So... I was looking at my Doc Manager and realized that I have a lot of little stories that I should finish. They are just little ideas that popped into my head, I'll write a few paragraphs, and then I just leave them alone. The thing is, I actually like what the story could be, I just need to sit down and actually write it. So, I'm planning to complete all the little prompts in my documents before allowing myself to put any more in. (Besides my chapter stories; after I finish each chapter, I'll put the next chapter in to get going.)
Crowley Meratyn, Commandant of the Ranger Corps, bounded up the wooden porch in an rather undignified manner. Halt often complained that Crowley was a five year old at heart, but Crowley took it philosophically, acknowledging the fact that he probably wasn't the most mature person someone would ever meet. He had to be an official adult most days, and Crowley figured he could act childish around his best friend if he wanted. Speaking of his best friend...
"Halt! I'm here!" He called cheerfully to the cabin. "I know you missed me!" The cabin door quietly creaked open, and Halt peeked through, annoyed disbelief tinting his expression.
"Must you always announce your presence to the entire world? Some of us have apprentices trying to sleep."
Crowley tilted his head, flicking his hazel eyes from Halt's face to the daylight filling the yard. "Apprentices trying to sleep? Who are you, and what have you done with Halt?"
Halt sighed at Crowley's antics before gesturing his friend in the cabin. "Coffee's on. But, if you wake Gilan, I swear I'll put an arrow through you," he threatened.
Said apprentice was currently curled on the couch, looking small underneath a thick blanket. Even in sleep, his face look drawn and weary. Crowley cast a questioning glance to Halt, who answered, "Flu has been going around, and Gil caught it about three days ago." Halt shook his head. "That boy's immune system is a joke."
Crowley frowned deeply and stirred his coffee as Halt continued. "He's been throwing up so much, it's been a fight to try to keep him hydrated. That's why he's gotten so little sleep," he finished wearily, running a hand through his dark hair. "If his fever gets much higher, I'm getting a castle healer."
"That's terrible," Crowley replied sincerely. Eyeing his friend's tired, disheveled appearance, the red head asked, "What about you, Halt? You look almost as bad as Gilan."
Halt adamantly shook his head in reply. "I'm fine. Just tired. It's hard to sleep when you have a sick apprentice to keep on eye on."
Crowley internally considered his options. He really didn't want to get sick; puking was nasty and gross and being sick was a complete and total pain. He could go, patting Halt on the back with a "good luck!" and leave his already exhausted friend to try to take care of a very sick person. Or, he could stay, and offer to take care of Gilan while Halt got some much needed rest and a break from the strain. Crowley gave a defeated sigh. "I'll look after Gilan, Halt. You go get some sleep."
Halt shook his head once again. "I'm not going to ask you to do that, Crowley. He's my responsibility."
"I am the Ranger Commandant," Crowley answered forcefully. "You didn't ask me; I offered. I can choose to give assistance to my comrades if I want to, and as your Commandant, I order you to go get some sleep." Crowley rarely pulled rank, but sometimes, Halt was stubborn enough that it was an aid Crowley took advantage of.
Halt blinked, his tired mind processing what Crowley had just said. "Well, if you put it that way..." Moving unsteadily to his room, Halt gathered the energy to give his friend a totally serious look. "If anything changes, get me up."
Crowley made a shooing motion. "Yes, I know. Go to bed." And with that, Halt entered his room, only taking the time to pull his boots off before collapsing onto his bed, Gilan's sick form his last thought before he fell asleep.
A quiet moan from the couch made Crowley glance up from where he was filling out some of Halt's unfinished reports - yes, because he was that good of a friend. Quickly getting up, he barely got the bowl into Gilan's hands before the boy retched. It seemed to last forever, Gilan vomiting until tears squeezed out of his blue eyes. Crowley felt slightly helpless as he waited for the bout to stop, and found himself holding the sweaty blonde bangs out of the boy's face, murmuring reassurances. Finally, the vomiting stopped, and Gilan turned his confused, fever bright eyes on Crowley.
"Dad?" He croaked, his voice a shadow of its usual self. Crowley, feeling horrible, shook his head.
"No, Gilan. It's Crowley."
Gilan blinked, his eyes hazy and unfocused. "Crowley," he slurred. "Wha'dya doing here?"
The Commandant attempted to keep his tone light as he replied. "Just helping look after one of my favorite apprentices. Will you drink some water?"
Gilan wrinkled his nose at the offered glass of water, feebly attempting to push it away. "I don't wan' it."
"Please, Gilan," Crowley pleaded. "We've got to try to keep you hydrated."
