze of fiery fury, and the archers had not been able to make a second attack. His scales had protected him for the most part, although she was also aware of a few scratches across his neck. But his movements were fluid and fast - he seemed alright.

With some effort she pulled her gaze away from him, praying silently for his safe return. As her eye skimmed the battlefield she was struck by the number of her own people lying slain on the ground. Although there were many still standing - they had fared much better than their enemy by the end - they had suffered a blow. There would be funeral fires tonight, and the songs of her people would fill the night air as families and friends stood vigil. She spotted Sir Ivon nearby, ordering runners to return to their camp nearby for stretchers for the wounded.

"Ah, lass!" he cried as she drew near, throwing out an arm to her. His face was old and his hair greying, but a large grin met her as she reached out to clasp his arm in return. "A fine battle, Lady Jane, and all down to your quick thinking! Kippernia is most lucky to have such a worthy knight fighting for her."

Jane smiled tiredly back at him, returning her sword heavily to its sheath. She rubbed her arm, rolled her shoulder slowly. She felt ready for her bed, but there was work to be done yet.

"Thank you, Sir," she returned. "How can I help? Dragon is seeing off the enemy, as we arranged."

Ivon nodded, already busy scanning the horizon. "See to the ranks," he ordered, waving a hand at the field. "Rally them to help the wounded and begin our return. They will be tired, but we are not at rest yet."

She turned in the direction he had indicated, making her way across the battlefield. Some of the knights had come together in small groups; many of the younger men, some no more than squires, had taken the victory as a chance to sit down. She urged them up once more, gesturing to the fallen around them.

"Let no man go unchecked," she warned as they heaved themselves to their feet. "Imagine if it were you. If you can find no one, return to camp to help there."

Some of the men still acted strangely around her, particularly when she was required to give them orders. As a knight of the King's Guard, and as one of Sir Theodore's protégés, she was awarded a higher status than the foot soldiers. They never ignored her commands, but they rarely met her gaze, and her inquiries would often be met with mumbling and shrugs. She was still working on the relationship she held with them - perhaps their recent victory would stand her in better regard.

She pulled off her helmet as they left, her hair damp with sweat. Her very scalp seemed to sigh as she dragged her fingers through her frizzy red mane, attempting to pull it into some kind of order, enjoying the freedom after the fight. As she continued to search the field for soldiers, her step slow, her mind blissfully blank, she became slowly aware of a familiar voice calling her name.

"Jane! Jane!"

Calling seemed too calm a word to describe the voice - screaming seemed more accurate. Frowning, she turned in a full circle in search of the owner, her hand suddenly going to her sword once more. She sensed some kind of trouble...

"Jane!"

She whipped around, relaxing her arm in relief as she caught sight of Smithy sprinting towards her. A quick assessment of his appearance told her, to her relief, that he was not wounded. Covered in dust and scratches, perhaps, but relatively unharmed despite the agitation etched over his face.

"Smithy, what-"

"You must come with me, at once," he interrupted, breathless from the run, his face twisted with concern. "This way."

He seized her wrist and began dragging her across the battlefield. She staggered over the uneven ground, caught off-guard by the sudden departure.

"What has happened?" As soon as she asked the question she knew - someone had been hurt. Or worse. Her mind flew at once to their friends that would have struggled with the fight. "Is it Rake? Is Jester alright? Smithy, tell me!"

"They are alright," Smithy replied tightly, so intent on keeping up the pace that she could almost believe that he was about to pull off her arm.

She opened her mouth to demand details, and then had the breath knocked out of her as Smithy began to slow down. Her eyes fixed on Jester, almost unrecognisable without his blue hat. He was crouching over something, red staining his arms. His face was white with panic, his lips tightly pressed together, his eyes wide. Her first thought was Rake, until she caught sight of him some distance away in a heated discussion with a group of soldiers busy with lifting a body onto a stretcher. The something Jester was fussing over was leaning back against a shield, unmoving. She caught sight of jet-black hair and froze.

"Gunther."

She hadn't realised she had spoken until Smithy turned to face her, his eyes dark. He tugged at her arm, pulling her onwards more gently.

"We didn't know what to do, Jane. Our battlefield skills are... limited, to say the least."

She forced her legs to move, unable to pull her eyes away. He was slumped down against a shield, his head leaning back against it, his eyes closed tightly. His face was disturbingly ashen, and he did not seem to be responding to anything Jester was muttering to him. As they drew nearer she dropped Smithy's hand and dashed forwards, her heart leaping into her throat as she took in just how much blood there was. It covered his side, soaked into one leg, dampened the dirt ground where he lay.

