Disclaimer: I don't own Jane and the Dragon, or any of its characters. But believe me, if I did, I would do the sensible thing and make a second season.

Notes: Okay, it's been forever, and we all know it. Over a year, but I feel a little too guilty about it to check just how over. But I have to say, it has been a disastrous year. Some of it was great, don't get me wrong. But my cat has a heart problem and my grandfather has a brain tumor and can't remember my name and my father has metastasized prostate cancer and they say he probably won't live through the summer – so that all sucks. So, basically, there are many reasons this update took so long. And I apologize for that. I wish those reasons hadn't happened too.

On a lighter note, I think I'm finally back to writing. I'm taking a creative writing class this semester and all of a sudden I'm remembering that I used to live and breathe this stuff. And maybe I don't anymore, but I want to again. Nothing like writing to make you feel you can make a difference!

Uh, what else... Oh! Also, I will eventually resolve the beta problem, and thank you to everyone who offered. I'll make sure I get around to talk to you about it.
Also again, I have to say you guys are the best! Sticking with me on this one is amazing, since it's been longer than anyone should have to wait for anything. Every review, a paragraph or even a word, is most appreciated. I don't write for the reviews, but I have to say I do post for them – no point showing it to the world unless the world wants to see it.

Last of all, I'm sorry these notes are such a downer. Normally I try to make them lighthearted because I'm a pretty happy person (flowers, sunshine, all that jazz) but I haven't been feeling it with what I really hope is the crappiest year of my life (I couldn't stand another one of these) going on.

So please please PLEASE review (it's the only reason I bully myself into writing), and I will knit you a sweater with Gunther's face on the front. And when you wear it and no one gets the reference, you can laugh snobbily and mention something about the peasantry these days.

Now updated!

My mother shrieked when she saw my arm — the rest of the group either gasped, or, in Sir Ivon's case, complained that he could not see anything, what was everyone so interested in? (He was riding behind Sir Theodore, and so had a slightly limited view, considering their height differences.)

Everything happened quickly after that. Immediately, Gunther and I were whisked away to the throne room, where it was demanded of us that we explain everything in minute detail. Mostly the account was left to Gunther — I was sitting on a bench at the long table as Mother inspected my injuries. Every time I stood and tried to assist Gunther, Mother would grab my shoulders, pushing me down once more, and King Caradoc would demand with a mix of concern and insistence that I not overextend myself — and besides, I could not really speak over Jester's long strings of nervous chatter, questions of how much did it hurt, (did I need him to fetch anything?) and finally, apologies that he had not been there for me.

At this, I finally protested, waving away my mother's prodding fingers as she poked at my arm. "Honestly, Jester, what could you possibly have done? You cannot bandage injuries — and you cannot make a cup of tea to save your life."

"I would have been your emotional support, of course!" Jester exclaimed. "Anyone in pain needs a little bit of comfort!"

"I did not need emotional support," I objected. "I had…" I trailed off, my eyes drifting to Gunther, who was standing a few feet in front of me as he elucidated to the King and Theodore just how this disaster had occurred. "…I — well, I was fine."

"Oh, no one with a broken arm is fine," Jester said, rolling his eyes and then smiling at me gently to show he did not really mean it.

I smiled back at him wearily, nudged my mother's fingers away from the bandage bump on my side, and then sighed. I had no Dragon to entertain me, (he had left after saying he was going to "fetch me a present to cheer me up") and with the way Gunther was constantly being interrupted with impatient questions, our tragic tale was taking even longer to explain. It seemed I would be sitting there for a while.

...

Sometime after the hours spent on Gunther's account and a bit before Jester left to collect Cuthbert, Smithy brought me (as well as Gunther, Jester, and my mother by extension) to his forge to make me a plaster cast.

Plopping down on the provided stool, ("Be gentle with yourself, Jane," my mother snapped) I asked Smithy when he had gotten the plaster.

"Gunther delivered it this morning, as I was lighting the forge," the blacksmith said absently, mixing a cup of the white powder in a small bucket half-filled with water.
I looked up at Gunther, who met my gaze evenly. He nodded at me, his head barely dipping, and I smiled in reply; just a shy little smile, but a smile all the same. Relief flooded me that this was the reason Gunther had left last night — to help me, by fetching the plaster as swiftly as he could. Not because he despised my company or regretted our heartfelt words.

