The next few days were quiet for Jane. Castle life returned slowly to its normal rhythm and pace and though daily patrols continued in search of any lingering remnants of the invading force, none were reported. A collective sigh of relief was breathed by one and all; it appeared that the danger had passed.

In comparison with her tense, emotionally fraught and largely silent reunion with Gunther, Jane's reunions with her other friends were natural, unreserved and full of joy. She was deeply grateful that neither Smithy, nor Jester nor Rake had come to any harm while hunting the fugitives. And there'd been even more occasion for celebration the morning after the men returned, when Rake had stumbled into the kitchen in a happy daze and announced that Pepper had informed him he was shortly to be made a father, again. Spontaneous cries of joy and much happy back-slapping ensued.

Still, Jane was troubled by a number of things. One was her relationship with Dragon, which had suffered while Gunther and his men had been on the move. Due to his ability to cover large distances quickly, Dragon had flown out daily to locate the riding party and check on their progress and well-being, returning to the castle by dusk each evening with a report for the anxious loved ones who'd been left behind.

Friction had entered Jane's friendship with him because he would not consent to carry her with him, citing her need for rest and recovery. Daily Jane had pleaded with him to take her along, and daily he'd refused. As a result, an unprecedented chill had entered their relationship.

Then there was the physical pain that lingered on, the scars that striped her back that she knew she'd carry with her forever, and her body's absolute refusal to heal itself and return to its prior state of strength and fitness as quickly as she wanted it to, no matter how hard trained or worked or pushed herself. She was in a constant state of frustration as a result.

And the recurring nightmares of Gunther's death - those had not abated when her fever had broken. No, they continued to plague her, sending her bolting from her sleep, shaking and gasping and biting down on the screams that wanted to rip free of her, on a nearly nightly basis. It had been two or three times a night while Gunther had been away, and was now down to only once - usually - and so she supposed she should be grateful for small favors. An improvement was an improvement. But still... her nights had become sheer torture.

And then, of course, there was Gunther himself.

If Jane's days were quiet and borderline normal now, they were also almost entirely Gunther-free.

Following their initial awkward greeting in the courtyard, she hadn't seen him at all for nearly two full days. She'd eventually discovered from Jester, who had an uncanny knack for knowing most of what was going on in the castle at any given time, that Gunther'd collapsed into bed almost immediately upon his return and had been sleeping ever since - "like a dead man, Jane; I mean, I knew he liked his sleep, but honestly, I have never seen anything quite like it!"

That offhand remark had led to an intense, somewhat frantic half-hour long interrogation session as to why, exactly, Jester thought that Gunther should be so much more exhausted than anyone else - had he been wounded in some way while they'd been gone, some injury that he was concealing somehow? No? Was Jester sure - absolutely sure? Think hard!

All she'd been able to discover as a result was that Gunther had taken on far more night watches than anyone else, therefore sleeping quite a bit less - and that even when he had been rolled in his blanket he had seemed restless; he'd tossed and turned constantly and at times even talked in his sleep, shouting himself - and half the camp along with him - awake on one particularly memorable night. However, no amount of coaxing, cajoling or even threatening could induce Jester to tell her what words Gunther had yelled out, apparently while in the throes of a nightmare all his own.

Eventually Jester'd managed to distract her for a moment by pointing out a cloud which he swore looked just like Dragon - and by the time she'd looked back around he was gone; not a single trace of him remaining except for the soft jingling of his bells - faint and getting fainter - as he beat a hasty retreat.

And the situation improved very little even after Gunther finally emerged from his room. It soon became apparent that he was avoiding Jane at practically all costs.

This fact, in turn, aroused the stubborn, defiant side of Jane's nature - (Is that how he wants things to be? Fine then) - so that instead of seeking him out and demanding that they talk through the situation once and for all, Jane simply turned his own tactic back on him. She didn't go out of her way to avoid him, per se, but she certainly left him well enough alone, and when their paths did cross she studiously ignored him.

He watched her, though - something that, under the circumstances, irked her to no end. She was particularly likely to catch him watching her as she worked through her training exercises in the courtyard.