"Oh god, oh god..."

"Jane!" Jester's voice was weak with relief. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Jane, it was all my fault-"

His words broke over her in a wave. He may as well have been speaking another language. Her gaze was riveted on Jester's hands, now bright red in colour, both desperately fumbling over a wound in Gunther's side. Once again she cursed their limited resources - when the townspeople had been brought in to fight some of the more qualified knights had given up their armour for those in need. She and Gunther had been in their numbers.

"Do not worry, Jane," he had muttered as they added their chainmail to the pile. "Only talented knights need give up their armour."

"Feel free to throw your helmet in too," she had hissed back, pushing past him with a smirk. "When one lacks a brain, there is no need for it."

And they had laughed. Laughed over it. And now she was staring down at him, at the blood, at his hand trembling lightly near Jester's, as if it had been recently pushed aside. He was not attempting to help stay the bleeding. She looked up at him. He seemed to be breathing, if with some difficulty, his lips parted. Something caught the periphery of her gaze and she looked down to find the broken shaft of an arrow embedded in his shoulder. Following their training, he had broken off the feathered end and made no effort to remove it. She leaned closer to it, parting his leather jerkin with her fingertips for a better look. It did not appear to be bleeding much, but she was unable to determine if the tip had been barbed or not. Certainly the larger wound in his side was more of a concern.

"He said to find you," Smithy said from above them. "Jane, what can we do?"

She shook herself, furious for revelling in her own shock for so long. They had to move fast. From the amount of blood on the ground and on Jester, it seemed that Gunther had been bleeding for some time. The battle itself had waged on for hours – surely he could not have been lying there in the ground for its duration? They had to get him back to the camp. She wished desperately that she had not sent Dragon away, considered calling him back – he could have carried them there in a heartbeat – but he was needed to ensure the other side's retreat. Lurching into action, she pushed Jester's shaking hands away and pointed at a nearby flag.

"Cut that down," she said, her voice sharp with panic. "Be quick. Smithy, find a stretcher."

"Rake went to look," Smithy replied. "He has not had much luck. I'll try."

She shifted closer as they disappeared from her side. She clamped her hand down on the wound with more force than Jester had managed, earning a moan from her patient. Her stomach jerked and she glanced up to find his eyes open. His jaw was clenched tightly, his nostrils flaring as he tried to breathe. She could almost see Sir Theordore's lessons racing through his mind - breathe as deeply and evenly as possible, maintain consciousness, count to four on each exhale and each inhale...

"Jane."

To horror, she felt her eyes sting with the threat of tears. His voice sounded so wrong. Usually it was piercing, sneering, clear - now it was hoarse and forced. He was staring at her through half-lidded eyes, a strange, grim smile twisting at the corner of his mouth. She made herself smile, arched her eyebrow in a challenge.

"What were you saying before about only talented knights giving up their armour?"

"I had to train with you, didn't I?" he retorted softly. "Clearly I'm too used to your inferior tactics… Congratulations."

She peeked at the wound. It gaped up at her – it was deep. Too deep. She swallowed her panic, covering it once more. "What?"

"On the battle. I assume your plan worked… are you unhurt?"

"No, couldn't you tell? I'm missing an arm."

She was trying to sound sarcastic but her voice was shaking too much for her to pull it off. And his gaze was boring into her, unmasking her, pointing out her fear for all the world to see. She realised her grip was loosening – she pressed down hard. His body shook beneath her and his breathing hitched sharply. She could barely stand to look him in the eye, unable to fathom how much pain he must be in.

"Sorry, sorry. Keep breathing, Gunther, don't forget-"

"I know," he ground out. "So… bossy."

She looked over her shoulder, searching for Jester. What was taking him so long? He had got the flag down and was sawing it desperately free from its rope. She needed the material now – her hands were letting blood run no matter how she tried. There was so, so much of it. She felt her lip tremble threateningly and forced her face into a frown, refusing to let herself crumble. She couldn't let him know how bad it was, even though she had a horrible feeling that he knew.

"Jane… Jane, listen…"

She raised her head. His face was suddenly tight with feeling, his eyebrows pulled together, words halting on his tongue. It was as if a mask that had become so familiar to them both over the years had suddenly fallen away and everything was suddenly open to the sun. Something of great importance was about to be said, but he couldn't seem to begin. His breathing stuttered, his lips moved, his eyes clenched over her even as they began to take on a strange, glazed quality. She felt a cool touch, recognised it as his fingers coming to rest against her wrist, lightly, as if he expected his hand to go straight through her.

"Jane," he repeated, and then abruptly fastened his lips closed.

