Gunther had not expected to be nervous. No, not nervous; he was not the type to succumb to his nerves. He was on-edge, he decided, like a warrior before battle, preparing for the unknown.
Never mind that he was standing in one of the many castle hallways, where he had been led by Lady Adeline before she disappeared behind the door into Jane's room.
He had arrived back in the early hours of the afternoon, passed Gallant into Smithy's care, bolted down a late lunch and then scrubbed away the sweat from the journey, changed into a fresh tunic and dragged his fingers through his hair. He seemed to have passed Lady Adeline's inspection when she collected him from the great hall, if her approving nod was any indication. She had led him through a warren of hallways and staircases further into the heart of the castle than Gunther had ever been, but he tried to make note of the way, despite the acceleration of his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms.
"The barber surgeon believes it would be unwise to force memories back into Jane if she is not ready to receive them," said Adeline as they walked. "She is not to be told things she does not remember, for fear of overwhelming her. If she is overcome in this way we may lose her entirely, and she could forget everything of who she is."
"I understand," said Gunther, lying. "So I should not tell her anything?"
"Nothing she does not remember for herself. As has always been the case, it seems we must allow Jane to set her own pace," she added with a sigh. "Some facts are acceptable, of course, such as who you are and things you would tell someone upon first meeting."
That was going to make things difficult, thought Gunther. Would he be able to treat Jane as though she were a total stranger to him? Just because she did not remember him did not mean that she was not still the annoying thorn in his side she had always been. He supposed he would have to treat her with cool indifference and hope she did not provoke him.
He rubbed his clammy hands against his trouser legs.
Preparation, not nerves.
"Well now, here we are," said the Lady-in-Waiting, shaking Gunther from his thoughts as she pulled open the door into the room and gestured him in.
It was only after he had stepped inside that it occurred to Gunther that he had never been formally presented to a lady of the court before, unless being introduced to Lady Adeline herself when he was a child counted, which to Gunther in this moment it certainly did not.
Even then he had not been summoned to Lady Adeline 's bedchamber, and she had not been in bed at the time.
For there sat Jane, nestled amongst pillows and blankets, a delicate shawl around her thin shoulders and her hair neatly arranged to one side -loose, Gunther noted absently. She looked small in the giant bed, her skin abnormally pale, her eyes seeming greener in contrast.
Gunther tripped over his own feet and stumbled awkwardly into the room.
"Jane," said Lady Adeline, politely and pointedly ignoring his clumsiness. "I present Sir Gunther Breech. Sir Gunther, Lady Jane Turnkey."
"My Lady," said Gunther, bowing.
"Sir Knight," Jane inclined her head.
Gunther stared, unsure what to say, painfully aware that everything they would normally speak about was firmly off-limits.
"You look well," he said at last, stiffly.
"You are kind to say so," replied Jane with a demure smile. "Although I fear Mother and her barber surgeon disagree."
"I must defer to them in their knowledge of your care," said Gunther, still standing uncomfortably inside the door.
"Will you not sit?" Jane raised a hand, so pale it was almost translucent, and gestured weakly towards a chair placed an appropriate distance from the bed.
"Uh . . . " Gunther glanced at Lady Adeline, who gave an encouraging nod. "Thank you, my Lady." He walked across the room, his movement as unnatural as one of Jester's puppets under the eyes of the two women, and mentally cursed himself the whole way.
"Mother, surely the Queen cannot continue to spare you? I fear I have kept you from her too much of late." said Jane, with a hint of guilt.
"The Queen has assured me that your recovery is of utmost importance to her," said Lady Adeline. "Although I regret that I must neglect my duty."
"My recovery is in no danger, Mother," Jane reassured her. "And I feel completely safe in Sir Gunther's company. Please do not allow me to keep you from her unnecessarily."
"If you are quite convinced," said Adeline, glancing wistfully towards the door.
"Mother, please, seeing you so troubled only upsets me."
"Well, that will not do," said Adeline decisively. "I will call upon the Queen to ensure all is well and then re-join you both shortly."
Gunther, who had watched the exchange with growing disbelief, hurriedly stood as she left the room. She was leaving? Leaving him alone to not say anything wrong to her invalid daughter? He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly as she departed.
"Oh, she worries so," sighed Jane as the door closed behind her mother.
Gunther folded back down onto the chair and Jane -Lady Jane- he reminded himself sternly, watched him expectantly from her bed.
There were windows in the room but the shutters were closed and heavy drapes drawn across them. The air was stuffy, and the fire burning in the grate kept it uncomfortably warm.
Jane continued to watch him as he tried not to shift in the chair. In truth it was a comfortable seat and the warmth was nearly enough to send him into a doze, were it not for a pair of watchful green eyes. Hopefully this visit would end quickly so he could seek out his hammock.