"It'll come righ' back'up," the boy answered miserably. Crowley sighed, understanding why Halt looked so weary. It was mentally and emotionally taxing watching someone you cared about in so much misery, and hardly being able to do a thing about it.
"Just, try it, please?"
Gilan, who disliked arguing on a good day, soon relented, managing a few sips of the water before drifting back to sleep. Crowley watched him for a moment, then, satisfied, turned back to Halt's reports. Halt would owe him big by the time he finished with them, Crowley decided.
Halt woke, feeling more refreshed then he had in days. After quickly changing into fresher clothes, Halt made his way into the living room area. Crowley was seated in Halt's armchair, reading as he nursed a cup of coffee. Gilan looked mostly the same, except for the wet cloths that now draped over his forehead and neck. Halt's small smile from before faded at the sight.
"You, my friend, need to keep up with your reports. That was absolutely tedious, but you're welcome," Crowley said from over in the armchair. Halt, confused for a second, glanced over at the neatly stacked pile of now finished reports.
"Oh. Thank you," he said quickly, surprised that his friend had done them. Crowley was a kind person, but it seemed more in his impish nature to laugh at and tease him as he watched Halt do the reports himself. "How's Gilan?" Crowley noted the anxious note that crept into his friend's voice.
"He's alright," the red head reassured him. "Woke up a few times, vomited some. Got some water in him, but it felt like we were at a stalemate with all the throwing up. He started getting agitated and was thrashing a bit, but he quieted down after I put the cloths on him."
Halt let out a small sigh of relief. "That's good."
Crowley stood and stretched. "Do you have any food in this cabin?"
Halt gestured to the kitchen. "I haven't gone for supplies in a couple of days, but we should have enough."
Crowley nodded. "I'll start a stew, if you'd like." Crowley was a good cook, just like Halt, and they often exchanged recipes and techniques.
"That would be good," Halt approved. "I might even be able to get some into Gilan. He hasn't been hungry, but I'd like him to eat something."
Crowley smiled. "There's nothing like a good stew to perk up someone's appetite," he agreed.
As Crowley went to start dinner, Gilan stirred on the couch. Halt immediately moved to crouch by him. "Hey, lad," he said softly. Gilan blinked dull blue eyes at him but didn't answer. "Will you drink some water?" Halt pressed.
"Throat 'urts," Gilan rasped, his voice barely audible. Halt winced at the scratchy tone.
"Water will help," the Ranger promised, but Gilan shook his head, despite the nausea is caused.
"It would 'urt to swallow," he insisted.
"I know," Halt answered, "But it will feel better after some water. C'mon, lad, just a couple of sips."
Gilan managed to down some of the water. When he started sputtering, Halt took the cup away, satisfied enough with the amount Gilan had taken in. "Do you feel like any stew?" he asked, hoping for a positive answer but knowing to expect a negative one. Sickness killed a person's appetite and made just the thought of eating totally awful.
Gilan considered for a moment, then answered, his voice slightly clearer from the water, "I'm not sure..."
"We'll try a few sips and see where that gets us," Halt decided. Gilan, figuring it was a rhetorical statement, burrowed deeper into his blankets. Halt tucked the fabric more tightly around him, and after subtly checking the boy's temperature, went to the kitchen to help Crowley with the stew.
Something woke Halt. He wasn't able to pin point what woke him - just a feeling of uneasiness. Padding out of his room, Halt's gaze landed briefly on Crowley, sleeping quietly in Halt's armchair. Halt had offered him the couch or Gilan's room, but Crowley had vehemently opposed to sleeping anywhere "Gilan's nasty little sickness" might have settled. Gilan was in his room. He had managed to keep down a few spoonfuls of soup, which was more than Halt expected, and seemed a bit perkier toward the end of the evening. Halt and Crowley had decided that he didn't need constant supervision throughout the night, just occasional checks.
Halt moved to Gilan's room. The boy was quiet, seemingly sleeping peacefully. As Halt moved closer, however, he realized with a jolt that it was a lie. Gilan's breathing came in fast, shallow wheezes. Halt could practically feel the heat radiating off of him, and when he placed a palm on the boy's forehead, he almost jerked it off. Gilan was burning up, the fever having skyrocketed. Cursing himself for being stupid enough to leave his apprentice alone, Halt yelled.
"Crowley! Get in here!"
Dun dun dun! Cliffhanger, my lovely readers...
Thoughts? Continue? Delete? Leave it to the imagination? Let me know in a review!
-TrustTheCloak