What in the hell was he playing at! God! It was enough to drive anyone mad!

OOOOO

"Well, are you going to stand there all day, or do you want to spar?"

Jane had finally decided that she could tolerate his silent, brooding stare no longer. She threw her sword to the packed earth in frustration and whirled to face him full-on. She had caught him out of the corner of her eye a moment ago, standing in a patch of shadow, leaning back against the courtyard wall; the very picture of indolence as he watched her (and what else was new?) going through the motions of her training routine.

She was not going to ignore this behavior anymore. By God, she had had enough. Fists planted on her hips, breathing hard, color high, sticky with an all-over sheen of perspiration, she stood there in the sunlight and stared right back at him, anger snapping in her green eyes.

"Spar?" he echoed lazily, as if he'd never heard the word before - (he had not once practiced with her since his return) - "Thank you, but no."

"Then what!" She flung her arms up and out to the sides, before letting them fall back against her body with a thwack - the gesture seemed to say, Well?

"What, Gunther, what the hell do you WANT!"

He shoved off the wall and walked a couple of steps toward her, but then stopped. It looked, for a second or two, as if something had been on the tip of his tongue; something important, something of substance. But whatever it was he might have been about to say, he bit it back, and the moment passed.

His expression smoothed into flawless unreadability again. He jerked his head once, hard, in the direction of the well.

"I was just thinking that you should take a break and get some water soon. You are not taking in enough fluids for the amount of exertion you are putting out. It is irresponsible, Jane - you will dehydrate."

For a fleeting moment she thought she might have sensed a trace of genuine concern lurking behind those words - but no. It was not possible - to think so would be to delude herself. He was just goading her as he always had. She was having a good practice session, she was really on her game today, and so he'd had to think hard, very hard, to come up with something, anything, to criticize.

Same old Gunther. Just like when we were young. Nothing has changed. Nothing at all.

And that thought was so painful that it nearly took her breath away. Because -

Things were different! They were, I KNOW they were!

Gunther when he'd cut her down from the whipping post - his whole body trembling as he'd gathered her into his arms, the amazing gentleness of his hands belied by the utter, white-hot fury in his expression.

Gunther when he'd twined his fingers through hers as Pepper had worked at cleaning and bandaging her ravaged back; his presence beside her, so strong and steady, the only thing that had made that torture bearable.

Gunther pressing a kiss to her temple as he'd left her to ride into battle, his face set in grim lines of vengeance.

Gunther's eyes on the battlefield when he'd forced her to show him her wound - the depths of sheer terror she'd seen there, and the torment in his voice as he'd shouted down at her - I suppose it never occurred to you to consider whether I could so easily stand to lose YOU!

And Gunther's voice in her mind, their connection so strong that he'd managed to reach her even in what she had come to think of as the other place, pulling her back from the brink of death itself - pulling her back with declarations of love.

Did it not mean anything? Anything at ALL?

She had been so sure... so sure that the feelings she had recently discovered for him - (no, wait, not discovered; more like, finally accepted and acknowledged) - had been mutual.

So sure. And yet... she must have been mistaken. She must have been. Clearly. What else could explain the way he was acting now?

And dear God, but it hurt.

It hurt like fire.

Her vision suddenly blurry, she quickly bent to retrieve her sword.

"Look, Gunther, just -"

"Jane? Jane!"

Her mother's voice interrupted her. Glad for another reason to keep looking away from Gunther, Jane turned to find the Lady in Waiting hurrying toward her. The older woman was slightly out of breath.

"Jane, there you are. Really, I suppose I should have known. You must come with me at once. The king is requesting an audience."

Jane's eyes widened in surprise. Cuthbert had finally recovered from his own wounds to the point where he was granting private audiences, though he had not yet made any official appearances since having been carried from the battlefield in little better condition than Jane.

Still, Jane had not been expecting a personal summons. Nor, truth be told, did she have any particular desire to speak with the king. At all.

Beautiful. It is one thing after another today.

But, one hardly said 'no' to such an invitation.

