A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you are doing well Sorry, this chapter was a little delayed. As I was working on it, I realized that I had again bitten off a little more than I could chew with my initial outlined plan. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now... X( There were just too many characters and events unfolding to tell it as quickly as I thought I could. It kind of ran away with me and, as I was trying to finish it up, I realized that it was getting to upward of 11,000 words and realized that I really ought to split it in two. Which leads to my other apology, because splitting the chapter in two has delayed the answers I promised... So sorry about that, but I don't know what else to do, especially not when I'm pretty sure it's probably best to just let it unfold at its own pace. Anyway, thanks so much for reading! And I hope this chapter proves enjoyable despite that.
Guest: Thank so much for the compliment! I'm glad you like it so far. I've tried my best to keep it pretty consistent to the RA world we know (despite all the changes), so I'm glad it seems to have come across that way. You're right, it does kind of have an It's a Wonderful Life feel, doesn't it? XD Thanks again for your kind words and your review! It means a lot!
NobodyJustToldMe: Nope, not abandoned! XD I just have a bit of an unfortunately poor/sporadic updating schedule; which I do apologize for. I promise I'm doing the best I possibly can—if it's any comfort. (It usually isn't for me though, if I'm being honest, because I would so rather spend more time writing than on obligations. But, life is life, I guess). XD
Random Flyer: I like the band being back together XD Yup! I promised answers in this arc and they will happen. It just might end up being a 4-chapter arc rather than a 3-chapter arc, sorry about that. They have a bit of a tricky situation going on and there defiantly has been misunderstandings—but not of the innocent/inadvertent kind though. You're right; as far as David is concerned Gilan wouldn't be unwelcome (legality aside), but unfortunately David isn't the only one with a stake in the situation. Thanks so much for the review!
whentheresawill: *blushes* Awww thanks so much :) That's super sweet of you to say. Yeah it kind of stinks how little we know about him; we mostly just get vague impressions. We know a little about his early life and his father, that his mom is probably out of the picture given that she's not got so much as a mention, but we don't know how or why or anything more than those small pieces. I mean, we readers don't even know his hair or eye color… I was a little lucky that the events of his past in this story had a more direct bearing with the plot in several ways so I could get away with it a little more XD Thanks for the review!
TrustTheCloak: It's nice to have the whole family back together again. I'm glad you like the little bits of familiar banter. It's been fun trying to make things similar enough to be familiar but different enough to be unrepetitive, so I'm happy to hear that you think it's been working. I love Horace and Will and their wild ideas/theories XD I always enjoyed that aspect about them in the books. Gilan's probably going to be a little out of sorts for a few chapters, but he does have good reason to be, I promise; at least he's got his family to be there for him XD. Reconciling the two of them has been something I've been looking forward to for ages. It's probably not going to be quick and easy though, so hope it doesn't disappoint. Thanks so much for the review and the compliment! It made my day!
HaltAndCrowley: You have a good eye for catching that XD Thanks so much for the review!
Two Fans (Lychee and RangerPippin): You guys are seriously too kind, way too kind. I might get a swelled head and lose my ability to go through doors anymore or maybe explode/short circuit—either way X3. That is some of the nicest things anyone has ever said about my writing, and I appreciate it more than words can say really. I think it's every writer's dream to hear that something they wrote means something to somebody else, and I can't thank you both enough for taking the time to write that detailed and in-depth review. And your poem at the end was absolutely beautiful; you guys are obviously pretty epic writers yourselves. Yeah, I'm not much of a fan of things that are sad just for the sake of being sad either; hope is a good thing, and I am a fan of finding new okays—so I'm glad it's coming across well in this story. I really hope not to disappoint. I wonder if there is a word for being super ultra-mega appreciative/thankful? Cause I very much am: Thanks again!
RangerPippin: Thanks :3, I'm glad to hear you liked it so much. I hope this next one doesn't disappoint. I'm pretty excited to write these next ones and conclude Gilan's past… well, conclude it mostly. Thanks so much for the support, I super appreciate it!
Gerbilfriend: Yes Halt has all his sons and honorary sons again! Their banter is one of the reasons I love their little family so much, so I'm glad I didn't mess it up XD Thanks for the review, I really appreciate it!
lychee: Awww :3 I don't know what to say other than, thank you. That means the world to hear. I'm ecstatic to hear that you like it so much. Also thanks for your patience with me and my crazy schedule. Thanks so much for the compliments and reviews!