Jester held up the strips of sturdy canvas he had just cut and Smithy took them. "Jane, I am going to remove your splint now," the blacksmith said evenly, taking off the cloth sling and placing my arm gently on the table his anvil rested on. I gritted my teeth against the pain as he untied the fabric attaching the thin wood to my arm — and bit my lip to stop a groan when he took the splint away, leaving my arm completely bare. Jester gasped when he saw the expanse of dark bruises spreading across my skin. Mother ran a comforting hand through my tangled hair, her mouth pulled into a sad line. Gunther simply looked away, as if the sight of my pain hurt him as well.

Smithy began by wrapping a soft white cloth around my arm, starting at the end of my elbow and stopping halfway up my palm, leaving a gap for my thumb. Then he glanced up at the spectators, his discerning blue eyes examining each of them in turn. "One of you will need to hold the bone in the proper alignment while I place the plaster strips," he said.

My mother stepped forward, her face set in determination. "I will," she declared rigidly, looking around as if expecting someone to protest a Lady assisting with something so coarse. No one did, of course. The castle staff joked about Lady Adeline's iron will often, but they were still loathe to displease her — I was the only one stubborn enough to dare.

Smithy nodded, reaching for my arm. "This will hurt, Jane," he murmured softly, gripping near my elbow with one hand and next to my wrist with the other. And then, taking a quiet breath, he moved the two pieces of bone so they fit together neatly, sending fizzles of agony up my arm.

"Jane!"

"Are you alright?"

"I am fine!" I hissed through gritted teeth.

"You are not fine! You just squeaked," Gunther exclaimed, his face taut with worry.

I scowled, breathing in painful lurches. "Knights do not squeak."

"Then it is a good thing you are only a squire, or you would have been the first one," Jester muttered.

I knew he was not being uncaring, only that humor was a wall to hide his anxiety, but I still could not help the faint glower I sent his way.

"I am sorry, Jane," Smithy whispered.

I shook my head. "Thank the saints for you, Smithy, or it would not heal and I would never fight again," I mumbled. His eyes met mine, and suddenly I understood what the taciturn blacksmith went through each time he was forced to hurt an animal in order to heal it.

Smithy took another deep breath and told my mother to place her hands in the same spot as his. She did, and he took a step back to dip a piece of canvas into the plaster mixture. Slowly he smoothed it over the cloth, his fingers steady and gentle.

It was slow, painful work — each layer had to dry before another could be put on, and there were five layers. My arm ached from the constant pressure of my mother's resolute hold, and more than once Jester left to bring me some of Pepper's tea; the final time he did this, he returned with an entire pot. I nearly gagged at the sight.
After I let loose another irrepressible groan, Gunther halted in his pacing across the forge and turned to Smithy with a black scowl. "Why is continually pushing down on her broken arm necessary? This is hurting her too much!"

Smithy sighed, rubbing a plastery finger across his furrowed brow. "If the grip in not constant until the plaster dries to its shape, the bone may heal crooked, and eventually have to be re-broken to correct it."

Gunther glanced at me, his expression nearly as miserable as mine, and then began his pacing with renewed fervor.

Jester watched this exchange with a puzzled look, before leaning against Smithy's worktable and turning his attention back to my arm. "This must have been excruciating when it was set," he said, frowning sympathetically at me. "How did you handle the pain?"

"Oh, Jane was fine," Lavinia said, appearing at my mother's elbow. "Gunther held her hand."

Jester's gaze flew to Gunther, his blue-gray eyes widening to the size of Rake's prize cabbages. "What? You did?"

"I was her emotional support," Gunther drawled sardonically, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at Jester.

I spat out the sip of tea I had just taken and glared at Gunther. He only flashed me a quick grin, so charming and playful it made my breath catch in my throat, and then went back to his pacing.

In the following awkward silence, my mother glanced between Gunther and me as if something new and exciting had just occurred to her, Smithy continued as if nothing had been said, and Jester stared at me, stunned.

"You… are jesting — right?" he finally asked no one in particular, his voice a tad desperate.

I coughed.

"Oh no, not at all," Gunther said cheerily. "We leave the jests to you, since you seem to do them so well."

Before I could find something heavy to throw at Gunther, Lavinia spoke, her high voice as merry as ever, completely oblivious to the tension. "Anyways, Jester, Daddy wants you to fetch Cuthbert for him so he can tell him he has very naughty."