"Coming, mother," she sighed, and turned to put away her equipment and splash some water over her face - though, as Gunther was still there, she made a point of not drinking any. Despite the fact that she was thirsty. Very much so.

"Oh, and you as well, Sir Gunther," Adeline added as Jane crossed the courtyard toward her. "What a happy coincidence to find the two of you together. I was all set to go in search of you in a minute."

Gunther's eyebrows shot up much as Jane's had, but he said nothing, merely falling into step with the two women in silence.

OOOOO

Jane had not seen Cuthbert since the morning he had assigned her what he'd called a mission of diplomacy. He was paler, thinner... and looked as if he had aged ten years in the past few weeks. There was a stillness and... a gravity about him, that he had never possessed before. This experience had altered him, it seemed, as much as any of them.

She and Gunther each went down on one knee in front of him, moving in perfect, graceful sync with each other. She shot a lightning-quick, sideways glance in his direction, but his eyes were riveted on the floor in front of him, waiting to be acknowledged by the king before looking up.

Cuthbert, however, acknowledged Jane first.

"Jane." The young king cleared his throat, hesitated for a moment, then got straight to the point. "I owe you an apology."

Jane had to stifle a gasp. Whatever she'd been expecting, this was not it. Kings rarely if ever apologized, and Cuthbert? The arrogant, headstrong pre-battle Cuthbert, at any rate - never in a million years.

Apparently the changes that had so lately been wrought in him went deeper even than Jane had imagined.

"I knew that I was endangering you," Cuthbert continued into the stunned silence, "and upon reflection... it is not a decision that I am proud of. Nor one that I would make again. I was apprised of your injuries and I am... grateful that you appear recovered." He cleared his throat again, obviously uncomfortable. "Are you able, and willing, to resume your knightly duties in full?"

"Yes, sire," she responded automatically, dazed by the direction this audience had taken.

"Good then. I am very glad to hear it. That is all. You may rise, Lady Jane."

As she did so, she saw Cuthbert shift his attention to Gunther.

"Sir Gunther, when last we spoke, you indicated a rather strong desire to... terminate your service to me."

The words hit Jane like a physical blow, drenching her in a sudden cold, sick fear. The scene Gunther had made when he'd discovered where she'd gone... Pepper had told her about it, but what with everything that had happened since, she had clean forgotten. Dear God, how could she have forgotten? Jane had heard stories of knights being stripped of their titles, banished, executed for lesser offenses! She found that she was suddenly, actually shaking where she stood.

"However," Cuthbert went on, "your continued presence in my court suggests at least a possibility that you may have... reconsidered. And so, I need to know where you stand on this matter. If it remains your intention to leave, I will release you from your service to me forthwith, and with no ill feeling. In fact, I will recommend your courage, integrity and fortitude in battle to any neighboring monarch whose service you may wish to enter. If, however, you can be prevailed upon to stay... then I should be very glad of your continued presence here. So Gunther, what say you?"

Jane swallowed hard; her heart was hammering in her throat. She could not believe how lenient Cuthbert was being, how... fair. This day was full of surprises, and no mistake... but how would Gunther decide?

The answer to that question was not long in coming.

"Thank you, sire," Gunther said quietly. "I... spoke rashly on that occasion, and... and I am a knight of this realm and wish to be a knight of none other. If you will allow me to remain in your service, then that is what I will do."

Jane literally sagged with relief - before catching herself and making a concerted effort to stand straight again.

"Very well," Cuthbert said, "then it is -"

"Except..." Gunther's voice was still quiet, but it carried nonetheless.

Cuthbert raised an eyebrow. "Except?"

"Except I would ask your majesty to grant me a... a leave of absence first. I feel... that it would best if I spend some time away from court. I would like the opportunity to travel abroad and... see something of the world. Visit some distant kin of mine, possibly make a -" he broke off; cleared his throat (it seems to be catching, thought Jane) - "make myself... an appropriate match."

The sound that Jane made then was sort of a gasp in reverse; a sick little "huh" of forcibly expelled air, as if she'd just been kicked hard in the stomach. Cuthbert glanced in her direction.

