Note: All the way back in 2018 Keylimecliche posted a beautiful aesthetic/fic concept for an aged-up Dragonphobia AU, and it lit a creative spark in me. I have been working on this fic on and off over the years since; although it is still not completed I just want to get it out into the world. I do intend to complete this, and hopefully not take ten years this time! Huge gratitude to Keylimecliche who has kindly been my beta reader and sounding board.
This is a romance, but happy endings are not guaranteed. It is a Janther fic, and it is an AU only in the sense that the events of the episode Dragonphobia have not occurred, beyond that we have simply jumped ten years into the future.
I hope you enjoy, let me know either way!
Chapter One - King's Knight
Supposedly Sir Gunther Breech was scouting locations for a royal hunting party to be held the following day.
In reality he was sprawled across a moss-cushioned log, studying the play of light through the leaves overhead and chewing on a twig.
The woods near the castle were peaceful and calm, summer flowers blooming where the sunlight kissed the earth and filling the air with their sweet perfume. Bees worked steadily, gathering their bounty as birdsong bounced through the trees.
The scene was idyllic and Gunther had the cosy little grove entirely to himself.
The gentle breeze was just enough to cool the sweat on his brow and the whispering sounds it made as it moved amongst the leaves were more soothing than any lullaby. He removed his doublet and folded it under his head as a pillow, deciding that a short nap was merited before he resumed his task.
He closed his eyes, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position, and sighed contentedly. He needed this, he rationalised. A moment or two of serenity, solitude and, most importantly, sleep.
Of course, he could stride forth into the woods with all the enthusiasm of a page at his first tourney, dedicated and working tirelessly to find the perfect location, set it up and then wait hopefully for a pat on the head, but he had already been that boy and it was no more a worthwhile endeavour now than it had been then.
No, the role of devoted servant was better left to Sir Jane d'Ark, who would set to it with alacrity as she always did.
It had taken some persuading that morning to convince her that they should cover more ground by searching separately, but he had eventually succeeded in ridding himself of her. Or more specifically the boundless energy and enthusiasm with which she approached each and every task. Gunther wondered where it came from. How did she wake up each morning happy -thrilled, even- to do the same mundane chores over and over again? She had a thirst for adventure, he knew. She spoke often of travelling with Dragon to far off places, of the people they might help along the way, and yet she remained day after day at the thoroughly unexciting Kippernia Castle.
If Gunther had been given the chance to fly off into the wide blue yonder to seek excitement and adventure he would have taken it and perhaps never looked back. But, as ever, such opportunities eluded him and instead fell at the feet of his comrade, who seemed not to even realise her good fortune.
No, for now at least Jane was happy to stay put and fulfil her duties to king and country. A noble goal, to be sure, but deadly dull when all was said and done.
Gunther envied her, in a way. He had once been so content, so thrilled to be a knight that he would have followed any order, answered any call, chased his duty into the midst of any skirmish, any war, anything at all, really.
Instead there had been sword polishing, castle maintenance, night watches and an inordinate amount of cleaning. The exciting and glamorous life of a knight that he had dreamed of as a boy had turned out to be just that -a dream. No wars sprung up, no damsels in distress appeared, and the occasional diplomatic journey to deliver some document or other to neighbouring kingdoms was as thrilling as it got.
The romance of being a knight had soon begun to dull, and had faded entirely now, six years in. All that remained in its stead was a suffocating sense of duty; a lifetime of boredom and servitude stretching ahead that left Gunther struggling to rise from his bed each morning.
Of course he still had to get up, still had to face each day, because of Jane. Five years into her own knighthood she showed no signs of disillusionment, no intention of slowing down. Gunther's presence was still required for sparring each morning, and if he no longer stretched himself beyond the most basic of verbal banter he could at least see the value in the daily physical exercise. A lack of passion for drudgery did not mean one should let oneself go altogether.
If Jane had noticed his lack of enthusiasm for their daily duties she never mentioned it, although she still tried to motivate him as she had when they had been squires, determined to see him pull his weight alongside her.
