*I don't own jane and the dragon or its characters

A/n: Originally I thought this would only be a two chapter story, but now I've written three chapters, and I don't think it will all be solved in such a short span of time, so I'm hoping for the best. I like writing about Smithy, even though there is so much we do not know about him. I think he is observant, and sometimes sarcastic, so I'll try my best to portray him properly.

As of Nov 26, 2020 this chapter was edited for clarity, to fix spelling and grammar, as well as other errors.

As of Feb 18, 2021 this chapter was edited for clarity, spelling, grammar, as well as other errors. As much as I edit these, I always find minor punctuation errors.

As of October 9, 2021 this chapter was edited for clarity, spelling, grammar, as well as other errors. Some parts may as well have added details or were changed for the sake of flow and storytelling.

Chapter 2: Patience and Tests

In the royal garden, Jester told his stories to the King, who was taking the sun before he had to go and listen to the townspeople's problems. "... A rose is a rose I suppose, to those who know it has no nose. I close the door forevermore on those I cannot face. I call from grace, for everything that had been said, is forever a disgrace."

The King twirled his fingers in a half-hearted fashion; amused, but growing weary. "Excellent! Well done, but I am tired of the tragedies. I want something new, and with a happy ending. You can do that, can you not?"

Years of study and regular practice of his creativity; of observances of beauty and finery; wooing audiences and thirsting for their attention made him a genius in his own right. And like the quick-witted creative he was, Jester crafted a story as though from thin air and thought of familiar people who would serve his story purposes. With clarity, he started; losing himself in his imaginings.

"There once was a blacksmith who fell in love with a flame. Now to others it may have sounded like divination, but in actuality, it was not the fire he had loved, but a girl who reminded him of the flame, for her hair more often than not fluttered and waved about in the wind like a spark turned to flame. Her mind was sharp, as well as her manner tempestuous, but he was of a more gentle sort and found amusement in her ways. He knew there was little he could do, for she was above his station, except perhaps to do what he usually did, and deal with metal.

An idea came to him, that if he could not become or control a flame, then he must become like those who could withstand its heat. He formed himself a suit of armour, similar to what the girl would wear, and was determined to be her compliment. She hated him immediately, for she stood alone and needed no one, he knew this, but he expressed his intentions, and still, she was the tempest he knew. In respect, he challenged her to an honourable duel, and if he should win, then he would get one wish, but if she won, then she may kill him.

With his armour and shield, he guarded and evaded, while she struck him with various blows. After a while, blood from cuts ran along his face and arms, but he stood his ground. Her stubborn heart began to see reason, but she would not fail, or else he would win, and she would become a slave to his wish. This went on until the evening, until fatigue got the better of her, and he was left standing as the winner. He kneeled before her, ready with his wish, and she hated him more than ever.

However, she was surprised by his wish which was to be able to stand by her in silence, to be her strength and shield even if he knew she could protect herself, but nothing more. Her eyes widened at this, for she was sure he intended to take her as his wife, and she would lose her way of life. Humbled by his loyalty and strength, she agreed to this, and in time she fell in love with him, for she could not love by halves, and they were married. Together, they battled enemies on the battlefield, him deflecting blows, her striking foes. Together, they strengthened and loved, as equals and each other's compliments."

A knight and a blacksmith? The notion was absurd; it was like believing a pig may sprout wings and fly. Yet, the part of Caradoc's mind which was pleased to dwell in its amusements would not have minded seeing such a notion to step outside the realm of ballads. Nonetheless, a story was and usually remained nothing more but a story; how unfortunate. "This is a new class of story, yes? It is quite unheard of."

"Yes, my Lord," Answered the fool," but it could happen. Other impossible things have happened before."

The king was reminded daily of the improbabilities in his kingdom; from female Knights to dragons, and of turnips which had grown in the likeness of his face; not so impossible after all. "Yes, now tell me the story of the Roman tragedy again."

After all, the king's mood was constantly changing, and with a roll of his eyes, the fool acquiesced. "Yes, my lord."

After a long day of training, and dealing with the bog weevil, the lady knight was eager for a filling meal. "I am so hungry I could eat a horse."

This exaggeration caused a brief look of disgust to pass over the blacksmith's features as he stated, "Eh, not if you spent as much time mucking their stables."

