Author's Note: He-ey! I'm back (finally) with chapter 9. Yay! Sorry I've been away so long. In my absence I've been kind of busy with schooling, writing a fic for the Tales of Vesperia fandom (it's not up yet), writing and SCRAPPING a one-shot fic for Jane and Jester (it was complete rubbish), doing random stuff, giving my friends advice, and being sick (like I am now. Stupid flu/cold season.)

So...hmmm... yeah, I've been writing this chapter for a few weeks on and off. It's (again) kind of a cliffie, just to warn you. But please read it and then review, because I need to make sure you want to know what happens next (I'm excited, because I actually kow where this is going for like the next two-three-or-maybe-even-four chapters, and it will be exciting, and full of fluff and stuff)

Enough of my rambling. Go read.



Lapdog

An uncomfortable silence pressed down on them for days, thick, suffocating and uncrossable, as they trekked slowly through the landscape of vast moors and spindly groves. Jester could feel it piercing him slowly, painfully, a dagger being pushed lethargically through his heart. Though it seemed impossible to endure, he did so in silence.

And, in silence, he found himself brooding.

Everything seemed to reflect his mood- the dark, rolling clouds getting closer by the day, the sharp scents in the air that come before a storm, the sluggish gaits of their mounts beneath them, the look of the diminutive trees. Even the shock of red hair seemed dispirited as Jane rode on ahead of him, not glancing back and not speaking. She had not uttered more than one word at a time in two days.

He sighed, his heart aching violently.

It always seemed to go back to pain when it came to Jane and his relationship, as if some unseen force wished them apart. There had always been either the pain of not being with her and the pain of loving her while he believed that she did not return the emotion. Now there was the pain of ruining his chances with her. But, each time beforehand, something had happened almost instantly to rekindle his hope, and heal the wounds inflicted upon him. Now, he saw no hope. He felt lost in the shadows of hopelessness. The sting of Jane's cutting words had pierced him deeply, and blood continued to flow from the wounds. He felt no reassurance that it would ever be the same.

"My heavy heart doth not mend," he sang quietly to himself, "And I shall never love again..."

He closed his eyes, trying to understand what had gone wrong, in hopes that Jane would abolish her threat.

Behind closed lids, he pictured the scene, and had to admit now, he had been acting rashly. I am a fool. A true fool, he chided himself bitterly. Maybe Jane was right...maybe I was trying to...trying to...well, not be Gunther exactly...but still, trying to impress her. He swore at himself silently. Either way, it was stupid and only got me into this mess. Jester swore under his breath.

He pressed his face forwards in frustration onto Valiant's neck. The mare whickered and tossed her head lightly, but Jester kept his head close to the animal's neck, breathing in the scent of horse and sweat, of freedom and excitement. The scent of rugged, wild beauty.

It made him start, as he realized how this now familiar scent only made him think of Jane. He grimaced.

Of all of her words, the most cutting were those in response to his question of whether she would or would not prefer Gunther. Those three words, "maybe I would", seemed to reverberate inside of him, shaking him to the very bone and cleaving his happiness to hollowness. How could she even consider Gunther? He was rude, boastful, proud, dishonest, uncouth...a swirling list of angry, unpleasant words flooded Jester's thoughts, replacing pain with fury and confusion, as well as something that Jester knew only too well. Jealousy, glowing emerald green, had rekindled its spark in his heart, wedging the flame deeply into some new-formed fissure.

"Silent misery doth fall, of growing anguish from thy call-"

"We should probably set up camp," Jane said, interrupting his murmured melody.

"Right," Jester agreed sadly, knowing that this quietly commanding tone would probably be all the civility that he would receive. It was clear to him that she was still upset, but Jester couldn't blame her.

They rode on in pitiful silence, towards the closest natural shelter- an outcropping of rocks with a few straggly trees to provide a canopy.

"We had better use the tent from Smithy." Jane murmured, keeping her gaze averted. Jester nodded.

"Of course."

Together, they awkwardly unpacked the small canvas tent. It was a plain thing, not brightly coloured like the tents of the travelling players. It had a strange, oil-and-waxy sort of feeling to it.

Jester fingered one of the corners, and a small smile danced upon his lips. The first smile in two days.

"It seems as though Smithy has taken the leisure to have the canvas covered in a mixture of tallow and oil. To, you know, lessen the amount of rain that would leak through the cloth?"
Jane nodded.

"Thoughtful of him." She admitted, as they began arranging the ropes and poles to hold it up.

