A/N: Hi Everyone! Next chapter is out! And with it the resolution of last time's cliffhanger. This chapter's flashback focuses on Pauline, Gilan, Sir Rodney, and Baron Arald—which was pretty fun to explore. I had a little bit more difficulty than usual getting things to flow right in a couple of areas, but I have places this needs to go and so certain things that needed to be mentioned... oh well... Anyhow, I hope that this chapter proves to be an enjoyable read, and not too slow. Thanks so much for your support! I appreciate it!
Guest: I hope this is soon enough for your liking! I really appreciate the review and support; thank you! XD
Random Flyer: I like that saying! And it totally fits the Ranger Corps. It definitely won't be an easy time for Halt: but there is some hope for him yet. All I can say is that maybe it is reversible… and maybe it isn't… :D Don't worry, there will definitely be some comeuppance getting for Morgarath. And there may indeed be a few cans of worms in the offing XD Thanks so much for the review!
jaymzNshed: Apologies for the cliffhanger X) It was one of my favorites to write, so I'm glad it proved to be an enjoyable read XD I really appreciate the review and compliment! Thanks!
Gerbilfriend: Sometimes even useless information can be interesting XD. Thanks for the review!
Ranger-of-the-shadows: I apologize for the rude cliffhanger, I just couldn't think how else to split the chapter up. Thanks so much for the review!
TrustTheCloak: Sorry about the cliffhanger. Glad it didn't disappoint and that the characters seem natural. You will definitely see some of that in this chapter. I didn't think you were XD besides these guys do need some closure. Thanks so much for the encouragement and review!
Jammeke: I'm very glad it proved to be worth looking forward to. Don't give up hope for Halt just yet XD Thanks so much for the review!
Oceanera12: Halt definitely shouldn't lose hope just yet. I hope this was quick enough to be acceptable: I had some trouble getting certain parts to flow right and didn't want to give anyone only half-brewed coffee XD. It's going to be pretty fun to write that reunion too. Thanks so much for the review!
Previously: The pleasure at seeing Gilan again, at knowing he was alive and well, was heavily shadowed by this pain. Gilan had been the nearest person to him when Morgarath's stone had gone off—if Gilan did not remember, then it was unlikely that anyone else would.
All these thoughts and feelings flooded through him in the few seconds it took for him to finally open his mouth to reply, not knowing exactly what he would say. Gilan solved the problem by beating him to it.
"You're a King's Ranger, aren't you?" he asked, nodding. "They don't often send you into Morgarath's lands." He grinned and held out his hand. "My name's Gilan."
Sorrow settled over Halt as he reached out in turn to clasp arms. Resigning himself to the disappointment, he made his expression a blank mask. "My name is Ha—" he started to say but never got the chance to finish.
Chapter 18: The Mountains of Rain and Night Part III
~x~X~x~
A Few Years Previous
~x~X~x~
Lady Pauline raised her dagger and plunged it viciously into the back of a Wargal that had been trying to sneak up on, and attack, Sir Rodney from the side. The creature let out an unearthly sounding shriek before it collapsed. Pauline quickly made her way back behind the defensive line that Sir Rodney, Baron Arald, and the rest of the men at arms and in their party had made. Without armor and armed with only her knife, she knew she had little to no chance of surviving on the front lines for longer than a few moments. But quick, darting, attacks to help save a friend was something she was willing to risk. She saw Rodney nod once at her in thanks before his attention went back in full to the Wargals.
The situation was a grim one, beset as they were by more than a score of the beasts. But, as bad as it was, she knew it could have been infinitely worse had not the strange cowled man provided them with advanced warning. As she understood it, a group of Wargals had managed to make it past the border. It was a raiding party—a tactic Morgarath favored and used whenever he had the chance: and usually to devastating effect. There was no true border between the King's and Morgarath's lands and occasionally small raiding bands managed to slip through: their only mission to kill and raze farms and villages in order to inflict as much damage as possible.
It was just another of the trials they'd been forced to live with since the start of the war. Arald and his retinue, including Pauline, had been sent by the King to provide counsel and support to one of the border fiefs. And, though they'd not known it, the path they'd taken whilst heading south, had been the very same one on which this Wargal raiding party had been taking north. They would have run straight into each other had not the cowled man on the shaggy horse warned them in time enough for them to find a relatively definable area. He only barely had the time to introduce himself before the fighting started. He claimed to be a sellsword trying to fulfill a contract of employment with one of the small nearby villages. Apparently, he'd been on the road just ahead of their party when he'd spotted the raiding Wargals. He'd been meaning to warn the nearby villagers—and most likely offer his sword in their aid for a price, she thought ruefully—when he'd run into Arald's party instead. As things had turned out, however, she could honestly say she was glad that he had run into them.
