It had been an exhausting day. Despite Sir Ivon's best efforts a lot of the jobs Gunther had planned to do the previous morning had been left undone, and he was still playing catch up. The young knight was beginning to grow resentful of Jane's many extra duties.
Why did she need to volunteer for inane tasks like helping Rake re-point his garden stakes, or polishing Pepper's saucepans? It was a wonder she didn't insist on turning the treadmill at Smithy's forge, although if Gunther's memory served him well perhaps she had tried her hand at that once.
He sighed heavily. How utterly typical.
"What is troubling you, Sir Gunther?"
Gunther glanced up from the training staves he was mending by cutting away the battered cloth padding and re-wrapping the ends with fresh strips of rag.
Smithy had paused in his own work of sharpening some of Ivon's daggers and was watching Gunther attentively.
The two men had been working quietly several meters apart for the last half-hour or so, but evidently Gunther's sigh had been ill-timed and heard by the smith in a quiet moment.
"Nothing at all, Smithy," said Gunther, his voice overly bright.
He knotted the last length of twine around the freshly padded stave and cut the tail off, looking up to find that Smithy was still watching him closely.
He sighed again. "There is nothing to concern yourself over, I assure you," he said, less cheerily this time. "I was simply thinking about the chores I have yet to complete today."
"You have been working hard," observed the Smith.
Gunther dropped the repaired stave onto the ground with the others before picking up another to work on.
"No thanks to Jane," he grumbled.
"I do not believe she got sick to inconvenience you," said Smithy, a defensive note entering his voice.
"Oh, I did not mean it like that," Gunther was quick to reassure him.
Smithy merely raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to go on.
"It is all of her extra duties that are giving me a headache. Things that she volunteered for ages ago that everyone expects will keep getting done now that she is not around. Tending to chickens is not a knight's duty," Gunther finished, exasperated.
"Is it not?" asked Smithy mildly. "Jane did not seem to mind."
"My point exactly! Jane was so happy to hurry around, helping with everyone's chores on top of her own that she never stopped to consider what would happen if she . . . went away. Now it has all fallen to me, along with her real work!"
"I see," said Smithy.
Does he, Gunther wondered, or is he just saying that?
"Jane liked to be busy," the smith continued, dragging his whetstone along a blade as he spoke. "She was always looking for ways to be helpful."
"Well she should have contented herself with being a knight. That is helpful enough!" Gunther knotted the twine, dropped the stave, picked up another.
"Jane… did not always think so," said Smithy slowly.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Gunther, intrigued. He had never known Jane to have any issue with being a knight.
"There was a time or two when she admitted that she had thought being a knight would be more… exciting. Time-consuming. Important. But here in Kippernium that did not prove to be the case."
Gunther stared. "Do you mean to tell me that Jane took on all of this menial extra work because she was bored?"
"She became a knight so she could help people, and when no exciting opportunities came up, she realised that she would have to find her own way to help others." Smithy shrugged. "I suppose she could have tried taking regular naps," he added wryly, glancing over at Gunther.
Gunther ignored the jab. "You mean to tell me that this whole time I thought I was the only one who-? And she was-? Both of us were-?" He threw his hands up in the air. "I wish she would have talked to me about it!"
"Funny," said Smithy calmly.
"What is?"
"Jane said the same thing about you."
Gunther, sick of tossing and turning in his hammock in the knights' quarters, threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt and made his way outside. The summer night was too hot, or Ivon's snoring too loud, he told himself, otherwise he would be sleeping soundly. There was nothing to trouble his conscience, to keep him awake and restless.
What of it if Jane had felt the same way about becoming a knight as he had? Instead of talking to him she had gone and been… productive about it! How was he to know? If she had wanted him to talk to her about it she should not have been so, so… encouraging? Cheerful?
Deflating, Gunther tsked as he leant on the balcony railing. She should have talked to him. He would have listened.
Would you? came a traitorous thought.
He had become quite good at avoiding Jane, in truth. Proud of his skills, even. If there was a comfortable hidey-hole anywhere near the castle that could not be seen from the sky then chances were good that Gunther knew it well.
Had Jane really been feeling as disillusioned by knighthood as he had? Had he truly left her feeling shut out when she wanted a partner to talk to? Had she really told Smithy she wished he would confide in her?
Jane -bold, confident Jane- needing to talk with Gunther about her disappointments? It seemed improbable.
And now that Gunther knew, now that he would even consider the possibility of talking to Jane about it, he could not.
Because Jane was gone.
Gunther sucked in a breath and stood back from the railing.
She was not gone, she was just… completely different. Did she still wish he would talk to her? Did any part of her still look at him and wish she knew him better?
Perhaps in any state of mind Jane would not want to talk to him, except to express her disappointment. Where she had turned her frustration into helpful activity, he had been aloof and standoffish, maybe even a little lazy. It was possible that Jane had only wanted to tell him what a wastrel he was.
No, that was not like Jane. She had needed him. For the first time in years, she needed him to be her partner and he had let her down. He had failed her as a partner and a knight.
He had failed Jane.
Not that it would have made any difference to her if he had been there to listen. They would both still be disappointed and bored.
But disappointed and bored together, at least.
Gunther rubbed his eyes in frustration. These thoughts were pointless and standing around here would not help. He set out for a walk with no real direction in mind, only the hope of clearing his head. The night was quiet, the castle and its residents fast asleep. The faintest scent of smoke drifted out from Smithy's forge as Gunther wandered into the training yard before he stopped short, confused.
