I DON'T OWN JANE AND THE DRAGON OR ITS CHARACTERS

This is going to be a multi chapter fic, which will be a challenge. Another challenge is this possibly, most likely a Jane /Smithy fic. I really do believe there aren't enough Smithy fics, and I'm hoping he won't be too Ooc. Let me know if he is and I'll be happy to make the possible corrections.

I started writing this because I read the Love of a Lady Knight by Wild-Imagination95, and fell in love with the story and the slow burn romance. Sadly that fic is uncompleted, but I recommend it, and I hope it's finished someday.

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy

Chapter 1: Foolish

He dreamed of her again.

When he woke, he was not so much ashamed, but embarrassed. It was natural to dream of daily activity, or of many fantastical things, but of his friends, her more specifically, he should not. However, at least he was happy, if not for a little while as he dressed and thought to himself about the foolishness a dream could be. The bite of the morning air prickled his exposed skin, but he knew that refreshment would not last when he was before his forge again. On this day, he was not so hungry as he had been on other days, so he took a few apples to eat later.

Dawn was painted in the sky before long, the sight of it hopeful and bright. The rising sun meant little to those in his position, who woke early, and worked from morning to night. Time was moving, there was so much to be done, time would not allow him to enjoy such comforts as dawn. In a castle, even in one with as few inhabitants as Kippernia Castle, there were keys to be made, buckles to be broken, items to be hung, and so on and so forth. Already, early in the day, he had several horses which needed to be brushed, and inspected.

Oh, and how could he forget, Sir Ivon wanted his latest weapon to be sharpened, just so that it may go back to the weaponry to collect dust. He sighed, and soon enough he laid out the necessary pieces needed for the repair he planned to do later. From the shade of his forge, he had a good view of the knights as they trained their squires, and he watched from time to time. Oh yes, he watched her from time to time, and that was the problem. In the world in which he lived, there would likely be problems with his current thinking, but he could not bring himself not to do so.

Admiration in the discipline, fluid movements, concentration in the brow, her face was not so pretty when she struck the dummy in violence, but there was something comforting in the familiarity, as well as intrigue in the change. The dummy stood no chance against her demonstration, neither did he. Years of practice made it almost a game, the happiness and joy gleamed in her eyes, as well as excitement and strength illuminated her form. Steps, her movement like a dance, it was too glorious to ignore. Passion made her unique, a dream gave her encouragement to continually work, to continue learning, to be the best she could possibly be.

He must have been overworked, why else would his mind begin to dwell?

It would not do, what does a blacksmith need of a Knight? To be in their service no doubt, to fire the metal, a servant no less. To avoid, it would be difficult, but not impossible. So avoid it he must, and he hurried into the stables to keep busy. Her voice carried, authority with humility he would say, and discipline with patience.

Every year, farmers or fighters were sent down to the castle to see if there was any use for them, for their families wished to improve their state of living, or to keep sons out of trouble. Jane loved a challenge, a test or practice of her skills. If they proved themselves worthy, then they received the honor of being taught by the few knights in the king's service. If not, then they were sent away, with letters of recommendation to assist them in their future endeavors.

Pig observed her owner, the listless look as he polished a few swords, the years worth of sigh, the trouble which lined his brows. Humans, so dishonest, if only they were animals, it would be as easy as scented glands and food offerings. In her mouth, she carried a shiny buckle which earned her a belly rub and fresh turnip from the garden. "Where did you find this girl?"

Her snout sniffed and pointed in an unwanted direction, leading Smithy again towards his forge. Smithy stopped before leaving the stables, knowing there was much work to be done still. He must ignore her, and work hard to forget impetuous feelings. The weaponry room received its due attention, which took a better part of the morning. The quality of metal varied from the age and style of weapon or sword. In the far corner there was a dull practice sword, much like the one he owned back home.

The remainders of his past could be felt if he removed his gloves. Calluses, mixed with scattered burn scars from his current occupation. Father taught him well, of the dangers of thieves and robbers, to make his emotions invisible, to fool others into believing he was less than what he was, to fight with little mess. If he took up sword again like he had many years ago, perhaps his thoughts would not be in vain.

If he wanted to, he could easily equal Gunther in skill, but match Sir Theodore in discipline.

However, he was unlike his father, and he preferred it that way.

Jane rubbed salve on her tired hands, its effect cooling. She was happy to have a little time to herself before she would be required to changed into more formal attire. When one protected the Queen, style and appearance were above everything else. Even if Jane was allowed to wear her armor, it was only with the modified gown she was required to wear. Over the years, she had learned the benefits and downsides to being a female and a Knight, but she was both, and more often than not she took pride in it.

At one time, she would have refused to be seen in such fabrics, afraid of Gunthers teasing. The first time she wore them, Gunther had seen, and had not teased her, but stood silent. It was peculiar, she had to admit, but she was relieved. Jester thought her appearance wonderful, showering her with various compliments, but those made her feel cautious. The attention received was unwanted, but the words of another comforted her. When Smithy had first seen her, and she was needed him to ready her horse so that she could follow the Queen and her ladies. At that time, he expressed his simple congratulation and he complimented how the armor suited her smile.

Those memories gladdened her heart as she dressed in those garments she sometimes hated, but it tested it as well. Gunther would not be pleased to see her talking to another, nor would Jester be happy if she choose her fellow Knight. Another trouble with being a female is that you are sent to humble in submission. Why did she have to choose? Could she not enjoy her life s little longer before her mother badgered of duties and all that?

One day, she hoped, there would be someone who understood her heart as well as she did, to allow her to live and breath, and be her compliment and companion in life. However, she would choose when she was ready, and she did not care to yet. Fixing her hair, and rubbing scented oils on her skin, she sighed and left her tower, determined to do her best. Down the stairs, she crossed the courtyard, and smiled at Smithy who was washing her horse. He looked troubled for a moment, his cloudy blue eyes looked away, but then they shone with a fire she could not explain, and he smiled at her with a brightness he hardly showed.

She quickened her pace then, her foolish heart becoming a tangled mess. She knew better than to appear too eager, or to display more emotion than she intended to show. She knew better than to believe friendship could be confused with anything else, and had to remember how kindness shown was simply his way. Off to the throne room she went, away from such distractions. His eyes followed her figure, until she disappeared around a corner. Smithy hoped she could not see his feelings.