*I do not own jane and the dragon or its characters

A/n: I couldn't help but add references from the episode Mismatched. This is mostly about Gunther since I really wanted to include him more in this fic. For those who notice that Jester is more sinister, you are right. I believe that intelligence can make you haughty and stuck up if you allow it to, since he usually thinks he knows more then others. That statement is not true for everyone, so please do not take offense. Anyway, thanks for the lovely comments and for allowing me to write the character Smithy the way I have been. I hope I won't let you guys down. And finally, I like to think of Sir Theodore as a stern, but father /grandfather figure. Please enjoy since getting this far in a fic is usually a miracle for me.

As of Nov 28, 2020 this chapter was edited for clarity, to fix spelling and grammar, as well as other errors. Also, sad boi Gunther will always tug at my heartstrings ;w;

As of March 9, 2021 this chapter was edited for clarity, to fix spelling and grammar, as well as other errors.

Chapter 5: An Unnecessary War

No one asked about Jane's whereabouts; everyone must have assumed nothing was amiss. And with so much to do, Smithy allowed himself to forget the events of the morning. A pair of eyes watched him with much interest, hiding in a corner, hoping she would not be caught. A chambermaid whose name was Mary would not allow youth, race, or station to command her. Her reasons were many, and she could not help but think her stable prince was handsome.

Through the eyes of a young maiden, she nearly gasped at the sight of his finely formed chest as she watched him loosen the strings of his shirt a little. If she were back home, her mother would have beat some sense into her, telling her how wicked it was to allow the eyes to wander. Perhaps it was wicked, but having the appearance of a Greek god did not help. When her thoughts were nearly sinful, she ran away, and her eyes nearly in tears at the beauty of such sights. Oh, it was a sin for such a person to exist.

In reality, this is what happened. As was his usual duty, Smithy mucked the stables. The physical exertion combined with the heat made him sweat profusely, and he loosened the strings of his shirt. The scent of horse dung and sweat stung his eyes and made them glisten, and he knew he was due for a bath by the smell of his armpits. Poking at his stomach, he groaned in hunger; in all his stubbornness, he had avoided eating, and now he was paying with the gnawing in his belly.

In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a figure, but then again it could have been his thoughts getting the best of him. The thought of laundry came to his mind as he wheeled the dung towards Rakes garden. Oh well, it would all resolve itself once he finished his duty and ate double portions at the midday meal.

Elsewhere in the castle, a raven-haired Knight contemplated a very distressing matter. How in the world would he ask Jane to court him? How would he court her if it meant leaving her knighthood behind? How could he possibly win her over? The usual methods did not work, she did not seem to understand his compliments, and orchids were definitely out of the question.

Bat bladders, why did she have to be so unlike other girls? However, was that not why he liked her? No, it was more than that. Over the years, she had more than enough proved her worth as a Knight, a comrade, and a friend. He knew she liked flowers, food, and fighting, but how could he combine these into something she would accept from him?

Gunther could not ask his father, and Sir Ivon was crude on such matters, so there was only one person he could ask. When he had reached a particular wooden door, he knocked and waited. The creak of wood, slow footsteps, and a throat clearing, made him feel small, like the young squire he used to be. Only with the sight of the aged knight, who had changed little, but gained a few wrinkles and greying hair, reminded him that he was no bratty child competing with a girl to see who was tougher. "Sir Theodore," He started, "may I speak with you?"

He sighed, slightly unsure whether this was the right choice. Excusing a chambermaid, the aged knight smiled in knowing. "Come in."

Panic concentrated in Gunther's stomach, and he hoped he could keep down the meal of swan and black truffles. Was it not possible that talking with Jane's mentor could make things more difficult? Oh well, there was no going back now. "Well… there is… that is to say… ugh... I am not sur-"

"This is about a girl, yes?"

"What? How di-"

A chuckle escaped him. "I believe this is similar to what happened eight years ago."