With little speaking and much discomfort, they made quick work of the task. As they added the finishing touches, a light rain began to fall, pattering across their faces.

"I'll take first watch," Jane said quickly, prodding him towards the mouth of the tent.

"But, I-"

"Just do as I say." She said wearily.

"As my lady commands," he said softly, bowing. He turned to the tent, peeling back the flap and tossing in his and Jane's bedrolls.

"I...Jester?"

"Yes?" He asked, looking over his shoulder. Jane had her back to him, and was gazing skyward. Rain ran in rivulets over her cheeks, as the storm began to unleash its vengeance.

"I...umm...I'm..." She sighed with frustration, before saying more softly, "Be ready for your turn at watch in a few hours. Get a good few hours of sleep."

"Very well. Goodnight milady."

"Goodnight," she whispered back, as Jester stepped through the flap, and began to curl up on his bedroll. And, though his thoughts pounded him like the brewing storm, Jester fell into sleep upon laying his head down, praying for a better tomorrow.


"Come now, love. We just wanted a friendly chat. What'dya say, eh?" Jester stirred groggily, rolling over on his cot. There was a voice, deep, booming and crude, that seemed to come from beyond the confines of the tent. A male voice that should not be there.

Jester lay very still, as the male voice spoke again from outside the tent. He could hear Jane snap something venomous, which was met by a chorus of boisterous, guffawing male voices.

"I'm going to say this once more, bog-weevils. Leave, now, or suffer the punishment," she roared. The men snickered.

"Oooh, lovey here has a bark," the seeming ringleader of the band howled. "Shall we see if she has a bite, as well, chaps?"

There were obscene hoots and hollers, and Jester felt his blood grow chilled. He looked round himself for a weapon, but his sword was deep within his pack.

"Come one step closer, and you'll pay," Jane snarled.

"Come now. Just be a good little girlie and-"

Jester heard to sound of metal being drawn, and a howl of pain. The men began to holler in fury.

"Wench! I guess Léon was right 'bout you, after all. You're a tricky one." He snorted. Jester heard a resounding -thwack!-, as Jane gasped.

Jester could feel the bile rising in his throat. How dare this man speak to Jane this way? Before he realized what he was doing, he had sprung from the tent, eyes blazing sapphire fire.

The scene that met his eyes made his breath catch.

There were maybe fifteen of them. Unshaven brutes, that stunk of filth and sweat. Their eyes shone with blackness- murder, lust, greed.

Jester's eyes immediately caught sight of Jane, lying clutching her stomach at the feet of the apparent leader. Jester blanched.

The man turned to Jester, and delight shone in his green eyes. He seemed just as filthy as the rest of the men, with his long sandy blonde hair falling greasily about his face. There was a long, fresh cut that spanned his face from cheekbone to chin.

"Ah, so this is lovey here's lapdog that Léon told us 'bout? I gotta say, I'm not impressed." He laughed.

"You, sir, were asked to leave," Jester said coldly, glancing from Jane to the man and back again. He struggled to keep the pain from his voice, as he watched Jane doubled over at this man's feet, obviously from a blow to the abdomen. "And I advise you to do so now."

"O-ho! Hear that, gents? This 'ere lapdog advises us to leave." He chuckled at some private joke, and twirled his blade playfully. "What're we gonna tell 'im, eh?" He spat, and nudged Jane with his foot.

"Don't. Touch. Her." Jester growled, taking a step forwards. Two men, a red head and a brunet, matched his advance.

"I'll do as I please, and you'll have a mind to let me have my way." The man's voice was velvet poison. "Chaunce, Brycen, let's get her to the camp. Léon and I both love our wine and women."

"Wh-? NO!" Jester lunged for the man's throat, only to find his fingers constricting on air. The brunet and the red head grabbed his arms, pinning them to his sides.

"Just finish him Cliff," the brunet, Chaunce, complained to the leader.

"Where'd the fun in that be?" Cliff asked, a pout forming on his face. "Nah, I want him to remember this!"

"Monster!" Jester spat, struggling against Chaunce and Brycen's hold.

Cliff sighed.

"You know, though, lapdog, you're kinda irritating me. So you just be quiet a few hours, alright? If yer lucky, you won't even remember any of this when you wake up!"

With that, he brought the hilt of his blade smashing down upon Jester's head. The last thing Jester saw before blackness swallowed him completely was Cliff's smiling face.

"Sweet dreams, lapdog."