Author's Note - Revised, August 2018:

Hello, Reader. I hesitated to adjust this author's note, but let's be honest: my original young teen exuberance was a little cringeworthy to start this story off with (the rest, including this chapter, remains unedited for posterity. I won't look. Do so at your own risk.) But I just want to say thank you for being here and sticking with Ballad. It's been a very long, broken haul of a decade of playing with this and forgetting about it, then remembering it, and then having life eat my time again like a pack of Oreos. But I hope I can bring the conclusion of this longwinded saga to an end worthy of your time.

A note, though, for any who might stumble here as fresh-faced, new readers, or who might want to brush up/catch up on the memories of their younger days: the beginning chapters of Ballad are... a flawed time capsule, shall we say? I began writing as a wee thing, and as such apologize for much of the early jumping-of-the-gun-fluff, typos, illogical points, and any over-sugary moments. In retrospect, I learned a lot in the early pacing, but that said: much of that early pacing and writing is... questionable.

BUT, dear reader, please don't lose heart or miss out! I grew up (a little), got some more credible life experience (a lot), and hopefully if you stick with Ballad to the later chapters, things will coalesce as much as I can make them, and you'll be able to enjoy a little more substance and action from our heroes.

Thank you all for your patience and kindness.


Synopsis:
When the King grants Jester a fortnight to find his lost family, little does he know that he and Jane are about to be swept up in an adventure that will both bring them together and tear them apart, testing the bounds of love, survival and knighthood.


CHAPTER ONE
Pain


Jester gazed out of his window, a heavy pain in his eyes as he watched Jane in the practice arena. Five years had passed and they had all grown into their late teens, but Jester's feelings towards Jane had never changed. Not that he had ever had the courage to tell her, of course. Not even now, at nineteen-years of age. He simply remained the best human friend he could possibly be, whenever Jane needed a listening ear.

Jester strummed a minor chord on his lute, a deep melancholy settling over him.

It was a rainy day, the sky weeping in torrents. The King had kindly given him the day off, but Sir Theodore had insisted that the squires spar in the rain. No matter the weather, if there were enemies at the gate, they had to be prepared. And so Jester watched a mud-covered Jane sadly.

"Tales of Unrequited Love," he quietly sang the first line of one of his most melancholy ballads. His heart felt heavy. That was the easiest way to describe his feelings. A 'tale of unrequited love', considering that Jane would never see him as anything but a friend, no different from Rake or Smithy.

He sighed, and put down his instrument. It was perhaps not the best thing to do at the moment, he told himself firmly. But there was not much else to do on this rainy day, and he found himself settling back on the window ledge, gazing out as Jane and Gunther struck at each other. Their exercise had something of a rugged grace to it, as they moved in perfect rhythm, like gypsy dancers. Jester felt a pang of envy. Jane and Gunther got to spend so much time together...even if they spent most of it bickering.

A sudden spark of an idea to quench his boredom lit up Jester's bright mind, and he pulled a sheaf of parchment towards him, as well as a quill. Dipping it in some ink, he quickly began to sketch the dance-like movements he saw, and soon found he was enjoying himself. His quill began to take on the sparring shapes of Jane, who he drew with great care and tenderness, and Gunther. Around the picture, he began to write in an elegant script such as those in the finest books of the king. At first, he had no idea what the words would come to, but soon found the beginning of a ballad forming on the side of his sketch.

Jester smiled in spite of himself. The ballad sang of red hair and green eyes and grace with a blade, as well as a pretty face and kind smile. And yet, it never once named its subject. Shaking his head, Jester slipped it among the many papers on his desk, and picked up his lute again. No one could ever see the drawing. Even the thought that Jane might made him squirm, and as a last comfort that that would never happen, he tossed it towards the grate. The words to the ballad would come to him if he felt a need of them.

Strumming a few more chords, Jester moved away from the window and began playing again, yet his pain had not lessened. It had just been appeased for the moment, ready to strike back.