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

A/n: I feel bad that I have left this fic alone for too long. I have been busy with my blog, writing for other Fandoms, travel and life, and trying to improve as a writer. I haven't forgotten, nor have I left. I'm still around, though more in the background. I have acknowledged that when I started writing for jatd, I knew little to nothing and now, I can honestly say I have a few works I'm genuinely proud of. If you'd pm me and I haven't responded, it's because my email started to mark stuff from this website as spam, and so I'll respond at the nearest opportunity. This fic, I am proud of it, andand I want to finish it and therfore will make it shorter then I originally intended. However, I promise that I'll do the best I can, because I care about everyone who has supported for al these years.

I hope you'll enjoy!


Troubling days, as plentiful as the grains of sand followed him and his natural activity. The song of swinging hammers was the welcomed melody, with its smoothing, healing force, but willful, and its manner controlled by the silent man. There was little consolation except for the satisfaction which came from a good day's work, and a full stomach from a cooked meal, but as ever, he was a man; with little in the world but a pig and a determined soul. And while for her part, she was still a burning flame, he was quite in need of refinement; making choices, he stuck to them.

Pig knew, though she could not tell him, and Jester schemed, though the result was not yet certain. Oh yes, Smithy polished, straightened, and repaired all forms of metal, but cold fires were inadequate to his profession. And while his forge fire burned hot, the sparks which rested upon his heart were snuffed. The days, fortnights, and months alike, came and went; his overzealous everyday activity but the transition toward the methods of his destruction. Little passed through his silent barriers, except for the simple smiles which were but simple grains of his sacrifice.

Perhaps, it was his learned way, or he was the child of circumstance, but he repressed even his lesser attachments, until he was but the Smith of Kipper Castle.


"Petal, you must go to him."

Jane, having passed her fair share of trying tasks, as well as unwanted attentions, and goading sparring partners, simply came for a quick meal, as well as decent company. "If this is about Gunther," who had bested her in archery, as well as witty retort, and had the nerve to spread rumors, "then I do not want to hear it." or anything else requiring extensive thought at the moment.

"No," came the soft encouragement of the castles cook. "you are fully aware of who I mean."

With her palm, she hid her most expressive features, but Jane's plump mouth, pursed in half anger - half grief, asserted. "It is….I do not care to say."

"Smithy! I was talking about our friend," whose meal was still warm, though untouched. "he has not taken a moment's rest all day. I fear he may faint, or worse. Please, say you will speak with him. He had always liked you best Jane, and if you…. "

"Pepper!" Jane interrupted, fists clenched, "he is no friend of mine," with a slight tightness of regret which adhered itself to her tongue everytime the thought of him came to mind. "at least I am not to him. I cannot understand it, we were very good friends, but….maggots, he refuses to even raise his head to look me in the eyes anymore."

The cook, being wise in the ways which could be foolish, nurturing, and admirable in ideals that carried on even to the changing times, was struck with a thought; which once settled, was as stubborn as a mule. And this revelation made her bubble over with a newfound joy and amusement, and taking the hands of the she knight firmly, though with well meaning intent, enlightened her. "Petal, he is in love with you."