EbonyandTug: You're welcome. X) I swear, I'm getting to that—I promise. Oh, thanks for catching that mistake! I made certain to fix it. Sorry about that! Thanks for the review!
Random Flyer: I think Halt needed to have at least one person who remembers—for the sake of his sanity, for Will and Horace, and for the ability to make less of the mess they're in. I'm excited to bring the whole family together again. Thanks for the review! I really appreciate it.
Jammeke: They need to be together, I think. Honorary Ranger Horace: I love it! XD I'm glad you liked the character moments. I know it's not directly plot-related, but it kind of begs to be explored a little. The beast that eats handsome people is the real best character lol. Thanks so much for the compliments and the review!
Dragonslover98: I'm super happy to have them back together again too. I love their little found family XD So there is going to be some answers about Gilan's past in this chapter, just not as much as I had planned for… sorry about that. Yes, there will definitely be some Morgarath bashing in the later chapters. XD Thanks so much for the review, I really appreciate it!
Chapter 20: Highcliff Fief Part II
~x~X~x~
A Few Years After the Battle of Hackham Heath
~x~X~x~
"Have you come to farewell me, father?" Sir David's fifteen-year-old son turned his head fractionally to look at him from where he stood, final checking the fastenings of his horse's tack and gear. "It isn't really necessary."
There was the barest hint of unwelcome in his son's voice and expression that belied the otherwise placid tone.
"I didn't come to farewell you," David said slowly after an uncomfortable pause.
Gilan gave the girth strap a final tug then turned his full attention on his father. His eyebrows rose as he studied the stern knight before him, his mind working. They soon lowered though, his shadowed eyes narrowing as he surmised the most likely reason for his father to have met him on the main road just outside the castle. His pale face twitched slightly.
"Everything I have with me is mine. It was not given to me by you or any of the officers. There is no need to check."
There was a challenging note in his voice, as if he were daring his father to trust his word. David, however, could already see that he spoke the truth. He carried the plain yet sturdy sword he had won for himself at a tournament, not the one he had been given during training. He was dressed in the clothes of a forester, not the raiment of a knight, Battleschool cadet, or noble. He hadn't even taken the helm or chainmail he'd been issued as an apprentice. He was leading the shaggy little horse that he had found and cared for, not any of the battle horses. David also knew that he had not even taken the money or provisions that had been offered him by the Baron. But he brushed all that aside.
"That isn't why I came," he said finally, all too aware of the ugly gulf that had grown between them; a gulf that he now made one last attempt to bridge. "It's not too late," he said. "I've spoken to the baron and he's agreed to give you a second chance. If you beg forgiveness and ask it of him now, you can still be accepted into the ranks of the foot soldiers. You can work your way up the ranks from there to claim knighthood. It will be a long and hard process sure, but, if you apply yourself-"
But his son was shaking his head before he had even finished speaking. "I have four days to leave this fief. I'll be gone long before then."
David bristled at the flat dismissal and refusal, consumed with a building frustration born of helplessness and a whispering loss—too much loss. His temper flared. "Damn your stubbornness and your pride!" he found himself practically shouting.
Gilan's eyes flashed at that and, without a word, he backed away from his father until he was well out of easy reach before turning fully. He started to walk stiffly away then, his horse obediently following after him. The painful hitch that shadowed each of his steps was all too noticeable to David. The frustration died.
"I'm trying to give you a chance! Can't you see that?" David demanded of the retreating figure; but his son did not so much as check his pace, let alone turn around. "At least wait a few days before you go; you're in no condition to be traveling," he said in a more gentle tone, though it still held the desperation of a last attempt. "Your wounds are still fresh."
Gilan did stop and turn partially around then, an odd smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"And why should that bother you?" he asked, his tone sounding puzzled. "It didn't seem to trouble you when you gave me them."
Again there was a flash of something in his far too shiny eyes, something seething, roiling, and so very hurt, which had been lurking just under the surface of his apparent good-natured attitude and insouciant manner. David felt a stab at his heart at the blunt words, and at the whole damnable situation, as he realized how his son saw things. It wasn't true, or a fair stance. He had not raised so much as a hand against his son, and Gilan's actions had put his own young fingers in this mess far more than David's had. And it was nothing if not a mess. He had a vague feeling that everything about this was grossly wrong, not how it should have been, not how he wanted it.
It was with that realization that he began to feel something he hadn't ever really felt until recently. And that was guilt coupled with a sensation of incertitude brought on by a shaken faith. He had never, before this whole situation, found cause to feel conflicted doubts or guilt about his strict adherence to the inner code and knight's code that he governed his life with—and devoted his life to. But he was feeling it now. And it was more than a little unsettling. But it didn't change what had happened. There was nothing that could.