She moved back towards the safety of the middle of the group, closer to the rear, and spared a moment for a curious glance at the mercenary in question. He stood near the front, helping to hold their line, fighting expertly. She didn't have time to truly ponder him long, however, for a soldier nearby let out a warning cry. Pauline's sharp eyes took in the forms of several Wargals that had somehow managed to flank them. Several soldiers let out cries of alarm and warning as they hastily scrambled to cover the rear from this new attack.
She knew immediately that she was at a serious disadvantage, and in serious trouble, in a frontal assault like this. Many of the Wargals were armed with heavy cudgels, crude axes, and swords. Armed only with her dagger, the beasts had the advantage of a longer reach along with their sheer size and brutality. She found herself giving ground, desperately trying to retreat to avoid engaging them head-on. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one who was doing so. The soldiers in the rear had been taken off guard by the vicious and sudden nature of the attack. Their hasty defensive line broke. She was knocked back and off her feet by the combined impetus of the retreating soldiers and advancing Wargals. Winded by the fall, she found herself suddenly at the mercy of one of the first beasts to break through. The creature had stopped his forward rush only to stand over her prone form, weapon upraised for a killing blow.
She stared up in horror, gathering herself to try and roll clear of the attack, flipping the hold on her knife from the hilt to the blade's tip for a desperate throw. Heart racing, she drew her arm back, hoping that, if she hit the beast in his eye or throat, it would give her time to get clear of him and save herself before the other Wargals would be upon her. The Wargal's club was already on the way down as the knife left her hand and she rolled. Suddenly, the beast stopped in its tracks and yowled in agony as a sword appeared in the middle of its chest, seconds before her knife struck its bestial face. The creature tumbled to the ground, revealing the hooded mercenary who had already withdrawn his sword and was turning to face his next foes—the three others near her. And he wasn't alone, several knights had been sent from the front to help defend the demoralized rear. Only moments after, the Baron and his retinue, who had taken care of the remaining Wargals in the front, had also moved to help support the retreating line of soldiers. Under their combined effort, they were able to stop and then turn aside the flaking party.
The hooded warrior turned from the last Wargal that he had just felled and offered her a hand up.
"Are you alright, my lady?" he asked. She took his hand and he gently pulled her to her feet.
But before she could reply, Arald and Rodney made their way over to her side, asking the same question—both of their faces still showing concern as they looked her over carefully.
When she answered in the affirmative, and when they were satisfied that it was true, they both went to ensure that the immediate area was clear and to take stock of the situation. Though they did spare the time to offer thanks towards the mercenary who had very likely saved their entire party and had definitely helped to save her. Pauline turned back towards the mercenary then.
"Thank you for lending a hand with that fight, and for saving my life."
He shrugged, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Not certain it was really necessary, you seemed just about to save yourself."
"Still," She smiled at him and was about to say more when she took in the full state of the battlefield and the damage that had been done. She could see clearly that the healers would need help in taking care of the men who had been wounded in the fight. They had their hands full with the two men who had been seriously injured and there were many more who needed help for less grievous wounds. Pauline, however, was not one of Araluen's foremost diplomats for nothing. In a relatively short period of time, she had a group of able-bodied, and currently unoccupied, people, including the mercenary, organized to help the wounded.
She ended up with the mercenary beside her, holding a bowl of clean water and bandages for her as she moved through the ranks of men to stop near one who had suffered a nasty gash across his face.
"As I said, I'm not a healer by trade," she told the mercenary and the soldier conversationally as she gently set to work cleaning the soldier's injury, "But as the camp healers are busy with the other men, I do believe it will be better for me to attend to it, rather than just leave it at that."
The soldier was too dazed to offer her a reply, but she saw the mercenary's mouth tilt upwards in that same smile as he shrugged slightly. "I'm sure anyone who chooses to travel at times like these probably knows enough to get by."
"That's certainly true," she agreed, glancing ruefully around her, before moving to apply a healing salve to the wound. She then accepted the bandages the mercenary offered. Once she was finished wrapping the injury, she stepped back so the mercenary could move the injured soldier to a more comfortable position.
His hood fell back from his face as he set the soldier down, taking his face out from under partial shadow so she could clearly see it. He quickly moved to replace his cowl but wasn't quite fast enough. Pauline had spent years training herself not to reveal her emotions, but she could not quite keep the surprise she felt from showing momentarily before she quickly masked it. It wasn't the features of his face that had so startled her, rather it was the youth of them. His bearing and skill had made her think him to be an adult, but that was obviously not so. He was perhaps only seventeen to nineteen winters old if she had to guess.