Jester was silent for a moment longer; his mouth open as his gaze flicked from me to Gunther, looking as if her were waiting for one of us to laugh and say it had all been a joke.

"Er, yes, well then. I had better go get him, I suppose. Um, see you all later," he mumbled, before jogging out of the practice yard with one final glance back at me.

...

No one was quite sure exactly what the King and Queen said to the prince — but it was barely ten minutes after he had entered the throne room that he came to Gunther and me, apologized for his reckless behavior, and promised that he would never be that irresponsible again. After that, he went to speak with Rake — who he would be working with for the next few days to help restore his garden to its former glory.

Of course, he said all this with the worst attitude he could possibly summon; but he did say it, and that was enough. I was officially impressed with the Majesties' management of him.

The only item of bother after that was what Sir Theodore would have to say about our failure. Even after five years of seeing him daily, I still had no idea what to expect from the old knight — and the lack of knowledge sat like a ponderous rock at the base of my stomach, weighing down my thoughts.

"Do you think he will be very angry?" I asked Gunther apprehensively as we headed up the stairs to the knight's quarters. The cast had dried after an excessive amount of time, I had been forced to retire for a nap during which I did not sleep, and finally we were sent for by Sir Theodore. Every extra minute had given me countless opportunities to think of unpleasant methods of punishment.

Gunther shrugged. Then, looking sideways at me, he commented, "Your walking seems to be much improved."

"Yes. Smithy was right about that, I suppose."

He nodded, and then took a deep breath before rapping his knuckles on the door.

"Come in," Theodore called.

We entered to see Theodore at his desk, with two stools placed in front of it. Guessing what was desired of us, I sank onto one of the stools, and Gunther perched on the edge of the other. We waited anxiously as Theodore set his quill next to his inkwell and looked up at us.

"Well, squires, I have to say that I am quite impressed," he said finally, his bushy moustache pulled into a faint smile.

Gunther and I exchanged looks.

"Even with this unfortunate turn of events, you have behaved admirably. You have assisted each other in your duties, been there for one another when it was required, and still managed to complete the assignment."

I raised my eyebrows, suddenly sure my ears had stopped working properly. "…We have, Sir?"

Theodore nodded. "Indeed. You have shown a level of camaraderie and mutual support that I had not thought you two possessed in regards to each other."
"So… you are not going to punish us?" Gunther asked, confusion written on his furrowed brows.

Theodore shook his head. "No, I am not. Punishing you for an accident, one beyond your control, would be quite unfair."

"But…" I frowned, "it was not beyond our control." Gunther kicked one of my stool legs, a not-so-subtle hint to hush myself, but I continued anyway, ignoring him. "If I had told the prince to stop —"

"He would not have. Most likely, he would not have ceased unless you picked him up and carried him away."

I opened my mouth once more, but Gunther grabbed my hand and tugged me to my feet, dipped his head at Sir Theodore, and yanked me out onto the balcony.
"Do not look a gift horse in the mouth, Jane," he said, once the solid, thick door was closed and no sound from the balcony would be heard inside the quarters.

"What do you mean?" I asked huffily, slightly miffed at his grabbing me.

"Oh, just be satisfied with the way something is for once in your life," he muttered, brushing a stray midnight-colored lock from where it clung to the corner of his mouth.

"Not being satisfied is the way you bring about change," I argued.

"Jane, change is not always good," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Change is necessary —"

Gunther tapped my nose with the tip of his finger and I jumped the tiniest bit in surprise. "You do not actually want to be punished, do you?" he asked, a wry smile twisting up the corner of his mouth.

I shook my head.

"Then just let it be," he murmured. "Sometimes things are better left the way they are."

He was wrong — I was sure that he was completely and utterly incorrect — and yet I could not for the life of me remember why. Somehow I had managed to forget what I had been going to say, as he was inexplicably leaning closer to me, his head tilted to one side.

"You have a freckle right here, you know," he said vaguely, tapping the corner of my mouth. "Just a small one. You have had it as long as I can remember."

I did not say anything, but then the door we were standing in front of opened, and Sir Theodore came out. Though we jumped apart before he raised his eyes from the paper in his hand, he still appeared surprised to see us standing there.

"…Squires," he said, clearing his throat, "should you not be practicing?"

"How can I?" I asked with a frown. "My arm —"

"Ah yes," he said, glancing at my new cast before heading down the stairs. "How could I have forgotten?"

My fingers absently brushed the corner of my mouth as Gunther and I followed behind him.