"Son…" he said softly, an almost pleading note in his words and then he trialed.
He saw his son's jaw set at the sound of the entreaty along with a minimal shake of his head.
"Goodbye, father," Gilan said just as softly. "Thank you for everything. I hope the rest of your life will be a pleasant one."
David's heart sank fully at the words, realizing that this was how it was going to be. There was nothing he could do to change his son's mind, nothing he could do to fix it. With a sinking feeling, he realized that there was nothing for him to do but accept the inevitable. Doing that hurt worse than any wound he had ever received in combat.
"Goodbye, son," he said finally, the presence of many emotions making his voice strangely tight, and blurring his vision. "Godspeed."
But Gilan had already mounted his horse and was cantering away.
~x~X~x~
Arald looked out over the battlements at the slump-shouldered figure of the once tall and immovable knight and then at the youth cantering away down the road.
"I've always said that Baron Douglass is an idiot—and damn Sir David's stubbornness. This whole situation was handled very poorly," he said, an irritated and angry note in his voice. "That boy would have made an excellent knight, and we need excellent knights."
Rodney, who stood beside him, seemed to agree… at least partially.
"It definitely could have been handled better. But matters like this tend to be dealt with more harshly in wartime. It's a hard thing but, at times like this, we cannot afford any breaks of discipline in our ranks. It could be fatal. And that boy showed an alarming lack of discipline…and his actions caused a great deal of harm."
"Are you telling me that you never made a single rebellious mistake in your youth, Rodney?" Arald asked a trace scathingly.
Rodney had the grace to flush as he remembered several.
"I seem to recall that you were the mastermind behind more than a few of them, milord," he said finally.
Arald grinned ruefully. "That's true enough. But just think where we would be now if our little moments or accidents were handled like that." He gestured to the now barely visible figure of the youth.
Rodney frowned; he personally didn't qualify what Gilan had been caught up in as a 'little moment'. As he'd said earlier, it had caused far too much harm for that. But he did catch Arald's point, and even agreed with the sentiments, if not quite as fiercely.
"Well, it came back to bite the handlers, at least."
"I have a bad feeling that their poor decision could come back and bite us all. With times as they are we can't really afford to be tossing out knights—especially not those with a lot of potential."
As he said it, he looked back towards David who had squared his shoulders and was walking unwaveringly back towards the castle. Gone was the helplessness and despair of earlier to be replaced by calm determination and purposeful direction. Arald could tell that his friend had decided something. Although he didn't know yet what it was that David planned to do—or even what he really could do—he knew David wasn't just going to leave it at that. Arald decided then and there that he would help however he could.
~x~X~x~
Present day
~x~X~x~
Gilan's leaving to go meet with Sir David had the unfortunate side effect of leaving Halt, Horace, and Will with little enough to do but wait in tense anticipation. They wouldn't be able to make any countermoves against the Wargals until they had the connections they needed. And, unfortunately, Gilan was the only one that could make those connections; neither Halt, Will, nor Horace could help this time and they all knew it keenly. The waiting game was always a loathsome one.
With nothing better to do, and since they were camped in a relatively safe area near Highcliff Castle, Horace and Will had taken to practicing their weapons skills. Halt watched and could not help nodding in approval at what he saw. It was obvious that both boys had learned much and had been practicing hard. Will wasn't quite to the level he had been at in the other time, before Morgarath's stone, it was true. But he was very advanced for having only been training for less than a year—almost too advanced if he was being honest with himself. Halt wondered briefly if perhaps Will, like Gilan, had managed to retain a certain level of residual muscle memory and instinct from the other time. Then he cut that line of thought abruptly short. Entertaining hope like that was nothing short of a bad idea. It was always best to expect the worst—that way you weren't ever disappointed.
He shook himself and then watched Will sink several arrows into the spot on the tree that he'd marked as a target in fairly rapid succession.
"Not bad," Halt remarked.
Will turned at the scant words of praise, beaming. He was probably already aware that Halt was not one to dole out meaningless praise. Halt, however, couldn't help but spoil the effect a little with his next words. "Maybe in a year or two you'll be up to the level of an apprentice Ranger."
Will's expression fell almost immediately. Despite that, the comment didn't seem to discourage him in the slightest—quite the opposite. He seemed to gather himself and turned fully to the grizzled Ranger.
