Grace

It was an inconvenient truth, but a truth none the less that Gunther Breech was a rather attractive man.

If he had not grown into his features so well, if his cheek bones were not so refined, his hair not so annoyingly straight or his shoulders less broad, Jane could have borne it better.

Not that his looks were a problem for her, directly. They did not prevent her from performing her duties to the best of her abilities, or stop her from becoming a knight. They did not distract her in any way, of course. Not directly.

It was the side-effects that bothered her. The time he spent on useless vanities that could have been dedicated to worthier pursuits. Why should he brush his hair to maintain its silky perfection when he could have cut it short and been just as skilled an archer? Instead of shaving the stubble from his chin once a week, wearing a beard would not lessen his dedication to the Knights' Code, even as it concealed the sharp line of his jaw.

If he did not maintain his clothes so as to look well turned-out when he rode into towns he would not have to spend so much time responding to the greeting of every maiden they passed, and their journey through bustling streets would be that much quicker.

Indeed, Jane felt that if he were just a little plainer to look at, and did not provide such an easy place for wandering eyes to rest, it would be for his own benefit. At the very least it would not diminish his abilities in combat, nor the grace with which he sat upon his horse. He would simply be less of a distraction . . . to others, of course.

Moment

Every night, every single night it was the same dream.

She couldn't hear his voice, or see his face. She wasn't sure if she knew him, but she did know his words.

"I will find you, Jane."

It had almost been a year since she was found on the beach and taken to hospital. No idea who she was or how she got there, and no answers from a public appeal. No one knew her, no one claimed her.

No one had found her.

They called her Jane Smith.

She found a home with a retired couple, found a job in the local coffee shop, and began building her life from scratch.

She often went to the beach in search of answers. She never found any.

…

It was war, Gunther knew, and nothing was fair about war. But what they did to Jane went beyond unfair and straight to the heart of cruelty.

She flew high above the scrum, safe on the back of Dragon, when the enemy released their wizard. Gunther had only been able to watch as a shaft of light struck her, and in the blink of an eye she was gone.

Dragon, in an inconsolable rage and without Jane to control him, made short work of the enemy troops. They were quickly made to regret their scheme, but that did not bring Jane back.

Shaking his head, Gunther put the unpleasant memories to one side and focused on his task.

"Is it ready?" he asked the wizard, climbing down the stone stairs into his tower.

"My boy, my boy, what took you so long?" The wizard clattered about his small room, bottles knocked over and dripping their contents on the benches, the floor.

"You told me you needed a week," said Gunther, impatient. Jane must be so confused, so scared. Wherever she was.

"That was ages ago!" tsked the wizard.

"Six days, actually," replied Gunther. He knew, he'd been counting.

"Oh," said the wizard. "Well, you know what time is like. Come along now."

He beckoned and Gunther followed, unsure what to expect. He had volunteered, he would do whatever was needed, but that made it no less terrifying to trust the wizard with his life.

"Push that door will you?" The wizard waved a hand at a small timber door, half-hidden behind a bookshelf. "Old thing gets a bit stiff," he chuckled. "Rather like me!"

Gunther put his shoulder into it and the door gave eventually, ancient timber scraping over stone, spiders fleeing in terror.

"Alrighty then," said the wizard, his arms full of bottles and books. "Down we go!"

He lead the way and Gunther followed as they climbed down, down, down a narrow staircase, one of the potion bottles glowing in the dark and lighting their path.

The stairs ended in a tunnel and their journey continued. Confused, Gunther tried to get his bearings.

"Are we under the mountain?" he asked eventually.

"Of course!" The wizard inhaled deeply. "Smell that? That's ancient magic, boy. We cannot get your friend back with anything less. Buggered if I know how the other fellow got her there in the first place."

"You know where she is?"

"Of course I do! That was never the question. She's around here somewhere. No, the question, my boy, is when she is."

"When … ?"

"Yes, yes. Of course, it's all a bit wibbly wobbly this stuff. I couldn't be too precise. Chances are it hasn't been more than a month or two for her, though!"

They rounded a corner and Gunther's next question died on his lips. A giant cavern, bigger than even Dragon's cave, opened before them. At its centre lay a round pool, the water as black as ink in the dim light.

The wizard began emptying bottles into the pool, consulting his books and muttering occasionally.

"Now, she was sent against her will, so she won't have the foggiest idea who you are, my boy. Or who she is, for that matter. You are going willingly so it will not be quite so bad for you. You are not going to remember much. Your name, perhaps. Whatever you focus on, that is what you will remember."

"Right," said Gunther nervously. "I am Sir Gunther Breech and I am here to find Sir Jane d'Ark and return with her to our home, that sort of thing?"

"Eeehhh, you might want to edit that a bit," said the wizard.

"Sorry?"

"Make it shorter, boy!"

"My name is–"

"No, no, shorter!"

"I am Gunther and I am here to–"

"Nope!"

"I am here to–"

"Closer, but no."

"Well then you tell me!" Gunther yelled in exasperation.

"What are you going there to do?"

"Find Jane!"

"And there you have it! Now, once you have her take her back to where you arrived. I'll handle things from there. Righto!" He waved at the pool.

Gunther stepped closer to the edge and looked in.

"What do I do?" he asked, turning to look at the wizard.

"Find Jane," said the wizard, rolling his eyes. "Your head will adapt to the time, just do not forget yourself. Off you go m'lad!"

He gave a Gunther a shove and the young man felt a brief moment of surprise at his strength before icy salt water consumed him, rushing past him, and all he could think wasfind Jane.

…

He woke up on the beach.

He remembered his name.

I am … Gunther. I am here to …

He couldn't remember.

He staggered to his feet, damp but not soaking, and brushed sand off his jacket.

What strange clothes, he thought. And then, No, they're not.

He looked beyond the beach and saw a street, its shops looking out at the ocean. There was a book shop, a small grocer, several B&Bs. It was obviously a touristy little village then. The off-season, though, judging by the lack of tourists.

There was a coffee shop, too.

A coffee shop is a normal place to go, said his head.

…

There was only one customer when Jane arrived for her shift. A dark haired man who had his back to the door. He smelled like the beach when she walked past.

"I'm here, Joe," she called into the back room as she tied on her apron.

"Great," her boss called back. "Can you see to the customer? I haven't got to him, yet."

Jane resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Sure thing, boss!"

"Great, thanks Jane!"

The customer jolted upright at the sound of her name, his eyes meeting hers and a strange expression on his face.

It was weird, the way he looked at her. No one ever looked at her like that.

She collected her notepad and pen and walked to his table.

"Your name is Jane?" he asked before she could speak.

He looked … Familiar. No one ever looked familiar.

She nodded and he stood.

"Jane, I am here to . . . find you."