What? She wanted to scream, What? But he was pulling back from the edge, his face darkening with defeat. She opened her mouth, but then Jester was thundering down beside them with the flag. She heard her own voice telling him to rip it into strips and hand her some, even though she was sure she hadn't a coherent thought in her head, her eyes never breaking contact with Gunther's. He was staring over her shoulder now, into the darkening sky. She grabbed the bundle Jester passed her and pressed it over the bloody mouth grinning under her hands. Gunther made a small sound in the back of his throat that tore at her like barbed wire.

"There are not enough lifters for the wounded," Jester was saying, fumbling over his words. "Men are running to the camp for more but…"

She shook her head to silence him, reached for the strips of fabric in his arms. Leaning forwards, she passed her arms around Gunther's middle and tied the strip off, slipping another folded pad beneath it before tightening it. She had been bracing herself for a scream, but she only heard silence. She would have preferred the scream. She looked up, felt her heart fall away as she saw Gunther's eyes closing.

"No! Gunther, don't you dare!" she leaned over him, tapping his cheek tersely. "Don't do this, you cannot leave me like- Gunther –"

She broke off, stunned, unsure of where the heated words had come from. She hadn't meant for her voice to break like that, she didn't… She wasn't sure what she meant. Her lungs could not find air. She wriggled forwards, almost on top of him in panic, shook him violently. As she jostled him he opened his eyes at last, his stare foggy and unfocussed, and his voice whispered against her. It was light, quiet, not quite conscious.

"M'here…"

"No, you're trying to sleep. You're staying with me, do you hear?"

"If I could choose," he mumbled through her hair, "I would never leave your side."

She felt as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown over her. She didn't move, the words rushing through her head again and again. She heard him take a shuddery breath.

"Can't see," he said softly, almost sadly, as if he had planned to go for a horse ride and discovered that it was raining.

Something within her shattered. She felt a sob pulse through her and swallowed hard, scrambling to collect her resolve. His shallow breaths filled her ears. She dragged her gaze away from his terrible, absent eyes and looked over her shoulder. She had a terrible feeling that he had been waiting to tell her something, and now that he had been unable to he was going to… to leave. She kept her grip on his uninjured shoulder uncomfortably tight, scanning the battlefield for the others.

"Smithy! Rake!"

There was a horse. A horse standing a few feet away, snuffling at the ground, lost without its rider, waiting for instruction. It was not wearing the colours of their enemies – it must be one of theirs. She jerked her head at it, desperate.

"Jester, get that horse. Go, go!"

Jester scrambled up, jolted out of his frozen silence, and ran off. She tied another strip of cloth around Gunther's middle, snatched briefly for his hand in an attempt to anchor him in reality. It twitched in response, curled over her fingers.

"Hold on," she said, not quite sure if she was speaking to him or to herself. "Hold on, we're going, we're going now. It'll be alright."

She shook him once more, a little more gently this time, but she could not get him to look at her. His eyes were completely vacant now, lids dropping closed, and all that emotion he had held just a few minutes ago seemed to be running out of him. She touched his face again, brushing his hair back. There was a graze on his temple. She stared at it blankly, tracing its outlines. She knew his body almost better than her own after all those years of training, and yet she had never touched him like this, nor been this close to him. His eyes closed and she shook him again, her panic climbing. He was leaving her.

She would have screamed, but she didn't trust herself not to cry.

And then Jester was there with the horse, and Smithy was returning to them empty-handed, responding to her call. He pulled Gunther upright at her gesture and Jester offered her a leg-up onto the horse. She watched as Smithy and Jester took his weight – his legs weren't working, he was leaning on them heavily, as if he were one of Jester's puppets and his strings had been cut. She reached for him. With some difficulty they lifted him onto the horse in front of her and she stood in the stirrups to settle him in the saddle against her. She wrapped one arm tightly around him, rested his head against her neck. She could feel soft plumes of breath beating against her skin.

Then she was driving her heels in and the horse lurched forwards at a gallop, leaping unevenly across the cluttered battlefield, and she apologised for every impact they made with the ground.

They reached the camp after seconds or minutes or hours, she didn't know, and she called for Theodore as loud as the lump in her throat would let her. Gunther was limp against her, her arm the only thing keeping him from sliding off the saddle. Theodore's greying hair appeared and she understood that he wanted her to pass Gunther down, even though she couldn't unhook her fingers, even though she knew that if she let him go she would never see him again… Her shaking hands were suddenly empty and a small group of men were carrying him away, and Theodore was shouting orders, and then suddenly she was quite alone and silence descended.

Thanks for reading, reviews are very welcome.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.