A yawn crept up on him and Gunther did his best to conceal it behind his hand, but of course Jane saw. She was never one to be accused of being unobservant.
"Oh, forgive me, you must be tired! Mother told me you had a quest this morning but I simply had to see you, Sir Gunther, I do hope you understand."
Gunther blinked at her. Jane had never been inclined to care about his weariness before, either.
But this was Lady Jane, he reminded himself, and she did not know him.
"It was merely a small errand, my Lady, I assure you if you require my service you need only ask," he said, trying to remember the flowery chivalrous language he had been trained in by Lady Adeline. He had struggled through those lessons with Jane studying beside him, never dreaming that he would one day be speaking to her in such a manner.
"Kind Sir, you have done so much for me already," said Jane, pressing that frail hand to her chest. "I wish only to express my gratitude."
"I . . . what?" Gunther blinked. "My Lady I must confess my confusion . . . ."
"Well I am sure to you it was simply one of many heroic exploits, but Sir Gunther you have saved my life, not once but twice, from that terrible dragon. I find myself at a loss for words to tell you how appreciative I am." She smiled at him then, a genuine, if reserved, smile that left Gunther feeling winded.
How had she come by these absurd notions?
"My Lady, please, you were in no danger, I merely happened to be nearby . . . The dragon meant you no harm."
"So Mother tells me, to comfort me no doubt as I am sure you mean to do also, but I simply refuse to believe that awful beast had any good intentions!" Jane shook her head stubbornly.
Gunther thought of Dragon, sitting forlornly in his cave and setting the cabbage soup aside to eat 'later' when Gunther had delivered the news of Jane's continued illness. He winced on the reptile's behalf at her harsh words.
"I suppose we should all be grateful that it chose to target me instead of the Princess. She is a rare beauty, is she not?" Jane continued. "She has been visiting daily to read to me, although it is I who should be attending to her needs, of course. She is truly kind."
Gunther nodded absently, bewildered. What had become of Jane? He knew, of course, that she had forgotten her past, but had she really altered so radically?
"I must confess I had an ulterior motive in wanting to see you," Jane lowered her voice conspiratorially.
"Indeed?" Gunther tried to keep his voice even, uncertain what to expect next.
"Oh, yes. You have afforded me respite from the services of that appalling court jester! His songs grow drearier by the day, and as for his jokes . . . !" Jane rolled her eyes.
Gunther gaped at her. No wonder Jester had been sulking each evening- he had clearly failed to impress this new Jane.
"What do you think of his talents, Sir Gunther?"
Gunther wasn't sure how to answer the question. It was true he found Jester trying more often than not, and he very much doubted that he would ever consider the other man a friend, but his voice was not entirely unpleasant, and some of his jokes were tolerable. But Jane, Lady Jane, disliked him, and it was impolite to disagree with a lady.
"Well, he is, uh, I believe the King enjoys him greatly."
"Indeed, so Mother tells me. I expect that if the King were trapped in bed as I am he would soon find his company less delightful." She sank further into her pillows. "Truly, you have saved me once again, Sir Gunther. I am unsure how I can possibly thank you."
"Nothing would please me more than to see you fully recovered and out of bed," said Gunther. And cleaning out the chicken coop, he thought.
"You are so kind," Jane's smile was enough to cause Gunther to feel a pang of guilt. "I too would love to be free of this bed. I have so much to reacquaint myself with. But the barber surgeon says that until my weariness fades I must rest." She sighed. "He shall be back tomorrow with his horrid leeches."
"You are still being bled? Whatever for?"
"It is what the barber thinks best." Jane sighed again. "I have never liked leeches. I may not remember much, but I remember that."
"What else do you remember?" asked Gunther, his curiosity seizing the chance.
"Oh, the important things, I suppose. Who I am, who my parents are, that sort of thing. I know I am no longer a child, I simply do not remember how I came to be an adult." Her eyes drifted closed for a moment before she forced them open again. "I do not remember you, Sir Gunther."
Gunther held her gaze briefly as she studied his face, but it was clear she did not find any memories hidden there. Of course she wouldn't, he was hardly an important part of her life.
"There is very little for you to remember, my Lady," he said, looking away.
"I find that difficult to believe, Sir Gunther," she said softly, before yawning.
"I should let you rest," said Gunther, beginning to rise.
"No, please stay. Mother will return shortly. I will just rest my eyes for a moment." Jane fixed him with another smile before her lashes brushed against her cheeks, and Gunther found he could not refuse.
Settling back into the chair he took the opportunity to study her more closely. Even her freckles seemed to have paled, and dark circles surrounded her eyes. She looked . . . drained. Of energy, of life, of her essential Jane-ness.
Gunther did not profess to be an expert, but to still be bleeding her seemed excessive. She looked like she had very little more to give.
