A/n: Here is the next chapter I promised. Ngl, when I wrote this chapter I wasn't sure if I should've rewritten or go in the direction this story seemed to be going because a depressed Smithy is breaking my heart. However, there will be fluffier chapters ahead. Until then, I hope you'll enjoy.

As of Feb 4, 2021 this chapter was edited for clarity, to fix spelling and grammar, as well as other errors.

Chapter 16: Remembrance

He thought of her again; existed with her on a fictional plane that could never come to fruition. Oh, he ought not to, though she lingered in the recesses of his mind; dancing and fighting like a sprite from one of Jester's stories. The longing which existed between the bottom of his heart and the leftmost rib was heavy like his anvil and could not be eased by the delicate dreams where they were free to express their thoughts and feelings without saying or consequence. This need and longing….it was almost a regret but not a mistake.

In the halls, in the fields, or wherever he had to be, his heart was calling for her, but his mouth dare not speak; entwined and twisted in the reigns of duty. In the day, the night, and always her voice echoed all around him, but he painted indifference upon his features and ignored her and neglected her until they were neither friend nor foe but strangers and shadows to one another. The others had long since taken notice, but restrained by fear and duty, had done little to rectify the situation as he thought they would. No matter, there was little they could do.

Days in and days out, he questioned his continued existence. For so long, much longer than he had cared to admit, he pined for the lady knight. For the fire and flames which he once thought snuffed, were but sparks which rested upon the reddest embers. His place…his future…it could be predicted.

The stables were where he belonged. The familiar, humble faces of the creatures who were as beloved as his kin, they welcomed him despite his lowly birth. And while he could fool those around him; those he would always remember and cherish as his friends, they could not know the inclinations which held him prisoner. Yet, he could not chain his memories as though they were beasts. Passing his hands through his hair, he glanced at the empty stable where her horse would occupy; where her presence last stood; the mess of curls which bid him no mind as she prepared for patrol on horseback. He deserved her silence for it had been what he gave to her; only silence.

Though, it was not what he wanted, but what he deserved nonetheless.

Smithy remembered the day Jane asked for his help in making sure she would not be swindled into buying an old horse; a time which seemed forever ago. It had been his pleasure back then to assist, of course, it gave him a chance to associate with his friend, and to show off his knowledge. It was a minor consolation; to remember how they were; how warm and inviting she had been. In the course of one morning, not only did he forget his standing, but he had forgotten that it did not take much to make the redhead smile. Appreciation shone in her emerald eyes as she rode home on the young horse he recommended, him holding on to the reins as she spoke animatedly of the new tunnels she discovered over the course of one of her early morning patrols; her laughter warmed his gentle heart, and he understood once that day had passed, that friendship was not what he felt for her.

Conflicted, he had spent these last couple of years exercising self-control; for better or worse, he had maintained a certain level of civility with most, but trouble simmered underneath it all. The shield he clung to with desperation was but dust in her clutches. Why, he was seared, broiled, and burned by her glances and care; left in his desolation. It had not been as disastrous as a storm but the work of time; his safeguards were eroded by many a splendored thing. The memory of that day would stay with him for quite some time, he was sure of it; although it wore him to the marrow of his bones, he felt her as deeply as one could feel sunshine and the blustering breeze.

Yet, it could not be, as he was it could not be. Bravery was a word he wished he was and a name for the young horse. A wonderful horse for a wonderful girl, and he was thankful that Jane had trusted him enough to help her choose. Oh, but this dream of his, would not be borne.

Trust and loyalty, she sure could accept. Friendship had once, and mayhaps still exist. Yet, in vain, he coaxed her horse every day; spoke in hushed tones to the creature, as though they may be absorbed and gifted to the one it had been intended for; sweet, gentle words of encouragement; of devotion and truth and all else which could not be named. What Smithy did not know was that it had not escaped Jane's notice, for she was well aware of Smithy's kind, yet reserved nature; of the faraway look he carried when he tended to the animals, his happiness in serving them, she liked that about him.

If either had not mistaken each other's expressions as general kindness towards all, what would have come of it? Neither spoke of what lay between them, but it had been there. It was still there. And while Jane never had been short on her admiration with his way with animals, Smithy tried as he might not be hopeful. True he could not speak to animals, if only he could, then he could hear of the daily accounts and adventures that were had.

In the depths of his heart, the ache and longing, along with the frustration of circumstance added to his daily difficulties; life had never been easy on him, and it would continue as such. As his previous regrets made themselves known once more, he longed for relief. Counting his blessings softened them only by so much. Oh, but thoughts of her did not quell the storm in his innermost parts.

This is what he knew. This…this is why he had to reason with his selfish, self-condemning heart. His family did well for themselves, selling pigs, tanning leather, or metalwork. Early in life he had mastered his trade, and learned how to read others by their mannerisms and speech; these skills being a benefit for those in his association.

If he were to become a tradesman in his own right, by his terms, he could easily earn enough to pay a bride price, albeit if he were born a commoner. Gold and silver and many other precious commodities could buy titles and kingdoms and whatever one wished. Oh, but there was an additional cost he could not afford. Her freedom, could he guarantee it? Could he allow her to roam free while he waited in the dust?

Under the law in many kingdoms and lands, a wife was considered one's property, but Jane could not be owned by anyone. Mother taught him better than to play with fire, father taught him to respect the flame. He should have known, get too close, and you will get burned. Fire was his companion, a tool, and a friend; he knew its laws, its dangers, its importance. He had to avoid a certain spark, even at the cost of his happiness; if he dared look upon her for too long, he too would be entranced like a moth. His friend, how could one avoid a beloved friend?

He could make her happy, he knew, but at what cost? She needed freedom, to spread her warmth, the safety of her light. To extinguish her dream, would be like killing her, well killing a dream. He could not, and would not, for he would never be unkind, even if the fault was his. Even if they stood side by side, working together to clean the stables, or if she waited for her sword to be sharpened, he would focus on the only flame he could trust. He knew better, and he would promise, even at the cost of himself.

He could afford it, for her sake. For the spark started with her but ended with him. Sparks flew against metal, then entered the flame, soon cooled in the water. If he kept busy, then he would not burn, for if he allowed it, he would be consumed in a burning, dying love. However, if he learned to control metal, then perhaps he could protect, and be shaped until he too was a flame. Then together, they could burn, and he would never hurt again.

Yet, nothing was guaranteed.

It was for these very reasons that he did as he ought to and began to make his way towards the throne room. If permitted, his appearance before the king would end with him relinquishing his duty in search of another.