Despite the speed with which she had masked her initial response, he seemed to guess at her thoughts because he grinned at her. It was a wide bright smile that was cheerful, knowing, and mischievous all at once. And, to her, it seemed familiar somehow, like she had known it before.
"People don't usually hire sellswords when they appear to be hardly any older than a boy," he said, amused.
"I take it that is why you wear the hood?"
"Mostly," he said but didn't elaborate further.
She didn't press. Together they went about tending other men in need of assistance. They conversed while she worked. He was an easy person to talk to, intelligent but not arrogant or stuffy, rather he seemed to be one who was readily amused. He was also willing to help and had a friendly manner with the soldiers. All in all, he wasn't exactly what she had assumed him to be from the start, and she found herself regarding him more than once with a curious and calculating glance. As she did so, she felt an odd sensation that she had never really felt before—a sort of motherly sense… But why should that be so odd, she thought idly, after all, she had two sons and… she shook her head at the utterly ridiculous thought, breaking the odd revelry. No, she didn't. She had never married, let alone having children. She didn't even have an apprentice, though she was thinking of taking one soon. She shook herself from her thoughts to notice that he was smiling questioningly at her.
"You remind me of someone I know," she said, knowing it was truthful, just completely unable to place the feeling.
He nodded acceptance of that.
"You never did tell me what your name was," she said.
"Apologies, my lady, my name's Gilan," he said
"No need to 'my lady' me," she said. "Call me Pauline; all my friends do."
Somehow, it felt right to tell him that.
"Well then, thank you, Pauline," he tried it out.
~x~X~x~
"All the Wargals in the immediate area have been taken care of, my lord," Rodney reported a few hours later.
"So there's nothing keeping us from continuing on our way tomorrow," Arald said, digesting the information. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "We are not too far from Culway Castle. If we make litters, we should be able to bring the wounded that far without too much trouble."
Rodney nodded. "As you say, my lord. But, trouble is, I don't know if the way ahead is actually completely clear."
Arald frowned and motioned for his Battlemaster to explain.
"I've just received troubling reports from our scouts. They believe that there is possibly another party that has broken through, or that perhaps we did not engage the full party. They've seen signs of more Wargals ahead but weren't able to get close enough to know for certain. If those reports are accurate, then we have no idea how many more Wargals could be blocking the road ahead or waiting in ambush" Rodney said dully.
"I see," Arald's frown deepened then. It was a bit of a quandary that they were in, and discovering exactly the nature of the potential danger they faced was a priority. He knew that he would probably have to appoint one of his scouts, or perhaps Rodney himself, to risk getting too close to find out.
"I'll get the numbers for you, my lord," a voice said quietly from behind him, causing him to nearly jump.
He hadn't realized that there had been somebody there. He whirled around to see the strange hooded mercenary who'd helped rescue their party earlier. He found himself glancing back towards the fire where he'd last seen the warrior sitting with Lady Pauline just moments before. It was unsettling how he moved like that… unsettling, yet almost familiar. In fact, one of his greatest friends used to… He lost his train of thought and then shook his head to clear it. It reminded him of how Fergus moved, the former Ranger of Redmont Fief, he decided abruptly.
However, now that the suggestion was out in the open, Baron Arald considered the idea seriously. He'd seen the way the man moved and fought and thought he might just be capable of the job. Rodney, however, was much more warry and spoke up when he saw Arald turning the idea over in his mind.
"With respect, my lord, how do we know that we can trust him to get the numbers right? There's too much at stake here."
Surprisingly it was the cowled warrior who answered, his tone sounding genuinely amused. "I'm a mercenary," he said simply, "I don't get paid if I get it wrong."
Arald found himself smiling at the simple statement and the devastating logic behind it.
"Very well," he said, inclining his head to the mercenary, "I accept your offer."
"Then I will accompany him," Rodney spoke up.
~x~X~x~
The next morning found the party ready to move again, certain that there would be no more Wargal raiding parties on the road ahead. Rodney and Gilan had scoured the area and found nothing but a few stragglers that they had easily taken care of. Lady Pauline studied Gilan now as he tightened the girth strap of his saddle, already making ready to leave now that Arald had paid him for his services.
He turned when he sensed her eyes on him and offered a small questioning smile.
"Have you ever taken a job for Morgarath?" She asked bluntly. She'd been turning an idea over in her mind ever since they'd talked the day before and had elected to act on it.