Gunther usually did his bit, if only to humour her. He played the role expected of him at court, obedient to the King, complimentary to the Queen, patient with their offspring. If there was one useful thing that his father had taught him it was how to play a role, how to pander. Life was more peaceful that way.
And if by day's end all he had done was the bare minimum, well, what of it? That was all anyone expected of him.
Even this exercise was a pointless one. The hunting party would go wherever they pleased regardless of Gunther's recommendations and he had enough mundane chores to occupy him when he returned to the castle.
It was times of stolen quiet such as this which made the monotony of daily life bearable.
Several moments passed and he was beginning to ease his way into sleep when the birds ceased their song.
Gunther did not stir, or even open his eyes. He simply laid still and waited; all hope of relaxation dashed as the ground started to tremble.
His reaction was not, as may have been expected, to jump to his feet in alarm. Instead he sat up, groaning, and waited as the vibrations grew stronger.
He stood at last just moments before a giant green beast burst through the scrubby undergrowth, hollering the young knight's name.
"Gunther! Gunther!"
"Sir Gunther," corrected the man in question wearily. "And you have probably just frightened away every deer in the blasted Kingdom."
"What does that matter?" replied Dragon in great agitation. "Jane is hurt!"
Gunther stared at him for a moment.
"Do you mean 'hurt' like the time she stubbed her toe and you would not allow her to walk anywhere for a week? Or 'hurt' as in you said something insensitive and now she refuses to speak to you?"
"No," said the dragon, his voice growing more frantic. "I mean hurt as in she has collapsed and I cannot wake her."
Frowning, Gunther collected his doublet and gestured for Dragon to lead the way back along the trail he had made through the woods.
"What happened?" he asked, ducking under wildly swinging branches as Dragon lumbered ahead.
"I found a dragonberry bush, and Jane did not realise they were not good for shortlives."
Gunther snorted. "Does Jane know that if she followed you off a cliff she would not sprout wings and fly?"
"Of course," said Dragon with a snarl in his voice. "Not that it matters, as I would catch her anyway."
"And thus we have a girl who thinks she is invincible and eats poisonous berries," Gunther muttered.
They arrived at a small clearing which held a bush covered in shiny pointed leaves and bright red berries.
Jane lay on the ground in front of it, and even Gunther was forced to admit her grey pallor was a little alarming.
When shaking her by the shoulder failed to produce a response he considered a slap on the cheek, before reasoning that even if it iwas/i enough to wake Jane he would probably find himself burnt to a crisp.
"We shall have to take her back to the castle," he said instead. "Can you carry her?"
"She will flop around in my claws like a rag doll," said the Dragon, twisting said claws together in agitation. "You carry her."
"But she is heavy, and it will take longer to return on foot," Gunther objected.
"Is it not your duty as a knight to help people in distress?" asked Dragon, lowering his head. "Because let me assure you, I am very distressed."
A small wisp of smoke escaped from his great nostrils as he spoke, and Gunther's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"All right, all right, fine," he relented. "But you shall have to fly ahead and prepare the castle for our arrival. Take a piece of that bush with you so they know what she has eaten."
"Champion idea!" said Dragon, uprooting the entire plant. "Do not dawdle, Knight," he warned, before taking off with a few quick wing beats.
Gunther ducked over Jane as dirt rained down upon them from the roots of the unfortunate shrub. When he raised his head he briefly met Jane's gaze as she stared at him, dazed and alarmed.
"Jane?" He reached to brush a clump of dirt from her cheek, but her eyes lost focus before he made contact and her brief moment of consciousness passed.
"Come on," he said, unsettled by the cold clamminess of her skin and the fear that had flickered across her face.
He wrapped her in his doublet before gathering her easily into his arms. In truth she was not terribly heavy at all; the difference between their adolescent growth spurts had been quite marked. Gunther was taller, broad and muscled where Jane was small, agile and thin as a whip.
Standing took some effort but once they were up Gunther was able to set a good pace through Dragon's short cut trail back into the grove he had been resting in and then on towards the castle.
Jane's braid hung over his arm, swinging to and fro with the motion of his steps. She began to frown and moan in discomfort as they cleared the woods, her movement making his task more laborious.
