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

Thank you to everyone for the lovely comments. It's started to get a little difficult, I guess because I want there to be more then just Smithy fighting with himself. I would be happy to hear any suggestions as to how I could improve this story.

As of Nov 28, 2020 this chapter was edited for clarity, to fix spelling and grammar, as well as other errors.

As of March 7, 2021 this chapter was edited for clarity, to fix spelling and grammar, as well as other errors.

Chapter 4: Rational Sarcasm

The wind picked up, and carried a damp, earthy scent; a storm was approaching, but hopefully, it would soon pass; Smithy thought it would be wise to remember to close the shutters to the upper passageway as a precaution. The warm breeze added to his discomfort as sweat dripped from his forehead, and into his eyes where it burned. No matter, what comfort could be had in which he deserved? Everything up to this point he worked hard for, and like the big things, the little things required effort.

Fortunately, this was a day he would not have to spend before his fire, but rather with minor repairs about the castle; which brought its fair share of difficulties. Yet, right now he did not have to rush; the animals deserve the utmost best when it came to their care. Sounds of breathing and gentle sayings were the norm around the horses; nothing exciting, as it should be, as it should always be, but rather steady, gentle caresses from the blond, and words any lady would find deserving; these were the privileges of the colts and mares in the king's service. It was right around this time that Pig waddled past Smithy's feet; her snout searching for edibles the horses dropped. "Have you come to help me clean?"

She looked up at the sound of his voice, sniffing around, and found some carrot, and nibbled it; happy with her find. Work and good company, what more could he want? With ungloved hands, Smithy soothed and calmed the creatures before him, mostly the brown-haired beauty. In his hands, the chestnut mare would attempt great jumps or outpace other horses. Truly, she was a little too much like her owner, and this in itself was encouragement.

If only his talent worked with another beauty; one he should not name. He shut his eyes and allowed his hands to see for him so that he could comfort in his slow, careful way. The pang struck him when the lady knight's image flickered in his mind, and the thought of rejection stabbed him. She could not care for him was what he thought and whatever friendliness displayed was only friendship. If only people were like animals, who could never hide their feelings and were direct about their intentions by action or scents.

In between thoughts, a wanted interruption came by. "Smithy," The siren song beckoned, "if you would be so kind as to saddle my horse."

The blacksmith was sure he did not smell that great, seeing as he had been sweating and tending to the horses. And yet, what did it matter? He was exactly who he appeared to be, and that was that. Feel nothing he told himself, be calm, say nothing to bring about his weakness. Smithy stopped mid-caress, opened his eyes, and faced the other wall. "Is that all?" Came his monotone.

"No."

"Surprise."

"This buckle here," The lady knight explained, "Pig brought it to me, and I believe it belongs to one of my saddlebags."

Pig snorted in acknowledgement and ran off before a proper scolding could be administered. And the blacksmith dared a glance then and removed all traces of warmth; leaving only a monotonous answer. "And you want me to fix it?"

"Yes." Jane answered, "If you can."

From time to time, the blacksmith inspired fear, and he could sense the shift in tone and posture from her. Mentally he cursed his father, for teaching him this way of thinking, and started to reason. Tension dropped from his shoulders then and the beginnings of a smile could be seen. Jane was not like the others who used him ill, but a friend he could trust, and he did not want to make things harder for her. Even if it hurt him, he would show mild leniency towards her, for she had done nothing, except widen the hairline cracks. "Well, seeing as I finished my other duties ahead of schedule, it should be done no later than this afternoon."

"Thank you Smithy, that would be champion."

"Now, if I could have the buckle please."

The drumbeats of his heart he tried to quiet; like a spark, she started the conflagration in his bones. If he were sliced open, for sure there would be a puddle where the most important organs should be. As the brush of her fingertips in his open palm occurred, he almost dared to close his hand over those cracked, calloused hands, whose roughness would tell the story of her courage and dedication. Of course, his father taught him better, so he betrayed nothing. "I will work on it as soon as possible."

With all the steps to saddle her horse, he was almost glad he did not have to face her. No time was wasted in the effort of this task. Nonetheless, the skies were several shades of grey, not so threatening, though a little less inviting than before. And just like the sky, his feelings were ever-changing; feelings were a dreadful thing, and the force to look away took more effort than he realized.

Mercy mewed at the redhead, earning a head scratch. Strange, thought the blacksmith, the tawny feline was cautious of most if not everyone. Perhaps she saw something in Jane, something worth knowing and understanding, but Smithy bit the flesh inside his cheek; he would not relinquish himself so easily. Why would he need to?

He barely looked at her, as though she were a shadow and the air. Jane hated how he seemed a little distant at times. It might have been true, that animals were his only passion. The horses were never in want, neither were Pig, Mercy, and all the chickens in the hen house. Only they knew the truth, they could sense it, feel it, know it. Perhaps like them, his perception and sensitivity to the world made him different.

Some may call it an obsession, or dedication. Then again, she could have said the same about her knighthood. They were similar, but the differences were great. Therefore, there was little to no danger in her getting to know him. "You were not at the morning meal," She attempted at conversation, "yesterday neither."