The smile died immediately as he let out a snort of utter disgust. "I'd sooner put an arrow through him than take any job of his." But he seemed to sense the reason behind the question nonetheless for he added, "I don't have any intelligence on the man or his operations that you could use, if that's what you're after." A slow smile began to spread across his face. "But I could get it."
"For a price, I suppose?" she asked smiling shrewdly at him.
"Is that an offer?" he countered, grinning at her.
Pauline thought for a moment before deciding to fully commit. It was true that this mercenary could very well be a spy or a plant for Morgarath—although her instincts told her not. Nevertheless, the Couriers, and consequently the King, could use a man with skills like his. And oftentimes taking chances like this was well worth the risk. She was no stranger to recruiting informants and agents for her cause and knew how to minimize risks and suss out true allegiances and intentions. She knew how to take things incrementally before actually setting someone to serious or vital jobs—if things worked out. But she had a good feeling about this mercenary.
"I suppose it is," she said then—and meant it.
~x~X~x~
Present Day
~x~X~x~
Crowley stood straighter from his slumped position as Pauline exited the room, every muscle and bone in his body protested as he did so. Crowley was exhausted. He'd pushed Cropper's, the princess's, and his own limits trying to get Highcliff Fief in record time.
"How is she?" he asked quietly.
"Tired, but I set her up in Alyss's room so she can rest. Alyss will look after her, and I figured she'd be more comfortable staying with someone her own age. I already sent a message to the King. By pigeon, it shouldn't take long to reach him. Arald, his retinue, and myself were going to leave in a few days, but I doubt the King would want that considering recent developments. We decided to stay until we get orders from his majesty on how he'd like to proceed.
Crowley inclined his head, seeing the sense in the plan. The princess was safe for the moment and in capable hands. King Duncan would want to see her safe home, of course. But, since there was no emergency in the situation anymore, he wouldn't need to overextend his resources to do so.
Pauline frowned suddenly. "You said she'd been going incognito under the name Evanlyn, correct?"
Crowley nodded once, regretting the motion when it set his head to spinning with fatigue.
"Well, I was thinking that it might be best for her to keep that up—at least until she gets back to the capital. I already informed Alyss."
"You'll tell Baron Arald, Douglass, and their senior staffs as well though?"
She nodded. "I was planning to. They can protect her better if they know. But, at the same time, the fewer people that know, the better."
Crowley inclined his head this time, so as not to repeat his previous mistake; trying all the while not to let the exhaustion he felt show on his face. It was a wan attempt and Pauline obviously saw straight through it.
"You should probably find a place to rest too, you look done in," she took him by the arm. "I'll walk you to your rooms; can't have you passing out from exhaustion before you even get there," she teased lightly.
"That's probably a good idea," he agreed, falling in step beside her, unable to stop his eyelids from drooping, nor quell the stinging of his eyes brought on by the exhaustion. The last thing he wanted was to waste valuable time sleeping, but he would be of no use to the King or to Halt like this.
"What will you do now?" Pauline asked as they walked, possibly in an attempt to keep him from keeling over right there. Though he was certain the question came from genuine curiosity too.
"I have to go back. Not only did I leave a Ranger behind, but I also didn't get the information we needed. I plan to leave tomorrow morning after I've rested a bit."
"But now they'll be on high alert for Rangers—high alert for you."
"Maybe, but it's a risk I'm going to have to take."
She didn't argue the point. She knew he was right. "Then I suppose there's nothing left to do but wish you a safe trip... once again."
He chuckled. "You and I have to stop parting this way."
"Indeed," she smiled back.
~x~X~x~
As soon as Halt and Gilan touched to clasp hands, his former apprentice reacted as if he had been stung. He jerked away from Halt as if the bearded Ranger were made of hot irons. Gilan's eyes were wide and fixed on him. His mouth dropped open for a moment before he snapped it shut. He shook his head as he stepped back suddenly.
"H… H-Halt?" He breathed, his voice breaking with confusion before it rose a little in pitch. "How can— I... I-I don't..."
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a soft grunt of pain and he lifted both hands to his head. He shook his head again as if to clear it, his breathing suddenly ragged. He gritted his teeth as he took another backward step and stumbled a little, looking faint. Halt reached out but was too far away to try and catch him as he sunk to his knees, and then slumped to the ground unconscious.
All the hope that Halt had previously lost came flooding back in a rush. Even still, he could not help but wince slightly. He knew that Gilan's mind was currently being swamped by too many memories all at once: it had been the same way it had happened to him. He knew the weird hurt of it all.
He wouldn't leave his former apprentice lying slumped in the shadow of the tree, so he took him carefully into a place where the trees grew thickly around a little hollow to make a camp for them both. There wasn't much snow there; the forest canopy was too thick. He lay Gilan carefully down and debated whether or not to try to build a small fire.
