Disclaimer: I do not own Jane and the Dragon, they belong to their respective owners.

Chapter Nine

The Rising Sun

Gunther shifted uncomfortably on the log he was sat on, his limbs stiff from being sat for too long. It was his turn to be the night watch for a couple of hours as the others in their party slept. There were four of them: Him, Jane and two other squires nearing the end of their apprenticeships. Sir Theodore tasked them to conduct a full border patrol in the light of a rise of bandit activities along the borders of the neighbouring kingdoms and it would take them at least a week to complete the full circuit around their own border and back to the castle.

So far, their journey had been so uneventful that the two young squires had begun to grumble and question the usefulness of such task. Both Gunther and Jane had reprimanded both boys and told them to count their lucky stars that they did not have to engage in a fight against the bandits. According to Jane, if anything, the squires should be thankful and treat this as a useful practice for when they become fully-fledged Knights and must conduct such tasks on a monthly basis. But deep down, Gunther secretly could not blame them because when he was around their age he too was always itching for a fight. Though, most of the full border patrols that he went along to over the years he was accompanied by either Sir Theodore or Sir Ivon and was just as painfully uneventful, maybe even more so.

They did find a few set of footprints along their journey which supported the evidence that bandits were indeed making camp and by the look of the hastily snuffed out campfires, it seemed that the bandits knew of their presence. So, their journey was not as futile as the bored squires made it out to be. Though they have yet to come across the said bandits, and it was something the young men in their party were very eager to do.

Gunther rolled his neck and shoulders to relieve their stiffness, sighing as he heard the soft satisfying cracks his joints made.

From his vantage point, he had an unobstructed view of his surroundings. They were lucky to find a relatively good clearing beside a small stream to camp for the night and with the moon shining so brightly and the trees sparsely scattered, it made their small camp that little bit harder for the bandits to attack them in their sleep.

The two squires slept right beside the dying fire which was still giving off heat, whilst Jane slept a few feet away from them with her sword beside her. One of the boys let out a loud snore, resembling the sound of a wild boar and Jane once again turned in her bedrolls.

She slept restlessly tonight, Gunther mused. Jane was the first one to take the night watch that night, followed by the squires then lastly him. He watched Jane murmur something in her sleep as she tightened her grip on her sword, frowning as she did so. For a moment, he wondered what she was dreaming about before he shook his head vigorously to expel such thoughts and forced himself to look the other way. He should not be thinking of her, never mind staring as she slept. She would give him an earful is she ever found out that he watched her sleep. It wasn't his fault, a small voice in the back of his head tried to reason with himself. If anything, it was hers, for the way the dying embers of their campfire combined with the bright moonlight made her hair glow like a halo, or maybe bright like… like autumn leaves or even a glorious sunset.

Yes, her very own sunset, he pondered.

Gunther's nostrils flared, silently irritated at his own soppiness. He was a warrior, for goodness' sake, not some love-sick court fool trying to compose a ballad.

He took a Roman coin, a large brass coin known as a Sestertius, from his cloak pocket and twirled it over his restless fingers again and again. He flipped high in the air, marvelling at the way it caught the light on its descent before he caught it comfortably in his hand. He regarded the coin as his very own good luck charm, something he always had on him everywhere he went. His father reluctantly gave it him when he was younger after Gunther practically begged the Merchant if he could keep it. It was his very first trip to the continent on one of Magnus' ship and to avoid the hassle of a tantrum his father looked at him disapprovingly and unwillingly handed it over. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised his father let him keep it without so much as a harsh word. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was not long since his mother disappeared.

A snore, louder this time, pulled him out of his reverie and he found himself looking at Jane once more.

No, he chided himself. Do not think about her.

He needed to think about something else other than his fellow knight's flaming locks. It does not matter that their upcoming nuptial was edging closer and closer, much faster than he had anticipated. Sure, Jane no longer avoided him but it did not mean they were comfortable with the arrangement. They have become awkward with one another, unsure of what to say or how to move. It did not help that everyone was still talking about them nor the fact that the Lady-in-Waiting (with the eager princess perpetually excited to help at Adeline's elbow) hounded them nearly every other day to help with the preparations. But, he must admit, he was glad to find out that Jane was as miserable as he was when being coerced to help plan the wedding. He never understood why planning a wedding was so complicated and why his future mother-in-law was not sick of it all yet. He had never seen the Lady-in-waiting so positively giddy before and he wondered are all mothers like that?

"Mothers." Gunther scoffed quietly to himself as he threw the coin in the air more forcefully than necessary.

Of course, he would not know.

He was motherless.

Has been for most of his life.

He wondered where his mother was now.

His mother was beautiful, he knew for a fact. He had stolen a smaller portrait of her from a box his father meant to throw away when he was younger. The portrait was no bigger than his palm and it was his greatest treasure. Whoever painted her captured her real likeness, he thought, even though his memories of her has dulled over the years he knew she was as beautiful as the portrait. She was young in the portrait, maybe around the same age as he was now. He knew his mother was at least ten years younger than his father, and judging by the portrait they were still in the courting stage of their relationship.

Whilst his mother had long golden hair, her eyes were the exact shade as his. Stormy grey that reminded him of thunder and so easily to get lost in. She was tall and petite, he remembered. She also had pale skin, and despite her sharp and angular features, she was kind and charming. She could light up a room with her smile and her intelligence easily matched it.

It was with immense pride to know that he looked more like his mother than he did his father. Sure, he inherited his father's dark hair and tanned skin and one could not deny he was his father's son but at least he had his mother's features. Sharp and angular, with a tall nose and high cheekbones. Even Magnus admitted it once in his drunken state, and Gunther could not help but think maybe that's why his father can be so cruel towards him. He was just like his whore of a mother, Magnus once spat at him. Insolent and stubborn.