Jane flashed her friend that beguiling look, which he knew meant nothing more than her usual mischievousness. If only she knew how burdensome such a look would play over in his mind hours later when it was thought of as nothing but a look in her wonderful mind. "Then I am simply hungry, for anything but liver."

Smithy was starved, but not for his meal. Being in want of conversation, he would not have minded if they could carry on a little longer as she would with the others, but he did not have the same well-trained manners as some other staff did. He could blame his many lonely days back at the family farm as well as lack of association in his early years for that. "Well said." Was his simple reply.

His brief changes of moods were a curiosity to the lady knight. One moment he is disgusted, the next pleased, but then that calmness Smithy usually wore would return. Other days he would almost smile and of course, he would become amused, but he did not flit through emotions like the fool. Jane supposed that was what made him all the more fascinating. Though whenever it seemed as though she may catch him wearing a different, albeit rare expression her attention would be drawn elsewhere, and she would soon forget as to what she had been wondering about.

Anyway, mealtime was always lively and was still a tradition the young staff kept over the years. Class distinction could not keep them apart, nor did the change in circumstance. For example, everyone knew that the cook and gardener would marry, and they had, but otherwise not much has changed except for natural growth and feelings. Still, despite it all, Smithy allowed himself to be content for a moment. All was well, and he could delight in the happiness of his friends; the same could be said about the lady knight, though at times she would wonder how much it all could change if the peaceful days were to end.

War could start at any moment, and minor disagreements amongst Lords, Princes, and Kings could upturn lands and kingdoms. If duty called, Jane would have to stand alongside her fellow knights and leave everything behind; unaware as to what may have befallen her cherished ones until her return. However, a glance at her friends would often remind her as to whom she had sworn to protect and why she had taken her sacred oath. Soon, when such thoughts were dismissed, Jane would continue to eat until she was full; it was not her way to linger on melancholic thoughts.

This evening's meal which consisted of mutton and simple vegetables was delicious, as every meal tended to be, and there was no shortage of praise showered upon the pale cook. Though, there was no voice as warm and caring as that of a husband. "The vegetables were wonderful… Pepper." Smiled the gardener at his petite wife.

Rake neither concealed his devotion nor adoration of his beloved, but one had to wonder if he would forget there was an audience. Nevertheless, although the pair might have been married for a few years, they were still shy when it came to certain public displays of affection. "Oh, Rake," Pepper whispered; a blush dusting her cheeks as she gifted him with a kiss on his forehead. "you are such a wonderful man."

At times, it was awkward to watch such displays, but they were a good example of what a good marriage ought to have; a sincere, deep affection for one another. Was it not natural they would feel adoration for one another, especially for two who embraced their softer emotions as they had? As one another's compliments, and with coinciding duties, nothing was lost in their union, but only gain. And that is more than most could hope for.

Across from Smithy, Jane, and Jester were laughing at some joke he had whispered in her ear. Her arms encircled her waist, and her head was thrown back as tears of mirth were at the corners of her eyes. For a certainty, there was no grace in her laughter; it was sloppy, loud, unladylike, and her face scrunched up in what would have appeared to be great pain if she was not smiling; he would know the sound of it anywhere. It was always in vain that she would try to restrain such a laugh; it was unique and could not be predicted in its loudness or length, but it was a great descriptor of her character; of uncontrolled joy.

If it had been him beside her, could he bring about such mirth? No, he supposed not, unless he too were to make a fool of himself. And to escape the likelihood of appearing to be foolish, Smithy stood then; he would not forget himself in this environment; it could have been far too easy. Setting his face like the calm before a storm, he left under the excuse of tiredness before dessert could be offered; envy colouring his palette and tainting the pleasure such a meal could bring. It was with heavy steps that he escaped to his dwelling next to the stables. At his departure, the corners of the fool's mouth turned upward, and he continued as though nothing was amiss.

Smithy was above feeling; stoicism being his safeguard and shield, but somewhere along the way there were hairline cracks. If he had continued his studies, then perhaps his mind would have been too cluttered to weaken. When did he become this way?

