A set of drabble-ish things that I like the idea of, but can't be bothered to make into a full story.
#1.
A quiet, familiar giggle made David whirl around from where he was selecting a saddle pad. His five year old son had ducked under the stall guard -again- and was excitedly rubbing Monty's soft nose, looking especially small in contrast with the massive bay battlehorse.
"Gilan!" the Battlemaster cried out, hurriedly striding over and snatching his child up and out of the stall, away from the massive, dinner plate size hooves. David shifted Gilan in his arms until the boy was facing him, then said sternly, "We've been over this, Gil. You have to stay out of the stalls unless I'm in there with you."
Gilan blinked wide, innocent, confused eyes at his father. "But, Da! 's a horse!"
David gave a deep sigh. He truly believed that Gilan wasn't meaning to be disobedient. However, just because Gilan was fascinated with horses didn't mean that he would be exempt from getting stepped on by a misplaced hoof. "Yes, and he's much bigger than you. He could accidentally hurt you. Do you understand, son?"
Gilan nodded. "Yes, Da," he replied slowly, turning his head to gaze longingly back at Monty.
David chuckled and ruffled the boy's blonde mop, then took a few steps closer to the stall so that Gilan's small arms could reach Monty's inquiring muzzle.
#2.
"He's fairly brilliant," Sir Gerron admitted. "You might consider enrolling him with MacNeil soon."
Sir David rubbed his chin. "He's that good?" Almost eleven, Gilan had been in basic training for around a year and a half. His son was undoubtedly skilled, but training with a master swordsman at such a young age was a rare occurrence.
However, Sir Gerron replied without hesitation. "He's that good. Has the potential to be one of the best." This was high praise; Gerron was not one to give compliments lightly.
David nodded. While his exterior remained calm, he was inwardly burning with pride. "Thank you, Gerron. You know I trust your judgement; I'll get in contact with MacNeil and see if he has room for another pupil."
Gerron gave a nod of assent as he turned to leave the office, before suddenly pausing. "David, he needs a better sword."
The Battlemaster tilted his head, urging the knight to elaborate.
"Gilan's such a spindly thing." Gerron said slowly, knowing that this was a rather delicate subject. "He manages, but the school swords are really too heavy and unbalanced for him. He's going to need something he can actually use more effectively."
"You're right," David replied slowly, contemplating. The other knights all too often loved to remind him how sparely built his son was, and while Gilan would never complain, David knew that the other cadets gave his son grief about his lankiness. "If he needs it, I'll get it done."
#3.
Sir David peeked his head into the hayloft in Castle Caraway's stable. "Gilan? Are you up here?"
"Shh..." Came the soft reply from where Gilan sat at one of the hay drops, intently watching the aisle below him. Confused, David finished the ascent into the hayloft and moved to settle next to his son.
"What are you up to?" David asked worriedly, knowing of his child's penchant towards mischief.
Gilan smirked and gestured towards the door of the feed room that was visible from this particular hay drop. "I rigged a water bucket to drop when the door opens."
David frowned. He had been trying to discourage Gilan's pranks; apparently, it had been to no avail. "Gilan," he chided. "You're better than this."
"I know..." Gilan trailed off, then shrugged. "I wanted to do two buckets, but I ran out of time, you know?"
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," the father replied sternly.
It was around this moment that heavy footsteps could be heard moving up the aisle. The owner came into sight and could be recognized as Joss, one of the less pleasant, more rude stablehands. David hesitated as Joss moved toward the feed room, and Gilan turned pleadingly to his father.
"C'mon, Dad. It won't hurt him, and it's warm today; he'll dry quickly. You might as well enjoy the show."
David considered Gilan's earnest blue eyes. Joss had been rather impolite to him earlier, the Battlemaster admitted to himself.
The splash of water, the angry shout, and the sight of a dripping wet stablehand ended up being more satisfying than it probably should have been.
#4.
Gilan, with grass stains and dirt staining his clothes and mud smeared across his cheek, refused to meet his father's eyes.
"I'm disappointed in you." David was saying, barely contained anger visible on his face. "What were you thinking?"
Gilan took a deep breath. "I... I didn't think-"
David cut him off. "That's obvious," he said crisply. Gilan didn't answer, though his bottom lip trembled slightly. David pressed on. "A cross country race with the visiting Baron's son? The idea of a race was stupid, but besides that, you knew the course was too muddy to jump safely. Why on earth would you even consider it?"
"Because I didn't think," Gilan answered softly, tears glistening in his eyes.
"You didn't," David agreed. "You're lucky that neither of you were seriously hurt. And Bentley - he could have slipped and easily broken a leg! I thought he meant more to you than that; I suppose I was wrong."
It was these words that sent the tears spilling onto Gilan's cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said thickly. "I was stupid."
David sighed. He hated seeing his son cry, but he had to stress the importance of the matter. "You and I are to apologize to the Baron and his son first thing in the morning; and they are to apologize to us for daring you in the first place."
Gilan nodded numbly, and David sighed again. "You can go, Gilan." His son immediately bolted out the office door. David wearily scrubbed his face with both hands. All parenting was done with immense love, but that didn't make it easy.
#5.
The fierceness of David's voice belied the gentleness with which he examined the bruise that marred his son's left cheek. "Who did this? Who hit you?!"
"No one, it's nothing," Gilan muttered, brushing his father's hand away.
"Oh, so your face just happened to turn a rather striking shade of purple?" David answered sarcastically.
Gilan groaned. "No! It's just... I can't go running to my dad for everything just because he's the Battlemaster..." The boy trailed off before bitterly adding, "I don't want to be anymore of a freak than I already am."
David stilled at Gilan's words before quietly replying. "First, you are not a freak. Second, the fact that I am the Battlemaster means nothing in this situation. You think that other fathers would do nothing if their son came home with a bruise on their face? Of course not. They would react the same as I did."
Gilan tilted his head. "How do you know?"
David allowed himself a smile. "It's a parent instinct, I think."
Slowly nodding to himself, Gilan finally said, "It was Kendrick. He wasn't very happy that he got paired with me during drill practice." A beat passed before Gilan nervously added, "But, Dad? I still don't want him to know that I told you."
"That's fine. He won't know, I promise," David assured his son. Parent instinct, indeed.
Dad!David is my favorite.
R&R
-TrustTheCloak