"What… um, what can I do to improve it?" he asked hesitantly after a moment's silence.
Halt's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. It was true that as soon as Will had seen the level of Halt's shooting he'd accepted any small tips, pointers, and corrections that Halt offered with a sort of awe. But this was the first time that the boy has actually asked for him to teach him something directly. He hadn't thought that Will trusted him quite enough for that yet.
Gilan had been trying his best to get Horace and Will comfortable with him: including him in every discussion and, more often than not, differing to him. And, after the days they'd spent traveling together, most the initial distrust and wariness was gone. But everything was still far more tentative and broken than Halt cared for. That said, he realized now that Will might have just provided an opportunity to mend it further. Maybe he could fix the breaks and fractures in their relationship the same way that he had built it in the first place: by teaching.
He knew he couldn't teach Will exactly as he once had; he didn't have the rapport needed for that. But perhaps he could try in a different way. His eyes darted from Will, who was on the verge of abashedly rescinding his request as the silence between them grew to be uncomfortable, and then to where Horace stood a few paces away. The young knight had stopped his sword practice to glance curiously at the ensuing scene. Decided, Halt quickly spoke before Will had the chance to backtrack.
"Has Gilan shown either of you the double knife sword defense?" he said asked suddenly. Something nearly intangible lifted in Will's expression at Halt's indirect offer.
"The what?" Horace asked, intrigued. He was already moving a few paces closer into proper hearing range to listen.
"The double knife defense," Will said knowingly—too knowingly, seeming entirely too pleased to have more information than his friend did.
"Oh that," Horace replied, not missing a beat and obviously not wanting to be outdone.
It was obvious to Halt neither of them wanted to appear ignorant to him—despite not having the foggiest clue what the double knife defense was. He just managed to suppress a sigh. Perhaps this wasn't going to be quite as easy as he had hoped. Nevertheless, he nodded. "Yes, that. Perhaps you'd both like to give me a demonstration since you know so much about it." And the sudden familiarity of this situation pooled in Halt's stomach like so many undigested stones. It had been about King Herbert last time though. He ignored it.
Both boys, however, paled a little and hesitated at the suggestion; proving Halt's guess, that they didn't actually know what the double knife defense was, correct.
"Well," he prompted.
"Well… it's a defense that you do with two knives," Will said finally, once he realized that Horace wasn't about to say anything. Then as the silence became all too palpable, he added uncertainly, "Isn't it?"
"I should think so, seeing as how that much is in the title already," he said, the sarcasm in his voice noticeable enough to make both boys flinch, knowing they had been called out. Halt continued in a more gentle tone, "Will, if you don't know something, just say so. There's no shame in it—and It's better than trying to bluff your way through and finding only trouble for the effort." He turned towards Horace. "That goes for the both of you."
Both boys mumbled agreement and apologies, a little shamefacedly. Halt nodded acceptance and then waited as silence once again descended and both boys shifted uncomfortably.
"Um, Sir..." Horace began and then trailed.
Will finished for him, "About the double knife defense… we don't really know what it is."
"Right," Halt nodded drawing his saxe and throwing knife. "I suppose I'd better tell you then." He thought for a moment. "I think a demonstration would be the best way to show you." He motioned for Horace to draw his sword. "Try to take a swing at me, boy."
~x~X~x~
When Sir David stepped tiredly into his quarters after a long day on duty, he was assailed by the sudden sensation that something was not quite right. Fully alert, he felt his hand straying to his sword hilt as his eyes scanned the dark room for anything out of place.
A shadow moved in the corner of his vision and he swung his gaze towards the spot just in time to see a hooded figure rise from a casual position, reclining against the far wall, to stand out in the relative openness of the room.
The man was tall, but not overly so. He was slim of figure, not burly like a typical knight, but for all that, he was athletic-looking and fit and seemed to give off an impression of ready strength. He carried a longbow and a quiver of arrows over one shoulder. At his belt hung a saxe knife and throwing knife in sheaths placed close together on one hip and sword hung from the other. He had an air of quiet confidence about him. And David, by perusing his stance, bearing, and demeanor, got the impression that this was a man you wouldn't trifle with.
The hood prevented him from seeing the man's face fully. That fact, and his uninvited entry, were unsettling, to say the least. So far, the man had made no move to draw his weapons but Sir David wasn't taking any chances. He drew his sword and pointed it at the figure.
"Who are you and how did you get in here?" he demanded, his tone dangerous.