Oh, who was he fooling, he could hardly remember the way those lines and squiggles became letters, which flooded and drowned together as words, and bodies of texts which filled codex after codex. He was human after all, and it would have been disappointing to his father if he had witnessed the blacksmith's behaviour, but this made Smithy smile a little for his father was a little less than human.

Interrupting his thoughts was the light mew from above. "What adventures have you had since I saw you last?" Wondered the blacksmith.

Slowly she blinked, her tail waving about as she mewed again. She was good company, he thought, and was not as vocal as he knew cats could be, but they were similar in that respect; sometimes seen, and seldom heard. "I see. Well, do not wait on my account. As you were Mercy."

The sound of mice no longer disturbed Smithy, for the starved cat he had found not long ago had kept busy at her duty. No longer were its rib bones visible, or her eyes so cautious, but with a sense of belonging she settled into the castle grounds, keeping it pest-free to the best of her ability. With grace, the tawny feline walked about the beams, searching for its latest prey in the regal way such creatures carried themselves. It must be wonderful to have claws to climb with, he thought, along with fur to keep warm, and the freedom of defiant independence which they lived by. Of course, it was mostly admiration, for he did not mind being a man, except when it was most distressing.

The pile of hay he called a bed reminded him of his boyhood days before his removal to the castle; he did not have much of a bed back home either, but a place to rest was always found. And he did not have much family to speak of, but he had Pig, his friends, and his mother; who was in good health and showed little sign of slowing down from what he had observed during his last visit. Perhaps his mother was sitting before a fire now, humming the ancient songs of her homeland, nursing the children of his neighbours, or whispering her dreams and thoughts to the hills and mountains. For her, it was a simple life, but a good one. Yet, that was her life and not his anymore.

As a blacksmith, there was a constant stream of duties, but without his work attire, and outside the smithy, he was reminded that he was just Jethro Junior, the pig farmer he was born to be, the person he was destined to be; work, food, and rest, there had to be more than just the repeat of a daily chore. At this, his thoughts drew back to his feline friend; had he claws, fur, or had been an animal, Smithy could visit and explore far-off places. The world, its creatures he longed to acquaint himself with, and all the sweet figs to eat, where would the freedom in the leisure of exploration come from? He did not have that luxury.

Life and its nuances did not seem to be enough at times, and there was longing for excitement and perhaps even…but he would not mention. Of what he would not mention, he would try to deaden with hard labour and at times, as he thought to do this evening was to partake in cider, but before he could make himself sick with the drink, Pig squealed; waking him from whatever it was he planned to do. "I know I should not drink," He confessed to his sow, "for it would not do to be inebriated while on duty, but what of now Pig?"

What of now, when he wished to forget the brightness and warmth of a particular flame? Surely, it was fine for he was currently not on duty, and no one would disturb him at this hour, but Pig rolled around, glanced back at her owner, then repeatedly nuzzled his hand. That is right, he remembered, and setting down his drink and rising from the stool, he apologized. "Where are my manners, you must be in want of dinner. I will be back straightaway."

He was grateful Pig was not picky. Vegetable peelings, roots, scraps from the royal table, and cut grass from the garden; the sow had a varied diet. As usual, Smithy made his way to receive goods for his pet when he was met by a familiar face. "There you are Smithy,'' came the cheerful greeting. "you left so quickly."

"Rake," He wondered, "what are you doing down there?"

As though it were a natural everyday occurrence, the gardener answered, "I am talking to the flowers; they prefer nighttime stories over compliments."

"Huh. Well, I am on my way to retrieve Pig's dinner."

From his basket, the gardener retrieved some fruit, "Here, take these apples. I believe she will enjoy their sweetness." and from another basket, he grabbed a few misshapen turnips that were not fit the king's table, but would do for a pig.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome." And before the blacksmith could get too far, Rake mentioned, "Say, are you feeling alright? I know this may sound peculiar, but you seem quieter than usual." Though, in what way, the Rake was not sure. "Pepper wanted to know if dinner was agreeable for you?"

It was a rare moment of insightfulness from the gardener, but it did not alarm the blacksmith. "I appreciate your concern, but I am alright. Be sure to tell Pepper that dinner was delicious. Though as far as being quiet, I suppose none of us can compete with Jester, for conversation tends to escape me and stick to him more often than not."

The gardener was not so sure whether he believed his friend, but he acquiesced. "Alright, if you say so. Goodnight Smithy."

