I DON'T OWN JANE AND THE DRAGON OR ITS CHARACTERS

A/n: This is going to be a multi chapter fic, which will be a challenge. Another challenge is this possibly, most likely a Jane/Smithy fic. I really do believe there aren't enough Smithy fics, and I'm hoping he won't be too Ooc. Let me know if he is and I'll be happy to make the possible corrections. I started writing this because I read the Love of a Lady Knight by Wild-Imagination95, and fell in love with the story and the slow burn romance. Sadly that fic is uncompleted, but I recommend it, and I hope it's finished someday.

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy.

As of Nov 26, 2020 I revised this chapter for flow, spelling, and clarity.

As of Feb 17, 2021 I revised this chapter again for flow, spelling, and grammar. I also changed a few sentences cause I was never satisfied with them.

As of Aug 8, 2023 I revised this chapter again for flow, spelling, and grammar. I also changed a few sentences cause I was never satisfied with them. My intention was to improve the aesthetic and original plan for this fic. Hopefully it seems improved.

Chapter 1: Foolish

He dreamed of her again. It was becoming a habit, one that should not have developed in the first place, but he had dreamed of her again.

She was laughing, as she often did in dreams—not a pretty laugh, but a wholehearted one. They were running through the trees, playfully chasing after one another. They might have been past the age for children's games, but neither of them minded; it invigorated their spirit, and they were competitive in their own right. The forest was covered with flowers and filled with birdsong; he knew them by name and could persuade them to come nearer, but concerning her, he was in earnest to reach her. Their feet were wet from the dew, and the sun warmed their skin; the brilliance of her hair was blinding, as though it could absorb the sun, and the necklace around her neck danced as he pursued her. He knew it was important, but he could not remember why or where it had come from.

She stopped and turned to face him. Warmth coloured her voice as she held out her hand. "Do you love me?" she wondered.

He knew she was not real; none of this was, and whenever it got to this part, the words on his tongue would stay where they were as this world vanished as quickly as it appeared. Taking all the peace and beauty away; taking her away.

When he woke, he was not so much ashamed as embarrassed; it was natural to dream of daily activity or many fantastical things, but of his friends, her more specifically, he should not, but often enough he did. However, at least he was happy, if not for a little while as he dressed and thought to himself about the foolishness a dream could be. His heavy leather apron reminded him of his current reality; the bite of the morning air prickled his exposed skin, but he knew that refreshment would not last when he was before his forge again.

Dawn was painted in the sky before long; the sight of it was hopeful and bright. The rising sun meant little to those in his position, who woke early and worked from morning to night. Yet, there was much to be done, and time would not allow him to enjoy such comforts as the dawn. In a castle, with as few inhabitants as Kippernia Castle, there were many tasks to be done, such as keys to be made, buckles to be broken, items to be hung, and so forth. Already early in the day, he had several horses that needed to be brushed and inspected; this part he found to be an added privilege.

Oh, and how could he forget that Sir Ivon wanted his latest weapon to be sharpened just so that it could go back to the weaponry to collect dust? He sighed, and soon enough he laid out the necessary pieces needed for the repair he planned to do later. From the shade of his forge, he had a good view of the knights as they trained their squires, and he watched when he could spare a few moments. And he found that he would glance her way, whether he had a moment to spare or not, and that was a problem. In the world in which he lived, there would likely be concerns with his current thinking, but he could not bring himself not to do so.

His admiration for her discipline and fluid movements drew him in. Concentration in her brow, arms raised in anticipation to strike, she was preparing herself; her face was not so pretty when she finally struck the dummy in violence, but something was comforting in the familiarity as well as intriguing in the change; no other lady he knew could pull off such a look. The dummy stood no chance against her demonstration, but neither did he. Years of practice made it almost a game; happiness and joy gleamed in her eyes, as well as excitement and strength, which illuminated her form. Steps, her movement like a dance, was too glorious to ignore; passion made her unique; a dream gave her encouragement to continually work, to continue learning, and to be the best she could be.

The realization of how his feet were rooted as he watched made him wonder if he was the only one affected. A furtive glance at the other knight who was there to instruct and at the others concentrating on the lesson told him it was. What had he been thinking? He must have been overworked; why else would his mind begin to dwell?

