DISCLAIMER: I don't own Jane and the Dragon.
WARNING: Contains blood and violence, possibly some bad language.
Note: This is basically a fanfiction of Krya4's fanfictions. I love the way she brings the story into adulthood and thought I'd have a go at something similar. As a result this story is practically hers, only with the roles of Jane and Gunther reversed. Krya4 - you're awesome, please keep writing!
It felt like mere seconds later that Dragon's voice cleft her head in two, sending her surging up from her curled position on the bed in a panic. She could hear him laughing as she struggled to push her hair out of her face, blinking sleep from her eyes, reeling from the shock.
"D-Dragon? What are you doing?"
He had stuck his head through the entrance of her tent, and his massive skull almost filled the entire space. She wriggled free of her bed, smacking him lightly on the nose as he sniggered.
"They said to wake you up. Are you awake now?"
She scowled at his wide grin. "Yes, Greenlips, I am. What's going on? What time is it?"
"Almost midday."
Midday? She stared blankly at the light shafting through the entrance to her tent. Bright, sunny daylight. But it had been almost midday when she had left Gunther's tent, and she felt distinctly better rested than then… Her eyes widened as she realised.
"How long was I asleep?" she demanded, leaping up and crossing to the basin, inching her way around Dragon's snout. "It cannot have been that long, surely…"
"Well, you were tired," Dragon reproached her, nudging her leg as she splashed cool water over her face. "Still, it's very impressive. Only Dragons sleep for days at a time – I must be rubbing off on you, hmm?"
"Literally," she retorted, flicking a sprinkle of water at him as he continued to push at her foot, trying playfully to knock her over. "I cannot believe it, how could Sir Theodore allow it…"
"Old Rusty Legs has been busy, no doubt, repairing relationships with a certain merchant. I heard you gave him quite the lesson in manners."
She turned sharply at his smirking tone, her eyebrows leaping upwards. Dragon cocked his head deviously, his teeth bared happily.
"I'm sorry I missed it, sounded like a good show. Rest assured, Magnus the Mean does not seem to be pursuing the matter. I think you might have scared him, Jane."
"He had it coming," she said fiercely, digging in her trunk for a fresh tunic. "That man is… urgh!"
Dragon withdrew to let her wash and change, his purr reverberating through the canvas walls. She moved quickly, wondering how much she had missed in the past few hours. They must be ready to move the last members of the camp and take down the remaining tents. She threw what little she had brought into the trunk, pulled new clothes over her head, shook her hair free.
"You said they wanted me?" she called through the tent flaps, suddenly remembering Dragon's opening words. "Is… everything alright?"
"No cause for concern," Dragon replied flippantly, his head reappearing at the tent entrance.
He met her questioning gaze calmly, answering the question she had stopped herself from asking. She let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding and pulled on her boots, snatching up her sword before emerging into the clear daylight. The camp was alive with movement, and many of the tents that had surrounded her previously had already been taken down leaving beaten earth in their stead. She followed Dragon through the crowds of people, giggling as he impatiently hastened soldiers out of his way. The walkways were barely large enough to accommodate him and his great tail was pointed upwards into the air, occasionally knocking tents and equipment. They hurried clear, heading towards the outskirts of the camp, where she finally caught sight of Sir Theodore. He greeted her warmly, pausing in the process of relaying orders to one of the squires.
"Lady Jane, hello. I do hope you are feeling refreshed?"
"I am, Sir Theodore," she replied, smiling. "Ready to help. What can I do?"
"We are going to start moving the wounded back to the castle. Some of the carts have already left – there is not much space."
She nodded, glancing around. A large number of carts and wagons were grouped together near the road, being steadily loaded with the wounded. Squires were dashing to and fro, collecting belongings, showing people through, acting as human crutches. Some able knights were waiting nearby to set off, ready to accompany them back.
"Sir Ivon is to remain behind to oversee the rest of the camp home," Sir Theodore was explaining. "I will lead this group back. I would be grateful if you would accompany us – I trust that you and Dragon will be able to see off any unwanted company in the event of danger."
"Of course," she said, glancing up at Dragon. He nodded shortly, examining his claws.
"Easily," he agreed. "Bandits, robbers, sworn enemies, they all flee from my fiery breath, my razor claws, my-"
"Massive ego?" Jane cut in, grinning.
Dragon broke off, lowering his head to blow a rush of hot air down her back. "Watch it, shortlife, I'm a fearsome brute, don't you know."
She wriggled away from him. Sir Theodore was hiding a smile, still casting a watchful eye over the preparations. He glanced back at her worriedly, gesturing to the carts.