The intruder shrugged casually, holding his hands out to the side in a peacemaking gesture. David saw a smile spread across what he could see of the man's face. Something about it seemed familiar.
"I seem to recall that you were the one who always told me that there was no such thing as an impenetrable keep. 'Never assume there isn't a way in, and never let a false sense of security lull you into complacency," he quoted airily, waving a hand to the side as he spoke.
David felt as if he had been struck by a heavy blow as he placed the voice. It sounded older, true, but to him it was unmistakable.
"Gilan?" he asked, his voice disbelieving. He felt a tumultuous myriad of emotions take hold as he said it, for a moment he felt like he couldn't breathe. His son was alive.
"Oh, come now, I don't think I've changed that much," his son said, his tone amused. He moved easily towards David's simple table, pulled up a chair, and then sat casually in it. "Do you have any coffee?" he asked, grinning.
~x~X~x~
David sat at the now candlelit table opposite his son, his mind still fairly staggered by events. An untouched cup of coffee sat steaming before him. He found himself staring at the young man, who was sipping appreciatively at his own cup, for the third time in as many minutes. Gilan caught David's unwavering gaze and raised one eyebrow at him, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth: an obvious silent question.
David made a helpless gesture with his hands as he searched for his voice. "We haven't spoken in years. In fact, I wasn't even completely sure that you were still alive; and you just turn up in the middle of the night with no explanation at all? It's just I'm not sure what to make of this. It's a lot to take in."
"Well considering the way I left this castle and fief, I didn't think I'd just be welcomed back in with open arms," Gilan said breezily in answer. "Undetected is the only way I could have come."
David brushed that aside. "Yes, yes, but why are you here?" he asked, his tone made unreadable by the presence of many emotions.
"To see my big old papa bear, of course," Gilan replied, mocking and teasing mixing in equal parts.
David felt his eyebrows beginning to draw downwards in frustration. More than a few times he'd hoped for, wished for, and envisioned his son coming back and the reunion that would follow. It was safe to say that none of those mental pictures looked at all like this.
There were things that needed to be discussed and discussed seriously. There were things that needed to be brought out into the open and aired. Their parting had been more of an ugly fracture than anything after all. This was all too cavalier a treatment of things in his opinion. He gestured at his son awkwardly again and saw Gilan's expression grow more solemn at the motion. And suitably so, he thought.
"My reason for coming is purely business," Gilan said softly, seriously. "I came to tell you that there is a fairly large party of Wargals and Morgartath's men camped just inside the fief's boundaries with intentions to attack this castle and fief. They seem to have found a weak spot, or blind spot, in between two of your outpost towers."
He pulled their two cups together to simulate what he meant as he explained, indicating each spot as he mentioned it.
"The guard rotation on these two towers overlaps for just about a minute," he held up a hand to forestall his father's question. "It leaves the area unwatched for that amount of time, allowing five or six of them to be able to sneak in each time and hide in the southern fenlands. It'll take a while but, once they get their full force in, they'll be able to attack without warning." Gilan moved his hand past the cups to where the relative area of the fenlands would be on a map, then towards David, and slapped it lightly down.
David, his mind now fully on the picture Gilan was painting, felt himself pale as he caught the devastating implications.
"If Morgarath were to get control of this fief, it would give him a sizable foothold in the King's land… possibly even a point to launch a full-scale invasion," he said thoughtfully. "How did you learn of this?"
"I learned it when I infiltrated his lands a couple of nights ago."
"What were you doing there? In Morgarath's lands?" David asked, his tone sounding near horrified.
"Reconnoitering the enemy's countryside. I don't like not knowing what they're up to."
David could only shake his head at that and spoke without thinking. "You need to be careful. Did you ever think to consider how much harm you could come to there if you were ever caught?"
A tense moment of silence grew between them as David saw a flat, hard, look come into his son's eyes. A sharp retort that had been bitten back to remain unspoken seemed to hang in his son's stare and the quiet air between them, made all the more potent in its uncompromising silence. David winced internally, knowing that he'd made a mistake with his phrasing. He was trying to think of a way to backtrack but stopped when he saw that the look in Gilan's eyes had already softened substantially as he recognized the genuine concern in David's words.
"I'm aware of the danger. I promise I've been as careful as I can be," he said softly before his tone brightened. "On to solutions: you could, of course, just fix the timing problem at the watchtowers before any more get in and then hunt off the ones already inside. But I was thinking that you shouldn't fix it. Leave the gap, and let them in."
David's eyebrows rose, but again Gilan forestalled any interruption with a raised hand.