It would not do; what does a blacksmith need from a Knight? To be in their service, no doubt, to fire the metal, a servant no less. To avoid it, it would be difficult but not impossible. Avoid it he must, and he hurried into the stables to keep busy. The pungent smells of dung and horses filled the air, and the quiet, save for the gentle nickering of horses, filled his ears, but even at this distance, her voice carried authority and discipline with patience.

Every year, farmers, or fighters were sent down to the castle to see if there was any use for them, for their families wished to improve their state of living or to keep their sons out of trouble. Jane loved a challenge, a test, or the practice of her skills. If they proved themselves worthy, then they received the honour of being taught by the few knights in the king's service. If not, then they were sent away with letters of recommendation to assist them in their future endeavours.

Pig observed her owner: the listless look as he polished a few swords, the year's worth of sighs, and the trouble that lined his brows. Humans are so dishonest; if only they were animals, it would be as easy as scented glands and food offerings. In her mouth, she carried a shiny buckle, which earned her a belly rub and a fresh turnip from the garden. "Where did you find this girl?" The blacksmith wondered. "Did I lose one of my buckles?"

Her snout sniffed and pointed in an unwanted direction, leading Smithy again towards his forge. Smithy stopped before leaving the stables, knowing there was much work to be done. He must ignore her and work hard to forget impetuous feelings and to repress this weakness. With a quick decision, he made his way towards the weaponry room and gave it its due attention, which took the better part of the morning. The quality of metal found varied depending on the age and style of weapon or sword; in the far corner, a dull practice sword caught his eye, and he thought it was very much like the one he had owned back home—one he had not used in a long time.

The remnants of his past could be felt if he removed his gloves: calluses mixed with scattered burn scars from his current occupation. Father taught him well: of the dangers of thieves and robbers; to make his emotions invisible; to fool others into believing he was less than what he was; and to fight with little mess. If he took up a sword again, as he had many years ago, perhaps his thoughts would not be in vain.

If he wanted to, he could easily equal Gunther in skill but match Sir Theodore in discipline. However, he was unlike his father, and he preferred it that way. Nonetheless, as the hours flew by and the castle became more and more awake, the occupants ventured out of their quarters to meet with one another in the hall. There were many servants and officials who had duties that would keep them at work long after sundown. It was in this manner that the servants began their daily routine.

This day had not been as difficult as some had been, and this was thanks to a good day's practice and work. All in all, the promise of a better day to come had given her an extra push to keep up her pace. Jane smiled the whole while as she rubbed salve on her tired hands, grateful that its effect was immediate and cooling. She was grateful to have a little time to herself before she would be required to change into more formal attire. When one protected the Queen, style, and appearance were above everything else. Jane was allowed to wear her armour, but only with the modified gown, she was required to wear.

Over the years, she had learned the benefits and downsides of being a female and a Knight, and more often than not, she took pride in it. At one time, she would have refused to be seen in such fabrics, afraid of Gunther's teasing. The first time she had worn them, Gunther had seen and had not teased her but stood silent. It was peculiar, she had to admit, but she was relieved. Jester thought her appearance wonderful, showering her with various compliments, but those made her feel cautious; the attention received was unwanted, but the words of another comforted her.

When Smithy first saw her, she needed him to prepare her horse so that she could follow the Queen and her ladies. At that time, he expressed his simple congratulations, and he complimented how the armour suited her smile. The recollection of those memories gladdened her heart as she dressed in those garments she sometimes hated, but it tested her as well. Gunther would not be pleased to see her talking to another, nor would Jester be happy if she chose her fellow Knight. Why did she have to decide? Could she not enjoy her life a little longer before her mother badgered her with duties and all that?

Expectations were a burden, and Jane hoped that one day there would be someone who understood her heart as well as she did, who would allow her to live and breathe and be her companion in life. However, she would decide when she was ready, and she did not care to yet. Fixing her hair and rubbing scented oils on her skin, she sighed and left her tower, determined to do her best. She crossed the courtyard and smiled at Smithy, who was washing her horse. He looked troubled for a moment; his cloudy blue eyes looked away, but then they shone with a warmth she could not explain, and he smiled at her with a brightness he rarely showed.

Jane quickened her pace then, her foolish heart becoming a tangled mess. She knew better than to appear too eager or to display more emotion than she intended to show; she knew better than to believe friendship could be confused with anything else, and she had to remember that the kindness shown was simply his way. Off to the throne room she went, away from such distractions. His eyes followed her figure until she disappeared around a corner. Smithy hoped she could not see his feelings.