"I fear they are filling up already, we do not want to overcrowd the soldiers. Perhaps some will have to go on horseback, if needs be…"
"Very well, Sir Theodore, I volunteer."
Jane felt her heart stutter and her stomach jerk uncomfortably. The voice was strained and weak, but unmistakable. She had, after all, listened to it for almost two full days and nights. And yet now, she found herself frozen in place, unable to face it. All she could think about was that final night, of the way his glassy eyes had fixed on hers as if he was praying for something, as if he were about to reach out and close his hand over her heart. She saw his clammy, sweat-streaked skin and remembered how hot it had felt against her lips. She realised dimly that Sir Theodore was speaking and turned slowly, forcing a steadying breath into her lungs.
There he was.
He was leaning heavily on Sir Ivon's arm, hunched slightly, his good arm wrapped around his middle. He was wearing his usual grey attire, if looser than usual, and without his sword on his belt. His face was still even paler than usual and he was breathing hard through clenched teeth – she could tell from the tightness of his jaw – the walk from the tents must have exhausted him. She could not quite get over the shock of seeing him upright, his features once more closed to her, his eyebrows drawn coldly together. He met her gaze stoically, pushed free of Sir Ivon, straightened as best he could.
"Jane."
His voice drew echoes from the past nights when he had gasped out her name as if it were his only saving grace, as if it could defend him from death itself. Now his tone was aloof, cool, if a little shaky. She inclined her head slightly, doing her best to appear unmoved.
"Gunther. It is good to see you."
He jerked his head evasively and looked instead at Sir Theodore, who was responding to his previous words.
"Are you sure, Sir Gunther? It will be a long ride, and you are not recovered. It may be… difficult."
Gunther's eyes flashed with something like pride and his eyebrow quirked. "I am sure."
Jane felt as if the ground had dropped away. She dragged herself away from him, aware that she was staring. She listened as Sir Ivon called a squire to fetch a horse, watched Sir Theodore leading some of the soldiers with less urgent wounds over to a line of waiting horses, seeing to the last preparations. She snatched a glance over her shoulder as a horse was brought over to Sir Ivon. Gunther braced himself against it for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling in a deep breath. Then, Sir Ivon helping, he drew himself up and climbed slowly onto its back. By the time he was settled astride it his face had lost all its colour and he was holding his side tightly, his eyes dark with pain. He nodded at something Sir Ivon said, leaning heavily on his good arm, and she could almost see him counting… Four on the exhale, four on the inhale…
"I can't," she said, and then blinked in surprise at the words that had flown free of her lips.
Dragon looked down at her, his eyes widening curiously. "Can't what?"
She pulled herself together, pushing a stray lock of hair back. It bounced furiously against her palm, denying the place she tucked it.
"I should stay on the ground," she said, looking up at him. "They might need me. In case of an attack."
"They, or he?" Dragon quizzed smugly. He laughed as she scrambled to reply. "Don't worry, shortlife, I will be right above your head."
And he sauntered off without giving her the chance to reply. She scowled after him, furious at the colour rushing into her cheeks. She strode away to Sir Theodore, seeing with relief that there were enough horses left for her to take one.
"I will bring up the rear, Sir," she said. "If you place knights on either side, we will be covered from all angles."
"Very well, Jane. We must depart – it is growing late."
She swung herself up onto a horse, following Sir Theodore's lead as he climbed onto his own steed and gave the order to move out. She waited for the wagons to fall in behind him, flanked by the group of accompanying knights, and then urged her horse forwards to back the scattered riders behind them. She heard the deafening 'wh-whump' as Dragon took off and his huge form blocked out the sun above her momentarily before circling about and veering off to one side. He would fly in a zig-zag in order to keep pace with them – for him, they would be moving insufferably slowly. Her keen eyes picked out Gunther's dark hair near the back of the group, and she pushed her horse gently after him, leaving the camp behind.
"Tell me, Jane, are you buzzing about me like a fly because you are practising your insect impressions, or are you simply trying to irritate me?"
She turned sharply at the cold, cutting words that had broken into her thoughts. Gunther's pace was slow enough to make him fall behind the majority of the group, who remained in sight further up the wooded trail. She had slowed with him over the past few hours, keeping her eye on the soldiers riding a little ahead of them, trying not to look at him too often. The journey so far had passed in stony silence, rather unlike the chatter of the knights ahead. They seemed to be coping well with the journey due to their lesser injuries – most of those on horseback had only suffered an injured arm or a blow to the head, and she had only had to catch up with them once when one had swayed. He had recovered quickly and brushed it off to the laughter of his companions, allowing her to fall back to ride beside Gunther once more, who was coping rather less well. He had not made a sound for the whole journey, but she could see the sweat standing out on his brow and the way his breathing hitched slightly with every other step the horse took, the way he was bent over slightly. She had been contemplating riding ahead and asking Sir Theodore if they could take a break, but she had not wanted to cause him any shame. She would just have to hope that he would speak out if he needed to.