"Let them in, then bring your foot soldiers to the open plains before the fens and then bring your cavalry though the woods here once they are engaged. They'll not only be taken by surprise, but also caught between two forces with the fens at their back. They'll have no retreat."
Sir David's eyebrows lifted at the suggestion and then drew together in thought as he considered it. As an experienced tactician he could see the value of the scheme. It was risky, but good tactics none the less. There was, however, one flaw.
"I don't think it's possible to lead the cavalry through the woods there, they're too thick."
"I've mapped that forest. I know it's possible. I could guide your men through," Gilan said quietly. "I also assume you'll need some time to verify that I've been telling you the truth." David thought he saw that hard look return fleetingly as Gilan said it, but it was gone when he blinked. "I'll give you time to think over my offer and to confer with your staff and the Baron. I'll be back in two days. Thanks for the coffee," he grinned, rising to his feet.
"You're leaving? Just like that?" David asked, startled again.
"I don't see why not. There isn't anything left to say."
"Isn't there?" David asked, his voice low.
"No. I don't think there is," came the cheerful reply: cheer that couldn't entirely mask an uncompromising edge.
David felt his heart sink a little at that. Gilan hadn't come to reunite with him so they could reconcile. He had come merely because he didn't want Morgarath to get a foothold any more than David did. It was as he had said: purely business. He felt a small flash of hurt, anger, and annoyance at that, but knew that there was no future in pushing the matter.
Truth be told, he was mostly just happy that his son was alive and well. He also supposed he should be grateful, all things considered, that there was no outright hostility between them, and that Gilan had turned out as well as he had. Considering the path Gilan had been on when he left, and what had happened between them, it could have been infinitely worse. There had been more than a few times he'd worried that, if his son was alive, they could well end up meeting on opposing sides of the law and at opposing sword points one day. Gilan could easily have continued heading in a wayward direction and he could have allowed bitterness and anger to change him, but he obviously had not. Instead, he was fighting for the King despite not being a knight, official soldier, or officer.
There was even a sense of competence about him. He stood calmly, self-assured, but without a trace of arrogance. There also was not that stiff set of rebellion to his shoulders or challenge and defiance in his eyes. His posture was easy—though ready—and his eyes were clear aside from that familiar light of intelligence, amusement, and mischief. He'd grown up. David felt a slight touch of regret at that revelation but, to his surprise, he found that the regret was mixed with a certain sense of pride too.
"Stay safe, son," He said finally.
"You too, father," Gilan replied sincerely before making his way to the window and slipping out of sight.
~x~X~x~
Two nights later, when Sir David returned to his room at the end of a long day of duties and meetings with the baron, he no longer felt that uneasy feeling when he sensed another presence in the room.
"Gilan," David greeted and his son nodded at him from where he sat at David's simple table as he moved to light the candles there.
"Do you have an answer for me?" Gilan asked curiously, but without any preamble.
David held up a hand, sighing a little tiredly. "We can discuss it over coffee," and, so saying, he went to retrieve some. He set both drinks down as before, but this time he also set down a small plum tart between them.
"Why dad, you shouldn't have," Gilan said, reaching across the table to take a slice for himself. Though his tone was teasing, David could see the genuine pleasure on his face both at the sight of one of his favorite desserts and at the fact that his father had remembered that.
David sat down with a tired sigh; it had been more than a full day for him after all. He went to get a piece of the tart for himself and took a sip of his own coffee.
"This is delicious," Gilan said appreciatively of the tart, "not too sweet. Thank you."
"You should thank Baron Arald's cook and his young apprentice who are visiting the castle. I didn't make it."
"Oh, I know you didn't make it," Gilan said, grinning, "because it isn't charcoal. I know how you cook, or, better put, how you don't."
David glared up at him. He didn't like to have his failed attempts at cooking brought up. He was generally content to spend his days blissfully forgetting that such incidences had ever occurred. He spoke up then, in defense of his poked at dignity.
"I'll have you know that my campfire fish is delicious. Surely you can remember that."
"Nooo," his son drew out the word, the mischief of a pointed jibe sparkling in his eyes, "I don't think I do because, as I recall, whenever we went fishing, we generally came back empty-handed."
"That had nothing to do with me—it's just that the fish never happened to be biting on those trips."
"Which is because you can't fish."
"Oh? And you can then, I suppose?" The Battlemaster challenged with some heat.