After a minute, we stopped in front of the weapons shed, and Theodore bent to retrieve our practice swords.

"Now, this activity may be quite strenuous for you, Jane. Do you believe you are well enough to practice?" he questioned, handing one of the wooden swords to Gunther.

"I will be fine, sir." My words came out just as I had intended them to — steady and sure, with no hint of that ridiculous weakness that had been plaguing me all day.
Theodore gave me a searching look, the sword still held loosely in his weathered hands. I had the sinking feeling that he was not going to give it to me — that I would sit and study while Gunther practiced, day after day, until my wounds healed and I had lost every knightly skill I possessed.

However, that did not happen. Slowly Theodore extended the wooden handle, and I reached to take it with an internal sigh of relief.

But his fingers stayed tight on the other end of the blade. Confused, I looked up at him.

"I am giving this to you, Squire Jane," he said sternly, "with the understanding that if you feel the slightest bit unwell or unable to practice, you will inform me of it. This is one of the highest forms of trust knights place upon each other — that they will recognize and share with one another physical inabilities. This is not an invitation for you to punish your body for being weak; do you understand?"

I nodded, glancing down again. How was it that everyone seemed to comprehend me so well? "Yes, sir. I understand."

He released the blade and then led us to the center of the practice yard. "This is a perfect opportunity for both of you to learn left hand technique. When a knight's sword arm is injured," he nodded to me, "they will often have to fight with their opposite hand, and so much be just as adept with it as they are with their dominant hand."

I looked at the rough wood clutched in my left hand and frowned. It felt wrong there, like trying to chop a tree down with a fishing rod. Certain things simply did not go together, and my left hand with a sword was apparently one of them.

Gunther seemed to be of the same mindset as me, as his sword was receiving a harsh scowl.

"Now, take your stances —"

"Jane! Jane! I have brought your present!"

The three of us glanced up, to where Dragon spiraled above. As he was right beneath the bright autumn sun, it was hard to distinguish his shape except by squinting.
"What is it?" I called, watching him descend, his great wings beating mightily.

"It is a —"

But I needed no answer. As he passed out of the sun's glare, I could see just what present he held so delicately in his massive claws, the present he had declared would "cheer me up."

It was a cow.

A poor, horrified cow who was lowing in a deep, hoarse manner, struggling in Dragon's powerful claws.

"Dragon! What do you think you are doing?" I shouted, stepping forward as Dragon set the creature on the ground. It instantly made a break for it, galloping through the open stable door and out through the front barbican, reaching freedom in the fields beyond.

"Oy! Come back!" Dragon yelled after it. Glancing down at me, he announced reassuringly, "Now, do not worry, Jane, I will get your cow right back!"

He crouched, readying himself to push off the ground, but I immediately grabbed his foreleg. "No, Dragon, please do not! I am fine. I do not need a cow. I am perfectly happy without one, I swear it!"

Dragon lowered his head so we were eye to eye. "Are you sure? Because I would be back with it in a jiffy —"

"No, really. It is sweet of you to think of me, but next time, please do not get me something… alive. Besides, that poor thing will probably never be the same."

Crushed as he was that his not very well thought out plan had failed, I gave him a one-armed hug and pressed a kiss to his scaly green nose.

"Thank you anyway for the thought, Dragon," I murmured.

"Yes, well, I was thinking since cows always cheer me up…" he trailed off dejectedly.

"It is fine," I smiled. "Just leave the cows in the pastures next time, alright?"

He nodded, flopping himself on the castle wall.

Turning back to Gunther and Theodore, I once again picked up my wooden sword, hoping none of them saw the shuddering breath that resulted from leaning over. "Where were we?" I asked confidently, summoning as much of my usual vigor as I could.

And after ten minutes of basic instruction, Gunther and I were back to sparring, just like usual.

Except for the fact that as the minutes passed, it became obvious neither of us could land a successful blow.

"No, no, Squire Gunther, it is the left-hand version of the stroke — not the opposite; and Jane, make sure your hand is positioned correctly on the handle. Gunther, waving your sword up and down will not accomplish anything! Jane, please control the swings — make sure they end before you hit yourself."

"Left hand training, eh?" Sir Ivon asked as he ambled up to us, scratching his head. "How are they doin'?"

"It could be worse," Theodore said, hands on hips as he watched us go at it yet again.

"How," I grunted, jabbing in Gunther's general direction, "could this possibly be any worse?"