Combing his fingers through his hair, Gunther focused his eyes on the dish of dried lavender and noticed a butterfly had settled itself upon a pile of parchment. The trembling of his hands settled a little, but his stomach was still angry and ached with every nervous inclination. "I… It is different this time."

With the wave of a hand, the aged knight encouraged him to continue. "Sir, I was hoping you would spend a moment to talk about... Um... Females?"

"Not female horses, is it? If so, you may speak with the blacksmith."

"Not female horses Sir Theodore, a girl. Um, a girl of the court, who is a friend of mine. She likes me, I think."

If he knew better which he did, and knew who this female was, which he most likely did, then this would not end well. "You think? Is there a reason to believe otherwise?"

"It is hard to be sure since mostly she insults me."

The warmth of the afternoon made the young knight glow. With special attention, Sir Theodore saw how he fought with himself. Fear had always been the darkness which he thought would be Gunther's downfall, but now, watching him trying with sincerity to speak what was on his mind softened him. Yet, he was still his teacher, and mentor. "Ah, this is a dilemma. In such a case, we may cease this line of thought."

With hardened eyes, Gunther wondered, "Why? Do you think it is a waste?"

"Not precisely. If I am correct in my assumptions, then this woman has displayed a sure sign of displeasure."

Deep down Gunther thought he knew better, but it seemed as though history was bound to repeat itself. "Really?" Came his disappointment.

"Believe it or not," He sniffed, "I have had a few dealings of my own, a few noteworthy, but sadly amounted to little. I have always taken a woman's scorn seriously, for it is usually a true sign of her affection."

The raven-haired youth held tightly to a support beam, a little unsure of what to do with himself. Why did he bother to believe he could change things? Why did he bother to even wake up that morning? If anything ever mattered, it was her, and he would be bothered if he did not even try. Yet, like usual, there was a cloud of disappointment and disillusionment above his head, ready to rain on him.

Sir Theodore felt minor regret for not choosing his wording more carefully, but he would rather not have a scandal in his hands. He continued, "Tread carefully, for a woman's heart is like a battlefield. If you plan to be successful then come up with a battle plan, think it over, then put it into action. You may or may not succeed, it all depends on how much you take the lead. However, if this is about a certain lady of the court, one who I have specifically taken under my guidance, then I suggest you surrender."

Indifference and defiance sat like a bitter taste on his tongue, and it would not leave him no matter how many times Gunther tried to swallow. "If you believe I am incapable of making her happy then I will just have to prove it otherwise."

Placing his thin hand on the lad's shoulder, Theodore shook his head. "I believe you are capable of great things, but that is separate. Matters of the heart are far more dangerous. There is no use going to war if the battle is already over. If you start a war, Sir Gunther, be prepared to face the consequences, for you may lose more than you could ever hope to gain."

Gunther could not stand there any longer, for he feared he would fall prey to past weakness and lose his temper. Worse, he might cry like the last time, when he could not make heads or tails of his feelings. Coldly, he looked away. "I will excuse myself, Sir, before I say something I do not mean."

"That is wise."

Even in the heat of the day, Gunther appeared as though he would shake out of his skin. In an act of sincere affection, the aged knight hugged him. Age might have been making Theodore soft, or perhaps he sincerely wanted to believe him. Either way, he felt pity, terrible, drowning pity, for if there was anyone more deserving, it was the lad. Gunther shuddered, afraid, confused, and saddened beyond understanding.

Why did it feel so final, even when he was determined not to give up?

"I still have to try Sir," Gunther muttered. "I need to try."

"Then I wish you luck, for you are going to need it."

Fight or flight? Neither, Gunther wanted this, needed this. He was so tired, tired of life sometimes and its disappointments, but he was glad to sometimes feel worthy of it. Perhaps all he needed was comfort and a friend among comrades.

Oh, how he hated himself and his weaknesses, but he no longer cared. With trembling arms, Gunther reached up and embraced him back. A tear or two may or may not have appeared in his grey eyes, but no one would know; it was a secret among comrades and men.