"Of course I can. All it takes is an arrow—"
"You shoot your fish?" he interrupted as he saw a way to get back on top of the conversation. "That isn't the same as fishing with a rod. It doesn't require the same skill and finesse."
"It takes lots of skill to shoot a fish, and I use plenty of finesse when I do it," Gilan replied, his smile never faltering.
"That is the opposite of sporting, son."
"Sporting? It's a fish and I'm usually hungry."
"That still doesn't make it knightly."
"Did I mention about me being hungry? Besides, you're the one who always told me that efficiency is sometimes better than antiquated tradition."
"When I told you that, I was referring to besieging castles—and you know it!"
His son merely shrugged, "I've found it works for a lot of things actually. It's great advice." He nodded in mock respect.
"If you recall, I also said never to let your care for success outweigh your sense of honor and care for you men."
"Fish aren't my men—they feed them. And they feed them efficiently. I think I'd term that as honorable, wouldn't you?"
Sir David put his head in his hands, but he was feeling unreasonably pleased, despite himself. He'd never realized how much he missed this good-natured bickering with his son. Though being on the losing end of it the entire time was a bit of a new sensation. At the same time, he felt a touch of sadness: it was so similar, but not quite the same. Things had broken too badly for that. There was the pervasive hint of a frayed sharpness that rendered every interaction more tense and shallow than it had once been. Then he shook his head.
"You seem to have grown more cunning in your absence," he said, marginally bitterly, but there was a quiet note of affection to his words.
Gilan thought about that for a moment then nodded. "I certainly tried to," he admitted with a chuckle.
David smiled then too, before deciding that this had gone on long enough. There was business to be discussed after all.
"Baron Douglass has agreed to the plan and to let you guide our cavalry though the woods. There is, however, one condition."
He saw his son raise a questioning eyebrow.
"The only way Douglass will agree to let you lead our men through is on the condition that he has the opportunity to meet you in person tomorrow. He's decided to grant you an audience because he has, as he put it, no intention of putting a stranger in charge of guiding his troops without first assessing him to ensure his good intentions."
A shadow seemed to pass over Gilan's face at this news… or perhaps it was simply that all his amiability had suddenly fallen away to reveal something else, something that David suspected had been lurking just beneath the surface throughout all their interactions.
"You know well why I can't do that," he said flatly, quietly. "Especially if the only reason he needs to make my acquaintance is because you neglected to tell him who I really am."
"I know you've been banished from the fief, but the only way he'll agree to let you guide our men is if he and the other members of the senior staff meet you in person."
He saw his son's expression turn noticeably darker, his jaw setting. Though David had somehow managed to avoid catching his son's active anger, it seemed Baron Douglass wasn't so lucky. But as soon as David blinked the expression was gone. Gilan took a breath and seemed to shake himself, his smile returning.
"He won't simply trust your word?" Gilan asked. Although his tone gave nothing away, something coiled in his words that hinted at a double meaning.
David shook his head. "Any good commander would do the same, and you know it."
"I do know it," Gilan shrugged. "Which is why I'm surprised he wouldn't simply take you at your word."
It took a moment, but David belatedly caught his meaning. "Gilan," he admonished, "As Baron of this fief, you must show him his proper due respect."
"I wasn't aware I hadn't," Gilan said innocently. "And besides, respect won't solve our little problem."
David felt suddenly very tired, only just resisting the urge to rub at his temples and give his son an all too familiar and well-worn look. Truthfully, it had taken David—as well as Baron Arald and Lady Pauline, who had been more than willing to support him despite not knowing who this mystery 'forester' was—quite a while to convince Douglass and his senior staff to even make that concession.
But Gilan was right; all due respect or no, this was going to be risky—not to mention the little problem of legality. But, for once, for this, David pushed those guilty qualms behind the justified wall of honest, and more urgent, necessity. He sat back and considered his son carefully for a moment as he tried to think. Gilan met his gaze and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to one side, eyebrows raised and hands pillowed behind his head in a watchful regard that seemed to hold as much curiosity as it did challenge in its silence—waiting for a solution that David wasn't finding easy to come up with.
"You've changed a lot since you were last here," David said carefully. "Dressed like that, with your cowl, I hardly recognized you, and I'm certain Douglass won't."
A slow, amused, smile spread across Gilan's face at that answer… but it wasn't a friendly one—it had too much of a sharp edge for that.
"Seems far riskier than the plans you usually go for. But I admit it would be amusing, hiding right under his nose like that." He nodded once in acceptance of the plan before rising to his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow then."