"That is what you get for eating poison berries," Gunther told her, trying to keep the concerned edge from his voice. "And if you drool on my shirt I shall be most displeased."
As they left the cover of the trees the full force of the hot, early summer sun beat unrelentingly down upon them. Jane had settled and was still again, the bright light emphasising the pallid quality of her skin.
There was a shout from up ahead and Gunther looked up to see Sir Theodore walking towards them along the castle path.
He was surprisingly sprightly for a man of seventy-six, but a good deal slower than he used to be. He paused and waited for Gunther to meet him, before falling into step beside him.
"Lady Adeline is preparing to meet you in Jane's tower," he said. "You are to take her there directly."
Gunther nodded. His arms had begun to ache but he could not tell Sir Theodore that.
"Is it likely to be serious?" he asked instead, a little short of breath.
"Those berries are quite potent," said the older knight. "Dragon thinks she only ate a small amount, so it may not prove fatal."
Fatal? Gunther swallowed. He hadn't realised it might be as bad as that.
He increased the length and speed of his strides, quickly out-pacing Sir Theodore as the castle grew closer. By the time he passed under the gates and up into the courtyard he was convinced Jane had doubled in weight. Breathing deeply he hurried through the gardens and into the training yard, gathering several followers in the shape of Rake, Pepper, and Jester, before climbing the stairs to Jane's tower with one last burst of effort.
Without needing instruction Jester ran ahead to open the tower door and then stepped quickly aside as Gunther staggered in, crossing the room and kneeling to lower Jane onto the bed under her mother's watchful gaze.
"Thank you, Sir Gunther," said the Lady briskly. "Now out, all of you. The barber surgeon will arrive shortly."
Gunther stood slowly and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. "If there is nothing else I can do?"
"You have done a great deal already, Sir," said the Lady-in-Waiting, evidently taking his well-mannered platitudes as a genuine offer. "Now go and take a rest and a drink. Pepper," she called, seeing the cook hover in the doorway. "See to Sir Gunther."
Pepper nodded and Gunther was ushered from the room, glancing back as Lady Adeline began attending to her daughter, before the door was closed, concealing them both. There was really nothing more he could do.
"You took your time," grumbled Dragon from his roost on top of the tower.
"I do not have wings," replied Gunther tiredly. He leant against the wall, rubbing his forearms.
"It was a mighty effort," said Pepper, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and guiding him towards the kitchen. "Now come along and I will get you something to eat."
The thought of a meal caused Gunther's stomach to growl so he followed her obediently. As the small group crossed back through the training yard they met Smithy, leading the barber surgeon towards Jane's room.
The grim-looking man nodded good-day in passing. Gunther returned his greeting, although he noticed the castle staff all glanced away uncomfortably.
They had been sheltered behind the castle walls for most of their lives, he supposed. They might have heard the stories of suffering and death that followed the barber and were reflected in his countenance, but they would know nothing of the small mercies he provided daily to the villagers. Children, tavern wenches and farmers alike owed their lives to the barber.
"Comforting looking fellow," said Jester quietly as he and Gunther paused to watch the barber climb the stairs.
Gunther hummed but said nothing, resuming his journey towards the kitchen. Neither Jane's mother nor Dragon would allow any further harm to come to her, so it would do no good to fret about the barber's skill.
Besides, he had been promised lunch.
Gunther and the others settled with a drink at the table in Rake's vegetable garden.
"I am sure all will be well," said Jester to no one in particular. "Jane has come through much worse."
"Hmm," said Smithy, joining them. "If anyone can bounce back from this, it is Jane. Thank you, Pepper," he added when the cook placed a loaf of bread on the table.
"A few belly pains will be the worst of it, I expect." Gunther reached for the bread and tore off a chunk. "I have seen her eat plenty of odd things when we are on the road. Cast iron stomach, that one." He sopped the bread in the gravy on the plate Pepper set in front of him. "She once found a dead rabbit and decided it was fresh enough to eat. I declined." He snorted at the memory. "She was fine."
He reached for his cup and drank deeply before returning his attention to his plate, failing to notice that no one else was eating.
"No, Jane may be many things, but delicate of constitution she is not."