Now, his words broke through her circling thoughts and gave her an excuse to look at him fully, taking him in. He met her gaze narrowly, his dark eyes stinging with a faint effort of contempt.
"Just following my orders, Gunther," she retorted calmly. "If you do not like my companionship, please feel free to gallop ahead."
He shot her a glare, lifting his chin. "Oh, of course. See you back at the castle," he said, dripping with sarcasm. "I do fancy a little jaunt."
His tone was too forced, his voice shaking. She could see that the hand holding the reigns was trembling. Only one night past he had not even been conscious. She cursed Sir Theodore and Sir Ivon silently for not forcing him to ride in a cart like the others – as if they had really believed him when he had claimed he could ride. He could not – he looked as if he were about to fall off. He glanced at her again, his eyes clouding with frustration.
"For God's sake, will you stop that?"
"Stop what?" she demanded hotly, fixing her gaze instead on the sky ahead of them. Dragon passed overhead, high above, an emerald dot catching the sun.
"Stop… looking at me like that, as if…"
He did not finish, and she didn't dare look again. He knew. She had given herself away. She wondered how much he remembered from the past few days – with any luck the fever would have wiped his memory clean of her silly, stupid behaviour. She had been crowding over him like a long lost lover in a bad poem. She laughed shortly.
"Oh, I do apologise, Sir Biscuit-Weevil. Please, inform Sir Theodore that I have been looking at you, I should be punished at once-"
"Just… Uff."
He interrupted her and then gave up with a sigh, and she was released. She relaxed slightly – even if he did know, she would not let him vocalise it. Nothing needed to change between them. If she could keep it just as it was, they would perhaps forget the foreign closeness that had developed between them. She didn't know what to do with it, and she told herself that she was glad it was receding.
They rode on in silence for an hour or so more, until they came to the edge of the forest, and a cry went up from the front. They would rest – Sir Theodore had said that they were halfway there. Jane fought down a groan of frustration. Travelling was so much faster when she rode with Dragon. On foot and crawling along at this snail's pace, it would be nightfall before they were able to reach the castle. But it could not be helped, and she would rather be here, involved in everything, than far away with Dragon. She watched the carts pulling over, watched the knights swinging down from their horses, exchanging flasks, shouting to one another.
She realised suddenly that Gunther had disappeared from her side. Looking around, caught off guard, she finally caught sight of him reigning in his horse in the shade of the trees. She turned towards him, understanding suddenly that he intended to dismount alone. Stupid Beef-Brain… She pushed her horse towards him, but he was already pulling himself out of the saddle. He landed hard on the ground and his legs gave out at once – a strangled cry reached her ears. She lurched forwards, leaping down from her own steed and sprinting over to him, ducking around the horse that blocked him from view.
"Gunther!"
He was on his knees, attempting fruitlessly to rise. His arm shook, betraying him, and he dropped towards the ground once more with a muffled groan. She reached him just in time, sliding behind him to break his fall, slipping an arm around his chest to steady him against her. She could feel him breathing heavily, feel the short spasms as he struggled to cope with the pain the impact had caused.
"Gunther! Are you alright?"
His eyes had closed. For a moment blind panic took her – he had not been ready, of course he had not been ready for such a journey, how could she have let him do it – but then he was blinking up at her warily, still trembling slightly in her arms.
"What are you doing, Jane?"
She froze in place, suddenly realising just how close she was to him. Close enough to feel his breath on her cheek and make out each individual eyelash. She was near enough to see how the graze on his temple had scabbed over somewhat, still darkly bruised, still painful. It took her a while to also notice that she had snatched for his wrist with her free hand when she had seen his eyes close, now an instinctive reaction to ensure that his heart was still beating. He looked up at her with a lucid, clear frown. They were not in Sir Ivon's tent now, and he was not delirious with fever. She uncurled her fingers from his hand, wetting her lips uncertainly. Silence stretched awkwardly between them.
"Sorry," she said at last, as if that served as an explanation. "Can you get up?"
"Yes. If you would just unhand me."