The coming of night in this early winter-like weather made having a source of warmth a near priority. It was risky, he knew—especially if men or Wargals had been sent in pursuit of them. But, at the same time, they couldn't risk potentially freezing to death if the night continued to grow colder. Also, he might well need the light if he were to help Gilan effectively. Besides, so far as Halt knew, none of Morgarath's men knew the way through this forest as well as the Rangers did—as Gilan did in that other time. Also, Halt had his doubts that anyone pursuing them had the skills enough to track them, especially considering the precautions they had taken. The woods grew very thickly around this hollow which would help to hide the light and the thick canopy of the evergreens overhead would help hide the smoke from being seen. The still air would keep the scent of the fire away from enemy noses as well. He decided eventually that the risk was worth it.
Fire done, he moved quickly back to Gilan, his mind intent on something he'd noticed earlier from their escape: the red splotch that Gilan had left in the snow. His apprentice had gotten hurt sometime during that fight, he knew. He bent, carefully feeling along Gilan's upper body and then stopping when he encountered something hot and sticky. Blood was oozing slowly, but steadily out through a rend in his gambeson where there was a gap between the back and shoulder of his brigandine: just below his left shoulder blade. Though logic told him that it wasn't a serious injury—Gilan wouldn't have been able to run with him so far into the woods if it had been—he could not help but feel a cold stone settling in his stomach. He couldn't have found Gilan again only to lose him.
Halt cleared a patch of ground near the light of the fire and set Gilan on it, knowing that he needed to assess the damage as quickly as possible. Carefully, he began undoing the ties and straps of the armor he wore and then removed his surcoat, gambeson shirt, and finally his undershirt.
In the light of the fire, he could see the yellowed marks of almost faded bruises on his face, chest, and arms, as if he'd been in a nasty fight recently. He could also see that Gilan was a little on the thin side—despite being well-muscled and fit. It was just on the outside edge of being too thin for Halt to consider fully healthy. None of it boded well as far as Halt was concerned.
"You've definitely not been putting any meat on those bones of yours," he said dryly as he rolled Gilan carefully from his side to his stomach so he could get a look at the wound.
He caught his breath at the sight that greeted his eyes. He sat back on his heels, staring, feeling suddenly sick.
"Gil," he whispered.
There was an absolute myriad of long ugly scars crisscrossing Gilan's back in a haphazard pattern. Halt passed a gentle hand over the old wounds, a reflexive habit from having had two apprentices under his care awakening as he checked them over carefully. He felt a slow burning anger well up in his chest. He had a guess as to what those scars were from. They looked far too deliberate to have been caused in battle, by an animal, or in some accident. No, someone had beaten his apprentice, beaten him ruthlessly—torn the skin from his back. And he could tell by the coloration of the scars that it had probably happened when he had been hardly more than a boy.
Gilan shuddered faintly. Halt removed his hand then, realizing that the touch might be distressing or hurting him. And that was something that Halt, even grim and bad-tempered as he was, could never willingly bring himself to do. Though it was obvious that someone else had lacked that sentiment. Halt wondered briefly who had done it and if they were anywhere in easy bow range as he finally switched his focus to assess the open wound under Gilan's shoulder. He wiped away the blood to reveal a long and wide, but fairly shallow gash that was bleeding sluggishly, but not enough to be dangerous or alarming. His former apprentice's armor had served its purpose well—protecting him from any serious damage.
The wound was fairly easy to clean and patch. He stitched the lips of it closed with the needle and thread in his medical kit, knowing it should heal cleanly and fairly quickly. He bandaged it carefully and then returned Gilan's shirt and over-tunic to help protect him from the cold of the night. He then covered him with his cloak so he could sleep off the effects of the wound and of his mind being swamped by the memories of the other time. The latter was exhausting, overwhelming, and confusing, he knew.
After rewrapping his own ankle, he set himself to the task of making some coffee, knowing that Gilan would probably want some when he woke. The aroma of coffee was only just beginning to scent the air when Gilan woke. He sat up slowly, Halt's cloak draped about his shoulders. There was an odd vacant look about him that faded as he took in the campsite.
"Halt," he whispered, his voice catching audibly, as soon as his gaze landed on his former mentor. He rose instantly to his feet and crossed the distance between them in a few purposeful strides.