Gunther did not.

He was still staring resolutely at the patch of floor directly in front of where he knelt. His jaw was clenched to the point where he almost looked to be in pain... but he looked determined as well.

"I... see," the young king said, looking again, quickly, between Gunther and Jane. Confusion was plain on his face. Given the way Gunther had behaved when he'd discovered the danger Jane had been sent into, Cuthbert was obviously as shocked by this drastic change of heart as Jane was herself.

"Well, I... must admit that I am surprised by this request," he said at length, "but I suppose that is a natural enough desire. How long of a leave do you... anticipate?"

"I... am not sure," Gunther said, as the room began to spin sickly around Jane. This could not be happening, could not be happening, could not be happening. "But I should think a year, at least."

Jane became aware that her breathing was getting erratic. Her breaths were beginning to pile up, one atop another; a pounding ache was building behind her temples, and the hot, prickling sensation of unshed tears was mounting behind her eyes.

She gulped in a single deep, frantic breath and then clamped down hard on the tears that wanted to come. Forced her breathing to even out; forced herself to remain tall, straight, silent and still. I will not succumb to this. I will not show weakness. I will not betray any hint of pain. I will not, I will not, I will not...

Gunther and Cuthbert's voices seemed very far away as they continued to speak. As if from a great distance, Jane heard the king grant permission to Gunther's request, and add that he could feel free to equip himself for his journey just as he saw fit - he would be allowed full access to the castle's storerooms, armory and stables.

Heard Gunther thank the king most graciously.

Heard Cuthbert bid Gunther rise, and then inquire, almost as an afterthought, as to when Gunther planned to depart.

Heard Gunther say, tomorrow.

And, judging by the fresh glance Cuthbert threw in her direction, knew that she must have gasped again - though she had no conscious awareness of doing so.

Then there were others in the room, and conversation was ebbing and flowing all around her; it was if she were standing, frozen and numb, in the center of some mighty maelstrom - a gigantic vortex whose single, vicious purpose was to drag her under. To drown her.

She would not let it.

There were so many voices now; too many voices. It was becoming overwhelming and all she could do was just try to breathe steadily, In - out. In - out. Snippets of conversation were swirling all around her, random and disconnected, like bits of debris caught in a gale-force wind. She heard Cuthbert announcing Gunther's pending departure to those who had assembled, and then calling for a celebration - feasting and dancing, that very night, to mark the kingdom's return to peace and his own return to health. Also to acknowledge the fact that his mother and sister had returned home not for a simple visit but for good, and that he had decided, however belatedly, to allow for a regency after all. The queen would be taking control until Cuthbert's twentieth birthday. This announcement would be made publicly at the banquet... and oh yes, Gunther could be publicly wished well, and given the send-off he deserved too.

All of this was discussed as Jane stood there, silent and still as a statue, concentrating simply on regulating her breathing, not giving way to the tears that so desperately wanted to come, not simply collapsing into a heap on the stone floor. Then...

"Jane. Jane?" She shook her head, trying to clear it; blinked her eyes back into focus. It was Cuthbert, and he was addressing her directly again. Glancing around, she saw that the room was rapidly emptying out; Gunther was already gone.

"Yes, sire?" Her voice was hoarse; unsteady. Barely her own.

"I said that you may go, Jane." He was frowning at her, his expression puzzled once more. "It seems I may have been mistaken - you do not appear to be as fully recovered as I had previously thought. I am sorry to see it. Though you would be most welcome tonight, you need not attend the festivities if you do not feel up to it. Go and get some rest."

"Thank... you, sire," she managed to croak.

Later she would have no memory of leaving the audience chamber at all. All she was aware of in that moment was a horrible, churning sense of vertigo just like she'd had in the seconds before Gunther had cut her free of Edgar's whipping post; it felt as if she were falling, even though she knew that she was not.

OOOOO

A/N: Oh, that goofy Gunther. What the hell is going through his mind? Anyone care to hazard a guess at his motives?