"Goodnight Rake."

Sleep had been unkind to Smithy. A nightmare had disturbed his rest. Although it had been years, an exaggerated version of events had played out in his dream; sounds and smells that he thought he had forgotten haunted him. However, beside him, Pig slept soundly which eased him a little, but he hoped in all earnestness that he would not have to face another sleepless night. A memory of his father had reminded him of a silent promise he had made to himself, that would not be like him; reckless and destructive, careless, without thought to the feelings of others.

What was he supposed to do now that had woken? Everyone else should have been asleep, but perhaps an evening stroll might do him some good. Without his leather apron, he felt naked but lighter as he stepped into the crisp and humid night. The season spoke with the cricket's song, the fullness of the moon, and the scents of evening blooms. And although he had thought everyone would have been asleep, he spotted Jane in the darkness; her figure kissed by the moon as she walked back and forth on the battlements.

Hmm, it was her turn to do the night watch; he would not disturb her, or rather he should not…but he could not sleep.

Tonight was bound to be another peaceful evening. It would be a few hours until Gunther relieved her for duty, but until then, she had the view of a clear, starry night to herself. "The moon is so bright this evening." Jane whispered to no one.

In her past lessons, Sir Theodore had mentioned how knowing the alignment of stars could assist in navigation. Though she could not boast of being as familiar with them as Gunther was; he had been more or less forced to learn, or risk getting lost when the time came, and he had to venture across the sea. A chuckle beside her made her flush in embarrassment, body tense, and ready to strike. "The moon is bright every evening," Commented Smithy, "except when the clouds shield her."

Relieved it was not Gunther, she softened her stance, and relaxed. "I know, I am almost blinded by its beauty."

He could almost say the same. "I apologize if I have disturbed you."

"Not at all, I rather it is you than an intruder." It was not often that she found others awake at this time of night. At times, Sir Theodore would stop by and check on her state of wakefulness, but never Smithy. "However, why are you not sleeping? You have much work to do in the morning, do you not?"

"I do," He confessed, being sure to stand at a distance so that his eyes could not betray him. "but sleep eludes me at the moment."

"It happens to me from time to time," She confessed; staring at the heavenly bodies in the sky that mere mortals could not begin to comprehend. "and then I am left laying there; thinking about past embarrassments or mistakes, but tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it yet. I suppose that is why I try a little harder not to mess up."

The soft smile that accompanied that statement touched him. A day without mistakes was optimistic, but he dare not hope that such a day was foreseeable. Yet, he was comforted by this, as she seemed to be. Jane was no stranger to hardship and at times she attempted to cover up the fact that she too could fall prey to anxieties, but it was another quality that endeared her to him; her fortitude and endurance. Strange how his distress made him available for others who were more deserving, but although he could not reach out and comfort her in a casual manner that Jester could, Smithy had his method. "I know it can be difficult at times, to deal with the injustices around you, but it is admirable to see your hard work is not in vain. Well done Jane."

"Thank you, Smithy."

The scent of cherry blossoms was carried by the breeze then, passing all around them. Like a flame, her hair danced and fluttered; crowning her in beauty. A thudding heart and a sense of quiet understanding were there, but neither would speak of it. Call it fear, call it a duty, or whatever words are used by those who allowed nations or winds, or walls of some sort to stand before them. It was not the time, but when would it ever be? Perhaps never.

"I should go." His gentle voice allowed. "It would not look well if Sir Theodore thought you were slacking in your duties."

"What do you mean? I am still able to watch. There is no distraction in our conversation."

He should have thought of this earlier. Propriety dictated that this meeting should have never occurred; that and books and ballads could better describe what he wanted to say. He was not a hero nor a nobleman who spoke with grandness, neither a scholar, nor a minstrel who spoke with intelligence, but a humble blacksmith. Plain language would have to do. "I am not concerned by your ability to do your duty, Jane," He explained, "but of the propriety of our meeting. It would not look good to be seen together under these circumstances."

She looked upon his face and understood. There was no jest or meanness laced in his words, but respect and sincerity. "Oh, perhaps it is best. Goodnight Smithy."

"Goodnight… Jane."

That night, he experienced a quality of sleep he had not known for a very long time.