Halt rose to meet him. All of his previous joy and relief turned suddenly into apprehension as he was hit with the uncertainty of how Gilan was going to take all this now that he remembered. Gilan's condition and his scars told quite plainly that he hadn't had an easy or pleasant go of it this time around. Halt could clearly see that he'd been badly hurt, had suffered, in this timeline—and probably more than once. What if Gilan blamed him for everything that happened? Suppose Gilan hated him? After all, Halt knew that he was partially to blame for all this—even if only by dint of not being there.
He let none of these thoughts or apprehensions show through his blank mask as Gilan stopped mere paces from him. The younger Ranger stared at him for a short moment that seemed to take hours in Halt's estimation as he waited in that painful uncertainty.
"Halt, it's really you," Gilan said finally, his voice breaking with emotion. "You don't know how good it is to see you again." And, so saying, he embraced his onetime mentor warmly, his eyes growing misty. Truthfully, it felt like years since they had last seen each other—it had been years since they'd last seen each other. Halt embraced him back, finally relaxing.
"It's good to see you too, Gilan," Halt said, his own voice breaking also. And it was good to see him—and made better by the fact that Gilan knew him, and didn't seem to hate him for it.
They broke apart then, holding each other at arm's length. Gilan flashed him that all too familiar grin of his.
"It's been so long," he said quietly before a confused expression settled upon his features. "You were my mentor, one of the most important people in my life, one of my greatest friends, and yet, we've never met before today. How can that be?" he took a breath, a puzzled note in his voice. "I remember parts of another lifetime that never even existed here."
"How much do you remember?"
"I remember anything and everything that had to do with you, training, being a Ranger," he frowned as he thought, "but nothing at all before that..."
"What's the last thing you remember?"
Gilan slit his eyes in concentration, his brow furrowing as he tried to think back.
"I am about the same age now as I was then," he said wonderingly and then brightened. "Morgarath's stone! You went to stop him and I was touching you when it went off. Is that why I can remember, but only things that have to do with you?"
"That would be my guess," Halt said. "I was touching the stone when it went off and, though it took me quite a while, I remember everything."
"It feels like I've got two different lifetimes traveling side by side in my head," his former apprentice said then ruefully, rubbing his forehead.
"Tell me about it," Halt said grimly. "You'll soon get used to it though."
They both sat near the fire and Halt moved to pour the coffee. A moment of companionable silence passed between them.
Halt sat across from his former student, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he drank, several questions flitting through his mind. Gilan was obviously on his own. Something must have happened for him to be like this. Based on what he had seen of the Kingdom so far, that didn't really surprise him. And it occurred to him that he now had the opportunity to find out exactly how damaged the kingdom was, and exactly what was going on, without incurring any suspicions now.
"Gilan, what's going on here? I gathered that half the country is claimed by Morgarath, but what of the King? What of the Ranger Corps? Crowley? Baron Arald, Rodney and Pauline?" he asked finally. Again he refrained from asking about Will because he knew it was more than doubtful that Gilan knew anything about him.
Gilan nodded, swallowing a mouthful of coffee and then setting the cup aside. He began to explain then, succinctly and accurately as Rangers were trained to do.
"The King is bottled up in his half of the country, trying to rally support. Crowley is with him and about twenty other Rangers. There is no Ranger Crops as we know it. It was never properly reformed. I'm not sure if Crowley is the commandant this time around… I've only met him a few times and we weren't really in the position to talk politics then."
"I can answer that question," Halt said. "I met up briefly with him too and found out that he is the commandant."
Gilan nodded, filing that information away before continuing at Halt's gesture to do so. "King Duncan never got the support he needed when his father died. Many of the barons were supportive of Morgarath and the Kingdom split. The Battle of Hackham Heath was the last biggest engagement. We've been at a stalemate ever since. Morgarath hasn't been able to gain more than half the Kingdom but King Duncan can't either.
"Redmont Fief fell to Morgarath," Gilan continued. "Baron Arald is displaced, with no holdings or any actual power. But he often acts as an advisor to the King and travels between the fiefs to help hold everything together." Gilan's face took on a thoughtful expression then. "We need more men like him to be the ones who hold authority. Many of the Barons are weak and Morgarath knows it.
"As far as I know, Arald's senior staff stayed, and travel, with him—that often includes Lady Pauline," he added, smiling and looking annoying knowing for a moment, "and even Chubb. We think that Morgarath is planning a large scale invasion and that it will happen soon. He is amassing his army and there have been reports of hired Scandians. It's all a mess, Halt," he finished.
"Who is the supreme army commander?"
"Lord Northolt, he isn't dead in this time."
"What about your father, Sir David?" he asked curiously. Crowley had said that Sir David was alive and well, serving as the Battlemaster of Highcliff. But what didn't make sense was why both Crowley and Sir David thought Gilan was dead.