She wriggled away at once, scrambling to her feet. She offered her arm and he took it suspiciously, as if he expected her to suddenly turn her sword on him. She helped him up slowly and he leaned on her as they made their way to the trees, where he made a more dignified descent to the ground and leaned back against a trunk. She hovered anxiously a few steps away. He looked as if he were about to throw up, his face bloodless, his eyes firmly closed. She stood there for a few moments longer, uncertain of whether she should try to explain herself or just leave.
"I'll fetch some water," she said at last. "Try to stay out of trouble, hmm?"
"Jane…"
She stopped, trying to gauge his tone. He did not sound angry or mocking. Truthfully, he just sounded tired. She turned hesitantly. He was looking at her, his face creased unhappily, as if trying to decipher a sentence in a different language. A dawning recognition flickered over him. He took a few steady breaths, still frowning.
"Yes?" she prompted, folding her arms.
He studied her for a few more long seconds, as if picking her apart with his stare, his mouth a firm, straight line. When he eventually did speak, his voice was quieter.
"Did… Did you stay with me?"
She raised her eyebrows slightly, her heart beginning to beat faster in her chest. He sighed and elaborated.
"Sir Ivon told me that you… were there. And I cannot be sure of what was memory and what was dreaming but… I feel that you were. There was a point when I felt I could not breathe, or see, or move, but I could see you. And you were…"
He stopped abruptly, dropping her gaze. She could not have spoken even if she had wanted to. Her blood was pounding in her head. Her mind rushed over all that he could of seen – her reaching for him, crying over him, whispering to him… why had she done it?
"…there," he finished lamely.
She flushed, cleared her throat. "Well, I was," she replied stonily. "You were in need of… of help."
She thought he might say more, but she was met with nothing but silence. Muttering something about fetching water, she turned on her heel and all but ran from him, seeking out Sir Theodore, hoping no one could see the heat in her face and the tremor in her hands. God, why did he suddenly have this effect on her? She was acting like a child, like a damsel in distress. She retrieved a flask of water from one of the carts and stood there for a few long moments, trying to regain her composure. When she made her way back towards the treeline she found, inexplicably, that Dragon was there. He was crouched near to Gunther, making evil faces at the horses which whinnied and danced away from him.
"Come, Dragon, I still have to ride that thing home," Gunther was saying wearily, his voice lacking its usual edge. "I would rather not have it frightened out of its wits."
"Silly mules," Dragon retorted, winking at Jane as she drew closer. "Pathetic excuse for an animal, scared of everything from big hats to squirrels. Why you choose to ride them into battle is beyond me."
"Any news, Dragon?" she called as she reached them. "Anything to report?"
"Yes – this is the longest it has ever taken me to get home, ever, and all because you shortlives insist on practically crawling to the castle. Honestly, I thought we were supposed to be getting there at some point today, not later this year."
She made a face at him as she passed Gunther the flask. He took it silently, his fingers skating over hers. She moved away quickly, sat down in the grass opposite Dragon, a short distance from him. She could not let herself look at him, her lungs tight with embarrassment.
"Very funny, you big newt," she said instead. "I meant is there any sign of the enemy?"
"Of course not, I chased them off. As if they would ever return to challenge me."
And, rescuing her as always, he launched into a joke he had made up about dung on the flight so far, and she was able to sit quietly picking at strands of grass. When the cry went up for them to move out a while later she lingered there uncertainly, deliberating for a few seconds, before crossing again to Gunther and holding out her hand. He took it and she pulled him up. It took him slightly longer to ready himself for the difficulty of climbing onto the horse but he managed it – she gave him a leg up and he got there, clutching tightly to its mane. She turned on her heel and left to find her own horse, pretending that she could not feel his eyes boring into her. Some distance away, Dragon leaped into the sky and soared away his great wings pumping, and Sir Theodore led them onwards towards the castle.
Just as before, Jane rode at the back beside Gunther. He did not speak.
The sky was streaked with red and purple by the time the castle came into sight. A tired cheer went up from the knights as they drew near, crossing the stone bridge and making their way up the hill towards the gates. People had gathered to welcome them back, throwing flower petals down from the battlements, singing in celebration. In the Great Hall there would be a feast, hosted by the King, to welcome back his army. Jane was just happy to see her tower come into view above them as they clattered into the courtyard. She clambered heavily down from her horse and stretched, revelling in the familiar castle air, wanting nothing more than to slip into her bed and remain there for the foreseeable future.