Gunther swung so hard he almost spun halfway around. "If we were holding our swords out handle first?"

"Yes, I suppose."

My lungs were heaving with exertion, but I knew as I swung at Gunther once again that I could not stop now. Already my injuries affected my movements less; I figured that the sooner I readjusted to daily life again, the faster I would heal. And so I had to ignore the spreading ache that had begun about half an hour before in my stomach, and forget about the funny sting in my side each time my torso twisted too far, and disregard every message my exhausted body sent me. I would get through this. I was determined to.

Lifting my sword once more, I slashed forward and nearly clipped Gunther on the ear.

"Watch it," Gunther grumbled, staying out of reach of my flimsy swipes.

"Sorry," I said; or tried to say, but my mouth was not working properly, and instead it came out as a garbled moan. My sword slipped from my sweat-dampened fingers, and suddenly I found myself on my knees, the world spinning dizzily before my eyes.

"Jane!"

Gunther was abruptly right in front of me, his hands clasped tight on my shoulders, his eyes so close to mine I imagined I could see clouds swirling in their depths. "Jane, are you alright?"

"Yes, of course," I said woozily. "I am fine. We should keep going, or we will never get better."

"No, Jane, I think you should rest now," Gunther said worriedly, Dragon's large head peeking over his shoulder.

"Yes, I think so too," Theodore said, also leaning over me. "Can you walk, Squire?"

"Of c-course I can walk," I muttered, my tongue tripping over the words as I attempted to stumble to my feet. I was nearly there when my legs once again buckled beneath me.

Everything began whirling in loopy circles. I was suddenly reminded of dancing at a ball when I was younger, spinning and spinning until the world was nothing but a blur of colors and my head hurt as badly as if it had received a kick from an enraged horse.

Vaguely I heard Dragon's frantic voice echoing in my ears, though I could not discern his words — in fact, I could not quite tell what anyone was saying. Their voices rushed and tumbled together until it all just sounded like a waterfall crashing on stones.

However, clarity returned with a sharp snap at Gunther's suggestion. "…I could carry her, Sir Theodore."

"No no no!" I protested weakly — but it was too late. Sir Theodore had already agreed, and then Gunther was gently scooping me up and heading towards my tower, the wind from Dragon's wing beat above us ruffling his hair.

Still objecting loudly, I squirmed a bit in Gunther's arms; but that hurt, so I stopped. After a moment more of complaining, I noticed the complete and total lack of response I was receiving, and so fell silent.

"Why must you always overwork yourself, Jane? You never ask for help when you need it. Why did you not tell anyone you felt so poorly?" Gunther asked once I was quiet, his footfalls soft on the stairs despite my added weight.

"Because that would be whining," I grumbled grouchily. "And really, I feel fine…"

Gunther snorted.

We continued on, luckily in silence, as I had no energy for anything longer than a few words. My arm, sore from all the left-hand practice, was looped around Gunther's neck, and when the dizziness returned, spreading a fuzzy sort of nausea across my brain, I leaned my head against his shoulder, closed my eyes, and tried simply to breathe.

On the walkway to my tower, we encountered Jester, who was strumming his lute and humming absently. He immediately demanded to know what happened, and after that was explained, ("She overextended herself, like she always does," Gunther said) he insisted on carrying me instead.

"Ha! You?" Gunther laughed, the sound sending a deep rumble through his chest — and, by extension, through me. Still chuckling slightly, he began to walk again.

"I bet I could!" Jester snapped, following along behind Gunther.

"I doubt it," Gunther said, amusement in his words. "She is heavy."

"Rude," I mumbled, still with my eyes shut, my face resting on Gunther's soft gray tunic.

"I am sure it is pure muscle, Jane," Gunther muttered to me, his breath warm on my forehead. Then I felt him raise his head to look at Jester once more. "Why do we not test this when Jane's safety is not at stake?" he suggested, a smirk sliding into his voice. "I do not think we should trust her wellbeing to your skinny little arms."

At this, Jester burst into a long line of clever insults, which Gunther replied to lazily, as if Jester's words were not only lies, but also a massive waste of time.

Their arguing seemed to add to the pounding beat reverberating in my head, and I found myself cringing at each increasingly crass thing they uttered to each other.

"Stop it," I murmured to them hoarsely, my eyes squeezed tight, as if the darkness behind my eyelids was the only safe place in the world. "Stop it, both of you."