Jane?
She stood facing the training dummy, her back to him, a wooden tourney sword in her hand. She was dressed in a billowing chemise, her hair loose and stirring gently in the night air. The silver light of the moon lit her up like a ghost, and Gunther's heart seemed to lodge itself in his throat.
Oh gods, she remembers.
"Jane?" he said, softly.
She remained still, seeming not to hear.
He walked towards her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Jane? What are you doing out here?"
She jumped in fright, whether at his touch or his voice he did not know, and dropped the sword. When she spun to face him her eyes were wide, confused and fearful like a deer in the woods.
"Sir Gunther?" she asked tremulously. "What am I doing here? I . . . I was in my bed."
Gunther exhaled, uncertain if he felt disappointment or relief, as he looked at the unmistakable face of Lady Jane.
"I think perhaps you may have been adventuring in your sleep, my Lady."
"Oh," said Jane, looking down and fully comprehending her state of undress. She gasped and attempted to cover herself.
Gunther wished he had thrown a doublet over his shirt despite the warm night air so he could give it to her now.
"Oh, Sir Gunther," Jane said, her eyes welling with tears. "I do not know what is happening to me."
Alarmed, he returned his hand to her shoulder. "Please, my Lady, do not trouble yourself. I am sure I have wandered in my sleep a time or two."
"But I have been having the strangest dreams, of such frightening things. Monsters, and dead men in caves, and falling endlessly from terrible heights," she was sobbing now, her words harder to understand. "And-and Sir I know it is not right to talk of such things but my-my body is covered in so many scars that I cannot bear to think of what must have happened to me!" Her chest heaved and shuddered with her distress. "No one will tell me -what has happened to me?"
Gunther, uncertain what to do and unable to do nothing, pulled her towards him. She relaxed immediately into his embrace, burying her face in his chest as she continued to sob.
"Come now," he said, placing one hand on her head. "All is well, and you are safe. Nothing will harm you here." His fingers twined their way through her hair without his thinking about it, her curls coiling around them.
Her hair was soft, the scent of lavender and mint filling his senses a he held her. He could feel the bones of her shoulders, her spine. The time she had spent in bed was robbing her of the physical strength she had worked hard to attain. The true Jane would be horrified.
Her shuddering breaths gradually eased, until only the occasional hiccup remained.
The silence of the night settled over them as they stood surrounded by stone walls and archery targets, training weapons and dummies.
Gunther held Jane, the palm of one hand pressed against her back through the thin fabric of her chemise, the other playing thoughtlessly with her hair, and wondered what he should do. He could not leave her here, alone and frightened in the dead of night. She was, at least for now, a noble lady in need of his help. The chivalrous thing would be to escort her to her chambers, he supposed, so that was what he should do.
"You will keep me safe, will you not, Sir Gunther?" she asked, raising her face from his chest to look into his eyes, and no physical blow she had ever dealt him had left him so breathless.
Despite her pale face and the red-tinge to her nose, the way Jane was looking at him was staggering. Her green eyes shone in the moonlight, and she concealed nothing of her fears, her exhaustion, her… hope. Jane had never -no one had ever- looked at him in such a way. As though he could help them, and would help them. As though he could dispel all worries with a word. As though he was… a hero.
"Of course," he said, unthinking, the words springing to his lips in response to the assurance she held that he would say just such a thing. "I am at your service, my Lady," he added, instantly regretting it. It was too much, too trite; no one would expect him to say such a thing and mean it. Yet he did mean it, and as Jane smiled at him he realised that she believed it.
A gentle breeze picked up, pressing the skirt of her chemise against her legs, and she shivered.
Gunther gently disentangled his hand from her hair and bent slightly, placing his arm behind her knees and scooping her up. Jane gasped as her feet left the ground and she grasped the front of his shirt, wide-eyed.
"I should get you inside before you catch a chill," he said, giving her what he hoped was a comforting smile.
Jane smiled back and rested her head on his shoulder, not releasing her hold of his shirt. Gunther trod lightly as they made their way to the castle, not wanting to draw the attention of anyone else struggling to sleep that night. He avoided the watcher at the gate and crept into the castle keep, climbing several sets of stairs until they reached the corridor leading to Jane's parents' apartments.
He set her gently on the floor in front of the door to her room, which stood ajar.
"Will you be all right?" he whispered.
Jane nodded, and he caught her smile in the flickering glow of the single torch that illuminated the corridor.
"Thank you, Sir Gunther," she said, stepping back and wobbling unsteadily.
Gunther looked down and realised that one of her slippers had come loose, twisting to the side. He knelt and Jane lifted her foot, as small and delicate as the rest of her seemed to have become, so that he could adjust it for her.
When he stood she was blushing in the dim light.
"Perhaps I could visit you tomorrow," he suggested quietly. "If you would like?"
Jane nodded quickly, her cheeks still warm. "Thank you for your kindness, Sir Gunther," she whispered. "Rest well." Then she slipped quietly into her room.
He stood for several moments, staring at her door, clenching and unclenching the hands that had so recently held her, before turning on his heel and hurrying quietly back the way he had come.
To bed, you fool, he told himself, unsettled by the fluttering in his stomach. You are overtired.