The fire crackled, the noise loud in the quiet room, but Jane did not stir. Weariness beckoned to Gunther as well but he found he could not stop studying Jane. Frail fingers clasped together atop her blankets, looking like they could never have had the strength to wield a sword.
Her head shifted slightly against the pillow and her hair moved in response, vibrant and boisterous curls which sat in stark contrast with pale linen and pale skin.
Her hair at least remained unchanged in character, even more unruly now that it was free from the braid she had taken to keeping it in.
Gunther realised he was smiling as he stared at her hair, raising a disbelieving hand to his lips. There was nothing to smile about here. Jane was sick and her hair was still a mess, that was all.
He stood up, feeling wrong somehow for heeding her request to stay and watching her sleep, which she almost certainly was doing now. She was vulnerable and it was unnerving.
He moved quietly towards the door, intending to make his exit unnoticed, when he ran into Lady Adeline stepping in from the hallway.
Indicating the need for silence, he guided her back out of the room.
"She is sleeping," he said softly once they were clear of her door.
"Did she remember anything?" asked the Lady-in-Waiting, a note of hope entering her voice.
"I am afraid not," said Gunther.
"Oh . . . I had thought that perhaps seeing a knight would help," she said, her hopeful expression crumbling. "Oh, Sir Gunther." She lowered herself onto a bench in the corridor outside of her family's living quarters.
Gunther fished frantically through his pockets in search of his kerchief, and upon finding it handed it to the distraught lady.
"Thank you, Sir," she said, dabbing delicately at her cheeks. "I am terribly sorry to trouble you."
"Not at all," said Gunther, as reassuringly as he could.
In his youth he had wondered if the hours spent studying chivalry could not have been better used in the pursuit of physical skills, yet it seemed today that his studies would be put to use twice. "I am at your service, my Lady."
Adeline sniffed daintily and looked at him with watery eyes, her gaze assessing.
"You have been most gracious today, Sir Gunther," she said eventually, and although her voice wavered slightly her tone indicated no judgement. "Your kindness will not be forgotten, I assure you."
Gunther ducked his head, a sense of guilt stirring within him. Was Jane so convinced of his heroics that even her mother believed he was every bit the gallant knight?
"From the moment I knew I was with child I dreamed of having a daughter," she began speaking again, looking past him now into the recesses of her memory. "The things I would teach her, the joy she would bring me. Other ladies wished for sons, but not I. When Jane was born my joy could not have been greater, and then I was appointed to the Queen. I knew my little girl would one day keep the company of a princess." She bunched the kerchief in her hands, twisting it this way and that. "As the years went on Milly and I realised we were not to be blessed again, but I did not mind terribly. I had my sweet Jane."
Gunther shifted uncomfortably, uncertain if he was truly meant to be hearing this. Perhaps the Lady had forgotten about his presence and he should quietly take his leave?
"But, of course, in the end Jane had other ideas," Adeline brought her gaze back to the present, back to Gunther, and smiled at him ruefully. "And as you know, Sir Gunther, when Jane sets her mind to something there is no altering her course."
He nodded quickly, abandoning his plans for escape. "Her determination is legendary, my Lady," he agreed instead.
"I could have born it from a son," she continued, her voice taking on a watery quality again. "but such terrible things are done to undeserving women, I cannot help but worry. When she rushes headlong into danger I find myself wishing she were a meek and proper young lady, and not the person she is. I am a terrible mother!" she gasped, pressing the kerchief to her mouth.
"No!" said Gunther, awkwardly. He had never witnessed such a display of emotion from the Lady-in-Waiting before. "No, please."
He took a step forward, hovering briefly before sitting down beside her. He considered taking her free hand in his but decided their conversation was uncomfortable enough.
"You are a most kind and caring mother," he said firmly. "Jane has long been aware that she is fortunate to have both you and the Lord Chamberlain to support and guide her."
Granted, she did more than her fair share of complaining about them, too, but that did not need mentioning just now. It had never sat well with Gunther when she did, but snapping at Jane in defence of her parents would only lead to uncomfortable questions, so he had always bitten his tongue. Jane could be like a dog with a bone when she decided that Gunther needed to talk about something.
"Truthfully?" Lady Adeline broke him from his thoughts.
"She speaks of you often when we travel from home," he said. "I believe she misses you."
"Oh." Her eyes welled with fresh tears. "I had no idea."
"Jane will be well again soon, I am sure," said Gunther, more confidently than he felt. "She is too stubborn to stay in bed much longer."
"She is getting terribly bored," conceded Lady Adeline. "but she is still so weak."
"I think, if I may be so bold, it might be best to stop the leeching. Trust in Jane to rebuild her strength," suggested Gunther hesitantly.
Adeline looked at him in surprise. "Her father has been saying the same thing," she admitted eventually. "You may both be right."
Gunther thought about the pale, fragile version of Jane who slept on the other side of the door and hoped that they were.