Neither of them appeared to hear or notice me whatsoever, so I increased my efforts — though the harder I tried to raise my voice, the quieter it seemed to become. I felt like I was sinking down, down, away, and no matter how loud I screamed neither of them would hear me.

Finally, I opened my eyes — searing pain bursting through my head at the sun's bright light — and shifted my head to look up at them. "Would you both just shut up?" I asked, my voice the jagged crash of stone on stone. It was not at all the demand I had hoped it would sound like, and they only looked at me, as surprised as if they had forgotten I was there. Taking a deep breath, I added quietly, "It is not helping."

Instantly Gunther's handsome face lost its smirk. "Of course, Jane. We are almost there," he said softly. Vaguely I heard him ask Jester to open my door, and then we were in my room, and Gunther was setting me carefully on my bed.

I wanted to get up, to rise to my feet and prove that I was fine; great… ready for anything; but every inch of me was screaming for rest and besides, I had already abused my body enough for one day. So exhausted that I managed to ignore both Gunther and Jester, I laid down on my back and let my eyes do as they wished, which was to fall closed and stay that way as long as they were able.

The next few hours were less any sort of rational sequence of events as they were a series of random scenes slapped together in a nonsensical manner. People flitted in and out of my room in a constant stream, but Jester and Gunther always remained, Jester sitting near my feet and Gunther at my bedside, arms crossed with a surly expression.

At some point, I awoke from a light doze to hear my mother's voice in the courtyard below. Her voice was low and cold and very, very angry, and I glanced over at Gunther, who was closer to the window. "Who is she talking to?"

"Sir Theodore," he answered, with a glance outside.

I winced. "Saints above, imagine if she convinces him to rescind my apprenticeship."

At some earlier point Jester's hand had settled on my shin, and he patted my leg gently. "I will go speak with her, Jane, do not worry. Get some rest."

He rose and left, and a minute later the voices quieted.

Smithy entered a bit later, bringing with him medicine made from poppy seeds. Poppy was notorious not only for its strong painkilling abilities, but also its numerous side effects — but apparently everyone believed I needed something strong. When Smithy eventually talked me into drinking it, it tasted a bit less foul than the willow bark, but had a strange, bitter aftertaste that left my mouth parched with thirst.

Lavinia came in next, and though I could not really remember her visit, I woke up a little later with eight more furred toys surrounding me than I had started with.

I crossed the line between awake and asleep numerous times, though occasionally I seemed to just sit right on top on the line as well, a foot on either side — neither conscious or unconscious, but a blend of the two. Times like these I could hear people speaking, and found their words insinuating themselves into odd, warped dreams involving people I had never met and yet seemed to know. It was not until the poppy seeds had time to wear off that I returned to any sense of reality, painful as it might have been. It was hours before I could even discern the time, and once I finally managed to gather myself enough to glance out the window, I saw it was dark and had been for a while. At this point, people stopped entering and began to leave; the groups of people who were amassing by my bedside slowly dispersed until only Jester and Gunther remained. An hour or two after everyone else had left, a maid entered carrying a chipped mug filled to the brim with the new medicine.

"If I may ask," she murmured softly to Jester, gently setting the mug on my bedside table and brushing her hands on her skirt as all maids seemed to have a habit of doing, "how was Milady injured?

"Oh, get her out of here," I growled at Gunther. The maid sent me a glance, and then huffed, heading for the door.

"Yes, go 'milady' someone else, will you?" I muttered in her wake, turning into my pillow.

Gunther made a strange choking noise, and glancing at him, I saw he was repressing laughter. Or attempting to, at least. I scowled at him as well, and then at the mug set innocently on the small table. "I will not drink that," I said firmly.

Instantly Gunther's amusement disappeared into determination. "Now, Jane…" he said, sounding so much like a wheedling Pepper that I found my resolve folding into a grin — "do not be stupid…"

"Please, Jane," Jester said with a tired smile. "Just drink it. You know it will help."

I glanced at the mug, my eyes tracing the textured space where a chunk was missing. Biting my lip absently, I weighed the benefits of giving in against the costs. The costs won. "No," I said resolutely. "I will not."

Jester and Gunther both opened their mouths at the same time, but they were interrupted by the weary rumble of Dragon from the window. They both jumped, apparently (in his silence) having forgotten he was there. "Jane, please," Dragon said. "I know it means you cannot think straight, but at least then you do not hurt. I…" he trailed off, cleared his throat, and began again — "I do not want you to be in pain, Jane."