But without the portrait, it pained him to admit that he remembered very little of his mother. He was no more than six years old when she disappeared. His father got every angry every time he asked about his mother that he very quickly learnt never to speak about his mother or risk getting a beating again. All he knew was that she took off one winter's night and never returned again.

Of course, whilst his father forbade him to not so much as utter his mother's name, it did not mean the servants and the village folk did not speculate what happened to the Merchant's wife when they thought Gunther was not listening. Or maybe they knew he was listening, and deliberately spoke of unkind words about his mother. If they did, then he pretended to not have heard and carried on with his business without a care in the world.

He has heard many theories about his mother, some more ridiculous than others, but it truly got under his skin to not know the truth.

Some say she just had enough of the Merchant and she simply ran away.

Others say she ran away with a man, but many couldn't quite agree on what kind of a man he was. Some swore he was a prince of a neighbouring kingdom or a nobleman of a sort, and some said he was a peasant. A servant. Gunther has even heard that yes, his mother did run away with a man, but he was a foreign man. Another merchant and they both sailed away to the continent.

Or maybe she was spirited away, wandered too far into the woods and was taken by the fairies. Maybe she was a fairy herself and Gunther could not help but laugh at that theory, but he supposed it was better than the last common theory he heard many people whisper about.

Maybe she was murdered, some surmised. Murdered by the Merchant, and her body hidden away somewhere only Magnus would now. How did she die, someone would ask, and some would say she was pushed down the stairs or maybe poisoned. They said the Merchant just has had enough of her and simply gotten rid of her. Others would say she had gotten into a fight with Magnus and received a beating rougher than usual which lead to her inevitable death. To which people would confirm that towards the end of his parents' marriage, they heard many violent arguments break out in the Breech household and most fights concluded with his mother on the receiving end of a battering.

Gunther could not shake the dismal feeling that maybe their words did ring some truth, maybe the Merchant did do something as gruesome to his mother as they say he did.

After all, growing up he had received many beatings from his father.

He recalled a fuzzy memory of him as a very young child hiding under his bed, his tiny little hands covering his ears as his parents shouted loudly at each other in another room, spouting spiteful curses around and using disgusting swear words he was too young to understand. Even now as a grown man, he would not dare use such words. Shortly after, things started to be thrown about before his father lashed out and his mother screamed in pain so loud it clawed at Gunther's eardrums.

He would never forget the way her shrill scream echoed around the house that night. The way she pleaded, sobbed and cried. He remembered she came to his bedroom and coaxed him out from under his bed after everything went silent. He remembered being horrified at the way she looked, her bottom lip swollen and split open, a small wound on her forehead and bruises starting to form on her jaw and around her right eye. Although she cleaned herself up before coming to see him, his small brain understood the pain she was in and so he cried for her. She hushed him, kissed his head as she rocked him in her arms and sang him a lullaby until he fell asleep. She slept in his room that night, cradled in her arms as if he was her lifeline and he was sure she cried herself to sleep that night.

"I love you so very much, my little warrior. So very much. Never forget that, darling Gunther." She whispered repeatedly that night as she stroked his hair.

A few nights later, she was no longer there.

Just disappeared out of thin air.

No explanations.

Just gone.

He just hoped his guttural feeling was wrong, that she did not suffer the fate people loved to say she did.

He hoped that she did in fact run away with another man, somewhere far away from where no one has ever heard of the surname Breech or better yet the Kingdom of Kippernium. That the man loved her wholeheartedly and beyond like she deserved to be loved, and his smiles brightened the world for her even in the bleakest of days. He hoped that the man provided her with everything he could and everything she could ever want. Hoped that their days were filled with nothing but happiness, laughter, hope and love. He hoped that she would have gone on to have more children and that they turned out to be better than him, infinite times better than he could ever be.

Yes, there were times where he resented her with all his being for leaving him alone with his father. In those times, he wondered how cruel can a mother be to leave her young son with someone as monstrous as Magnus Breech. How cruel can a mother be to tell her son she loved him so very much only to disappear a few days later. He has punched many walls out of frustration trying to figure out why his mother left him yet he could never come close to the truth.

But now, all he wanted was his mother to be happy and if he ever crossed her mind, even if just for a flitting second, he hoped he was something his mother could be proud of, wherever she may be. Maybe she was as far away as the other side of the continent, or maybe closer in one of the neighbouring kingdoms. Or maybe, Gunther chuckled darkly, she was wherever fairies lived when they're not stealing humans for their own amusement. Either way, he hoped she was at least contented with her life.

"A coin for your thoughts?" Jane's pale hand reached out from behind him and caught his coin before he did.

Gunther merely hummed his reply as Jane handed him the coin, and sat beside him as she pulled her warm cloak around herself tighter.

"You shouldn't think so hard, your brain might not be able to take such intense pressure and explode." Jane grinned, trying to gauge a reaction from him.

The corner of Gunther's lips twitched up, a ghost of an amused smirk lingered on his face but instead of taking the bait, he shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I was thinking about my mother."

"You never told me her name," Jane said softly at the distracted Gunther who's gaze steady on the horizon.

"Dawn." Gunther could not help but smile, a genuine heart-warming smile that rarely graced his face as he nodded at the barely rising sun peeking out from the horizon. It filled the sky with mighty colours of oranges and reds and splashed the clouds endless rays of pink as the dark night surrendered to the light. Together in a comfortable silence, the two knights watched the sun gradually rise, a defined orb against a vibrant backdrop as its pure scattered light illuminating each crevice of the land, igniting birds to sing a chorus of melodies and made the trees shone as if they were wearing golden crowns.

A/N: Review?

I apologise if this chapter is a bit boring, and lacking dialogue. See you on the next chapter! X