The wagons and knights dissipated quickly – all were relieved to be home and eager to reunite with family and friends. She turned to Gunther, who had made no move to dismount yet. He was leaning forwards, one hand pressed over his eyes, listing slightly to one side. His mood had deteriorated further during the remainder of their journey, and she could not blame him for it. She had offered several times to ask one of the men on the wagons to swap with him, but he had simply declined shortly. Now the journey seemed to have taken its toll, and she wished she had insisted.
She moved closer, reaching up to touch his arm. He dropped his hand, gazing blearily down at her. His eyes had taken on that glassy film once more, and for a moment she was back in the tent with him. She shook the memories away, smiling at him instead.
"We're home. Let's go."
He blinked at her for a few moments, and she was about to repeat herself when he moved to climb down. He staggered as he reached the ground, leaned heavily on the arm she snaked around his waist. She pulled his good arm over her shoulders without waiting for him to argue, and to her surprise he made no attempt to.
"Can you walk? We can rest for a while if you want."
He simply nodded, not specifying which suggestion he was replying to. She decided to make for his quarters, reasoning that the sooner he could be left to rest the better. She led him carefully through the little door near Smithy's workshop and up the stairs towards the knights' quarters, stopping every time he faltered. Which was often. His eyes had slid half shut by the time they reached the correct floor.
"There?" he mumbled, tightening his grip on her hand.
"Almost. Two more seconds."
He made a strange noise between a laugh and a sob and she nudged him forwards carefully, ready to stop and take his weight should he faint. She probably should have asked someone to help them, but it was too late now. They drew nearer to his room at a torturously slow pace. He had only begun to live at the castle a year or so ago, after a serious discussion with Sir Theodore and Sir Ivon, the details of which she had never been privy to. She could easily hazard a guess at what had driven him out of his family home in the docks, although she had never brought the subject up. They finally reached his room and she shoved the door open with her knee, heaving him with her, muttering encouragement as the weight on her arm grew heavier.
"We're here, that's it. Careful… alright."
The room was, thankfully, sparsely furnished. There was a desk in one corner, a set of drawers in another, and a bed in the centre. The air was chilly, but the bed had thick blankets and the single, small window faced East to greet the rising sun in the morning. She deposited him carefully on the bed and he dropped down onto it with a groan, curling in on himself. She hesitated, and then before she could change her mind quickly pulled his boots off and dragged a folded blanket at the foot of the bed up to settle it over him. There. That would do. She stepped back. The only light came from the crack in the door – his room was otherwise gloomy. She could just about see the glimmer of his eyes, the pale skin of his face and hand almost glowing in the dimness.
"Thank you," he muttered suddenly.
"It's alright." She hesitated awkwardly.
She did not want to go, to leave him in this tiny, dark, empty room. She wet her lips, considering asking him if he wanted her to stay, but she was not foolish enough to let that question out into the air. She forced a smile instead.
"Do you need anything?"
He was silent for a while, and she began to think he had fallen asleep. She was about to turn and leave him in peace when he suddenly lifted his hand. She moved over to him quietly, and took it. His skin was warm against hers, his grip pleasantly tight. He tugged at her slightly and she sat down obediently on the edge of the bed, lost as to what he was doing. One moment snapping at her, the next inviting her onto his bed – she would never understand him.
"Why did you stay?" he said, his voice low in the half-light, lethargic, half asleep. "Every time I woke, you were there at my side."
She returned his steady gaze. "Because I wanted to," she said at last, her voice cutting through the dark like a knife through butter. "Because I cared to."
He looked at her, as if considering something, as if building himself up to speak. She waited, strangely calm after all the anxiety of the day. She felt as if she had thrown down her mask, as if she had given up her secret. She was not hiding anymore. It was too late in the day and she was too tired. He drew a shaky breath.
"Will you stay now?"
He sounded pained, halting, as if waiting for her to dash his hand from hers and stalk out of the room. He had shut his eyes, as if to hide her response from himself. She looked at the sliver of light pushing through the ajar door.
"Alright."
She wasn't sure if she had spoken or not. Someone had. As if watching herself from some distance away, she got up and crossed to the door, pushed it closed, shut out the light and noise of the corridor and the returning knights. She kicked off her boots, shrugged out of her leather jerkin, left them beside the door, and then returned to the bed. She still wore her tunic, not presumptuous enough to tear off all her clothes. He had shifted over slightly, leaving room for her, his eyes still closed. She lay down carefully on top of the blanket, arranging herself just a few inches away from him, faced his still face. He still did not look up. She placed her hand beside his where it lay on the stiff mattress, almost touching, and let her own eyes closed. She listened to his body as the dusky light coming through the window darkened to silvery starlight.
Thanks for reading.
SUPRNTRAL LVR.