I looked at him, his eyes brighter in the dark room than even the several burning candles, and finally reached for the mug. At his immediate smile I found a returning one emerging on my face, though mine was rather a bit smaller — and then I downed the viscous liquid. Minutes later I descended into darkness once more.

Pepper came in some indeterminable amount of time later, lugging an entire tray of food with her. After shooing out my two hovering, under-qualified nursemaids, (as well as closing the window Dragon's head had been poking through) she forced me to drink several glasses of water in quick succession ("Cannot have you getting dehydrated, now can we?"); and after that she stuffed a countless variety of foods down my throat.

"Do you realize, petal, that you have not eaten all day?" she asked, bustling about my room, tidying and lighting a fire in the empty grate.

"Really?" I asked drowsily.

"Yes. I thought that you had, simply because you usually eat as much as you can whenever possible… but I suppose you have been drinking so much tea your stomach thought it was full!"

"That sounds reasonable," I mumbled, snuggling against my pillow.

"You have a nice rest, Jane, and hopefully you will feel better in the morning," Pepper said, patting my hand and exiting with her tray.

"You can go in now," I heard her say softly to someone outside my door, and then Gunther walked in; I could tell because no one else's footsteps were quite as soft as his. Even Jester (as light as he was on his feet) sounded like a clunking elephant compared to Gunther when he wished to be silent. I could hardly remember that day so long ago when my footwork had been better than his.

"Do you feel better?" Gunther asked, coming to stand next to my bedside.

I nodded, yawning. "Where is Jester?" I wondered sleepily.

Gunther's mouth pulled in a strange expression. "Why?"

"I do not know. It just seems as if somehow you two were arguing outside my door for a while, but whenever it was loud enough for me to hear, Pepper would shush you…." I frowned, suddenly unsure this had actually happened. Had I dreamed the two voices outside, one rough and low and the other higher sounding and nearing aggressive? Most of the things I had thought and said in the past bed-ridden hours had been unintelligible — Smithy said this was a combination of lack of sleep and not enough food, but mostly this new medicine.

"Yes, we were," Gunther replied, after a bit.

"I was just wondering if he is still outside, waiting to argue with you again," I murmured, my eyes wandering over his face. He looked almost as exhausted as I was, and years older than just the day before.

He shook his head. "No, he went to bed."

"What were you arguing about?"

"Oh — nothing."

"Uh-huh," I said softly, closing my eyes once more.

After a silence — one long enough that I thought Gunther had left — he spoke again. "Jane?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind if I sat down?"

I shook my head and the mattress dipped as Gunther sat. The room returned to silence once more, except for the tiny rustling sound of his fingers playing with the blanket folds. I could feel myself perched on that middle line again, drifting towards sleep whilst remaining awake, and almost as if I were someone else I could hear my breathing deepen and slow.

"Are you asleep?" Gunther asked, so soft it was almost a whisper. The idea of responding sounded silly to my drugged and fatigued mind, so I said nothing and only shifted my head the smallest bit on the pillow. "I suppose so," he said. He let out a tiny sigh and stood. I did not hear him move for minutes after that as I slipped closer to the world of dreams. Eventually he reached forward and brushed my hair off my forehead with gentle fingers, muttering a goodnight. Quiet steps moved away, and I finally roused myself enough to mumble his name.

"Gunther?"

"Yes?" he asked. I had not bothered to open my eyes, so I was not sure if he was faced towards me or not.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"All of it… everything — the last day. You made all of it easier." I forced my eyes slightly open, revealing a slit of my room and Gunther's back where he stood turned away. His head was angled downward, the hair I had always imagined as soft but never been brave enough to verify rumpled against the back of his neck.

"You are welcome," he said a long pause later, softly and without looking at me — and then he left. The door shut quietly, and I knew he was gone.

After closing my eyes once more, I heard Dragon bump open the shutters with his nose. "Jane?" he whispered.

"Dragon?" I asked, my voice muddled.

"Pepper said I should not bother you. Am I bothering you?" he wondered anxiously, his head sticking in through my window, smoky warm breath billowing on my blankets.

"You never bother me," I said, nearly incoherent.

"Champion. Well, I just wanted to say good night, I guess."

"Good night, Dragon," I murmured.

"Good night, Jane."

"...Dragon?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Jane. Sleep well."