"He's alive, last I checked." Gilan shrugged. "He serves as Baron Douglass's Battlemaster and is sometimes called upon to advise the King, or act as the cavalry commander." The reply was forthcoming, but there was an odd note in his voice that Halt couldn't quite discern. He looked up sharply and saw a foreign hard look lurking just behind Gilan's eyes and in his manner.
"You're not a knight?" Halt asked.
Gilan shook his head, amused. "Can you see me as a knight?"
The ghost of a smile touched Halt's lips and he shook his head. "No, I can't. Knights are disciplined, respectful, folk."
Gilan laughed. "Good to know you think so little of me."
"It has nothing to do with me thinking it."
"Maybe not. And yet, it could be argued I learned by example." Gilan said, only just managing to keep a straight face.
Halt gave his former apprentice a withering glare in response to that, but he remained stolidly un-withered. "I think I might have liked it better when you didn't remember. You showed a lot more respect for me then."
Gilan grinned.
So his former apprentice was alone then, Halt thought, and not on some long-lasting incognito mission. He wasn't a knight, and he couldn't be a Ranger because they hardly existed in this time and Crowley thought he was dead.
"What of you, Gilan?" Halt asked then.
Gilan, who had been quick and prompt to answer earlier, hesitated and looked decidedly uncomfortable. He shifted fractionally before answering.
"I travel around and people… well, they pay me to capture wanted criminals, stop brigands… and sometimes get information," he admitted tensely.
"You're a bounty hunter?" Halt asked, "And a sellsword?"
Gilan winced at that, looking almost chastened. Having gotten his memories back, he likely remembered Halt's general opinion of mercenaries.
"I don't take just any job: only ones that are in Araluen's interest and the peoples'. And I try to stay on the right side of the law…" he seemed to think about what he'd said for a moment, a faint smile growing on his face as he added, "mostly, anyway."
"So you're basically a Ranger for hire? The key words being: for hire?" Halt asked, raising an eyebrow, though inwardly he was smiling. Of all the things.
Gilan seemed to relax a little then, reading Halt as well as he had in that other time.
"It's not as if I would be paid otherwise. The Corps is almost nonexistent and, as you pointed out earlier, I'm no knight. I would do it all for free if I could afford to, but I've got a family to support, you know."
"A family?" both eyebrows were up. "Just what exactly have you been doing in this time?"
"That's my business, I think," Gilan tilted his head slightly and shot him a decidedly devilish looking smile.
Halt stared at him incredulously.
Gilan chuckled, shaking his head. "It's probably not what you're thinking. They're really actually more of apprentices. And one of them nearly eats me out of house and home—well, out of tent and campsite at any rate."
"Apprentices?" Halt asked feeling a pang in his heart that turned hopeful with Gilan's next words.
"You actually know both of them—and so did I apparently: Will and Horace. We sort of found each other and have been traveling together ever since. They were a bit… displaced, like me, and didn't have anywhere to go. I felt an odd connection to the two of them at the time… I guess I know why now."
"Will is alright?" Halt asked, feeling yet another great weight lifting from his heart, and feeling more relieved and happier than he had in what seemed ages now. "Young Horace too?" He felt a small but genuine smile spreading across his face. Here, in a world of wrongs, there were at least a few things that were right. He felt a surge of affection for his former student.
"You did well, Gilan," he said, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "I'm proud of you."
Something lifted in Gilan's own expression and he flushed again but with pleasure this time and not embarrassment.
"We can set this right, can't we, Halt?" he asked hopefully, expectantly.
"You mean: is there a way to set this all back to the way it should be—or, at least, as close to that as we can get it? Yes, I'm fairly certain that there is. But we are going to need more help than just the two of us to pull it off." Then he amended his words, "More than the four of us if we include Will and Horace."
"And they'll want to be included, knowing them."
Halt smiled inwardly. "I'll bet they would."
Will was alive and alright. For the first time since he'd remembered the other time, Halt felt like things might just start to be okay.
"Where is Will?" Halt asked then.
"I left them back at our camp. I didn't think it'd be a good idea to bring them along to the Mountains of Rain and Night with me."
Halt couldn't help but agree.
"If we set out early tomorrow and head due north we should reach our camp before noon," Gilan said then.
He'd be able to see Will again. Halt felt something warm flood his chest at the realization. But, at the same time, he could not help but feel another less pleasant emotion… unease or nervousness he finally decided as he thought on it. He hadn't seen Will in years and this was an entirely new lifetime. What was worse was that Will most likely didn't and wouldn't remember him—if what he surmised about the nature of the stone was true. What if Will… what if they couldn't rebuild what they'd had before?