She took notice, as a friend of course. What weight was behind such words? It would mean nothing, even if it was there, it would continue to mean little to nothing. That was what made it worse, and it added to his ongoing disappointments. "I was not hungry." He confessed.

"By midday, you will surely have an appetite."

"Perhaps."

One-word answers, how unsatisfactory they were. A trait of his, a fault, one of his many. What reservations were needed among friends? There was no reason for this.

"It might be mutton." She suggested.

He dared another glance but decided at the last second to glance at the empty stall beside him. "That would be nice."

Fresh hay lined the horse stalls, their perfume the essence of country life once lived. No one she knew, could have said there were creatures better cared for. Be that as it may, who was the one who cared for him? Someone had to. And in an attempt to brighten the conversation, she mentioned, "Your hard work shows. I am glad the king has someone he can trust."

He wanted to believe her words, but he was no different from any other as far as skills went. "There are many who could be counted as trustworthy, including you Jane."

"I could never lift a hammer as you can."

This caught his attention, and her emerald eyes flared with determined competitiveness. She was baiting him with flattery, a tactic she must have acquired from her lady in waiting training. Being the passive-aggressive he was, this was his reply, "You could, with a little practice of course."

"You think I can, aye? My mother would have a few things to say on the matter."

"You have proved her wrong before, and no doubt she will always have something to say on any matter."

"Perhaps, I could become a part-time blacksmith, you seem to have your work cut out for you."

He shrugged his shoulders and handed her his hammer, "If you wanted to, how could I deny you the privilege?"

As he watched her try to lift it, he wondered if he had ever denied her anything, and although difficult, Jane managed to lift it once, before allowing it to drop away from her feet. "I guess I can lift it."

"Did you think you could not?"

She almost felt annoyed at the sarcasm, but then smiled, because this was his usual behaviour. No one she knew, could care the way he cared. No one made sassy retorts endearing. An even sweeter smile joined with her uncontrolled laugh made his heart leap for joy. There was much to be said, so much they should not think to mention; it would soil what peace they had. "If you offered advice on the proper procedure," She softened, "then I would think over your suggestions, and come to a conclusion of my own."

Nothing lasting was behind that voice and smile, he repeatedly thought to himself, and that monotonous voice was back. "Then you know the answer?"

He would not dare call her fickle, would he?

"Would I?" Her fists balled, "I suppose many would think I would not know."

It was not beyond his notice, and he flashed her that sincere smile of a friend, the one age, nor time could not remove. "If you know, they would not. If they know, you would not. In time, you would, if not at the very moment, for hasty decisions are not wise ones. Here you are, Jane."

Like that, her anger melted away. Over time, it had become a habit to become offended if any mention or related comment were due to her birth. However, how could she forget who was friend or foe? Jane took the reins from his hands, shocked by a different revelation. It was rare to see his naked hands, which were several shades lighter than his face. The welcomed delight of brushed hands was like the comfort of a hot beverage on a winter day. It was something she could get used to given the time, but it was over before it began. "Right, well off I go."

Besides, the lady knight only admired him, and she was sure that it meant nothing, but the sincere feelings of a friend. And before she knew it, she mounted her horse, though looked down at her feet. Something felt off, though it was not so alarming as her thoughts were when Smithy started messing with the stirrup leather. "This will only take a moment."

How beautiful they were, those white, strong, laborious hands. With them, he fixed the problem immediately, her smile a bit sheepish. "Am I a tree that keeps growing?"

"I am afraid so. We could try an axe," He teased lightly, "though I believe a change of footwear is the main root of the problem. New boots?"

"No."

He would have time to regret that comment later. Using what worked, he forced himself into normalcy. "Perhaps a swing from my hammer might do the job, it works on almost everything else."

She punched his shoulder lightly. "If I were metal, then such things would be simple."

That he would never wish. Without the heat, metal took force to bend and was cold to the touch. It was only near other temperatures that it took on the qualities of soft or hard, which he thought of himself. Simple, he thought it was, but that was after years of practice. It was fascinating, complex, and could look simple, or become unique, but only in the right conditions, with the proper skills and tools.

When she thought things could not get any worse, such a thing as growth had to occur and make her a little less ladylike. Jane did not care most of the time, but she cared from time to time, and when she did, it was disheartening. No matter, she would soon get used to the idea, and the stirrups were adjusted again until she felt they were to his liking. "I might be gone for most of the day. If anyone asks…"

"Tell them to mind their own business." He finished.

"In more or less terms, unless there is reasonable doubt."

Another glance towards the sky made him wonder if he should voice his concerns. "Please be careful Jane, I do not like the look of those clouds."

After the morning's events, this made her mad. "I can take care of myself."

"That is not what I am concerned about Jane."

Maggots, he must have been talking about the horse. She hoped that one day she would run out of mistakes. Unfortunately, this was not the day. Whatever passed over his eyes, she missed. And, if anyone was deserving of her anger, it was not him. "Sorry."

"No harm done."

A ride will ease her thoughts or tire her. Harm was always done, either by her hands or tongue. As long as she was distracted, there would be time to become rational again. Then again, what was rational about her life? Until Jane could make sense of a few matters, she would continue to be who she was, but was aware of how much she was in want of improvement.