Gilan must have seen the uncharacteristic uncertainty behind Halt's sudden silence because he spoke again, guessing at what he thought might be on his mentor's mind—and managing to guess at least partially correctly at that.
"Will's had a harder go of it this time around, it's true. But he's strong. Where it matters he's still the same old Will that he always was."
Halt could only hope that he was right. And hope too that he could somehow rebuild what he'd lost with Will, and with all the others he'd once cared about too.
~x~X~x~
The next morning, Halt woke to find Gilan nowhere in sight. A short search later found Gilan standing in the trees just outside of their campsite. His shirt was off and he appeared to be trying to re-do the bandage that Halt had tied on him the night before. He was having a time of it because of its awkward position in a hard to reach area. As Halt watched, it slipped down just as Gilan got the ends around his chest. He swore softly in frustration. Halt watched the admittedly comical scene with no small amount of amusement for a few moments before stepping forwards.
"Why don't you let me get that?" he asked and inwardly smiled when Gilan startled in surprise. Rangers loved it when they could successfully catch each other unawares, after all.
Gilan faced Halt as he approached; his eyes seemed unreadable for a moment as Halt held out his hand. For a long while, Gilan did not move. He just stood there, stiffly. Halt frowned at the odd reaction and was about to pull his hand away when Gilan slowly moved to hand him the bandage and then carefully turned so his back was facing Halt.
Halt easily re-tied the bandage for him. As he did so, he realized what had been wrong with his former apprentice. The Gilan of this time didn't like to turn his back to anyone: his was a dangerous and unforgiving world. And the scars that Halt could clearly see there, bore silent testament to what had happened the last time that he had. Halt felt a recently all too familiar sense of failure growing in him, accompanied by a heavy feeling of guilt… or was it regret?
"Gilan," he began as soon as he finished tying the bandage.
His former apprentice straightened and faced him. There was again that trace of an out of place hard look in Gilan's eyes mixed with that familiar set to his jaw as he anticipated Halt's question. Halt, however, had no desire to potentially hurt the young man by poking at something in his past that obviously pained him, especially not when he wasn't ready to discuss it yet. And he had something more important that he needed to say.
"I'm… sorry that I wasn't there for you… in this time."
As soon as he said it, he looked up to see that that hard look had completely vanished. Gilan shook his head, his hands moving in a negative gesture.
"Don't be," he said softly, "none of this was ever your fault." He managed a smile then. "I should be the one who's sorry. Look what happened to that pot belly of yours without someone to keep your eating habits in check. You have more than enough for both of us."
The ghost of a smile spread across Halt's face at the old joke. "I wouldn't be too sure about that; you've grown up to be a little more than a skeleton. I don't think you have a speck of meat on you."
Gilan laughed, an easy, familiar, sound. Halt's trace of a smile faded further into an echo.
"I'm alright, Halt, really," Gilan said, again able to sense his old mentor's thoughts and mood almost as easily as he could in that other time. "And I'm better than alright now." He took a breath as he tried to gather his thoughts before continuing. "I don't really know how to explain it but, when I was alone out there, some of the only things I had were muscle memory and a slight memory of the things you taught me in that other time. It was almost like I could even hear your voice sometimes: your tips, lessons, and advice. Those saved my life more times than I can count. Thank you."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are loved and constructive criticism/suggestions are always valued. Let me know your thoughts and/or ideas for improvement; I'd be entirely grateful, and so would the muse!
So, Gilan remembers! Just not fully. But at least it's enough to give Halt a bit of a break and some much-needed peace of mind! And I've left a few hints, in this chapter especially but also in a few previous ones, as to the extent to which the people who did not touch the stone (or Halt for that matter) will remember things. Next chapter Halt meets up with Will and Horace and the four of them embark on a bit of a scouting mission. Which should eventually lead everyone closer together as they start to converge in the same area. (Well, everyone but Crowley at the moment). XD
Also, minor side note (after thinking about it for a bit, I thought it might be best to put this note here to set the minds of anyone who might be worried/wary that I might grievously misrepresent/portray a certain character at ease): I promise I'm not intimating that Sir David is the one responsible for hurting/scaring Gilan. That'd be extraordinarily, and wildly, out of character for him, after all. Gilan and David do, as most can tell by the story thus far, have an issue/conflict between them; but rest assured that a physically violent/abusive relationship between them isn't the reason for it. Also, the full story on the entirety of the mess they both got themselves into in the past will be out in three chapters, as it will become, by then, vastly more relevant to the story, story progression, and situation at hand.
I wish you all the the very best! Until next time!