As before. Gilan headed for the window, raising a cheerful hand in farewell. This time, David bit his tongue before he again asked Gilan to stay. The dull sinking pain in his heart whispered all too well what he knew the answer would be if he tried. It was painfully obvious to him that Gilan truly had no interest in talking things out or trying to mend the fractured ends of their relationship, in rebuilding what they'd had once. It hurt and he wished it all hadn't turned out this way; unreachable and all the more unfix-able for it. Resigned, he returned the farewell.
"Thanks again for the coffee, and the tart," Gilan said genuinely as he eased his way out of the window. Then he stopped for a moment, looking back. David held back a breath. "Before I go," Gilan said conversationally, "you don't suppose Baron Douglass would mind if I brought a couple of friends along, do you? My mentor is set on helping us and I'd like someplace safe… well, relatively safer, for my apprentices than a potential battlefield."
"Mentor? Apprentices?" David spluttered slightly, taken a little off guard by the sudden question as much as the notion behind it. "I don't see that there would be much harm in that, so long as I give advanced warning," he managed to stammer.
"Thank you," Gilan said. "Stay well, father."
"But what—" David started to ask, but stopped himself belatedly when he realized Gilan was no longer there. He had merely blinked and Gilan was gone. He sighed.
~x~X~x~
Though the snow had melted, the autumn air still held the chill of winter. Halt could feel it creeping through the window of the room in the inn that they were currently staying at. It was located in the village that was a mere stone's throw from Highcliff Castle. As soon as it became certain that they wouldn't suddenly have to flee the castle and fief the moment Gilan approached Sir David, they had decided to forgo the nights of cold camping for more weatherproof conditions while the little details were sorted out. Halt couldn't say he preferred sleeping in the snow and chill wind; he was certain Will and Horace didn't either—especially not when considering how they had taken to exclaiming over every simple luxury they encountered as if it were a miraculous novelty. Halt had heard more than he ever cared to hear about comfortable beds and not having to fetch water or cook food.
Will, in particular, still extolled the virtues of a real bed every time he laid down. Halt quietly hoped that wasn't because he'd never really had the opportunity to sleep in one before; though he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if that were the case. It had been that uncomfortable thought that had kept him from uttering the dry "because I'm sure it would have changed so much since the last time you lay on it," he would have in that other time. As soon as these Wargals and Morgarath were defeated, he had a mind to track down that farmer who had raised Will and thank him for his efforts. He promised this to himself silently, just as he also promised that, so far as it was in his power, he would try to keep Will from ever having to live that way again.
Regardless, the only thing Will and Horace seemed to like more than the beds was the food. It had been good food too, not that Halt was about to extol its virtues as much as the two boys had. They had no sooner settled back in their room after finishing a late evening meal when there came a familiar soft rap at the door before Gilan entered. He looked worn down, tired, and something else that Halt couldn't name. But he offered them a bright smile in greeting all the same.
"Baron Douglass has agreed to the plan provided we meet with him tomorrow," he said without preamble.
There was a collective breath of relief from everyone present in the room at that news. It was what they'd been hoping for.
"Why does he feel he has to meet before he agrees all the way?" Will asked into the silence that followed.
"Apparently it's so he can ensure our good intentions," Gilan replied with a slight scoff in his voice that Halt mirrored.
Horace looked a little perplexed at their response. "Why is that bad? Any good commander would do the same."
"Not you too Horace," Gilan bemoaned with an exaggerated sigh.
"Knights," Halt muttered his agreement under his breath, shaking his head before turning back to Gilan. "Anything else we need to know?"
"Apparently, Baron Arald is currently at Highcliff Fief."
"Is that going to be a problem for us getting in, do you think?" Halt asked, uncertain about this timeline's dynamics when it came to Arald, but Gilan shook his head.
"He's more likely to help than anything. And it wouldn't hurt to add him, Sir Rodney, and the rest of their retinue to Douglass's troops—if Douglass sees fit to provide them, that is. I can't see Arald just standing by in a situation like this one."
Halt nodded to himself. That sounded like what he had known of Arald before. He'd always been a man Halt respected and he was glad that it seemed that hadn't changed. "So, if Douglass approves of us and, with the help of Sir David, Sir Rodney, and Baron Arald, I think we'll have a good chance of heading off that Wargal party."
"Will this Baron Douglass agree, do you think?" Will asked tentatively.
Gilan shrugged.
"Hopefully," was all he said in answer, the tired and worn look that Halt had noticed earlier seeming to deepen with the words.
He was tense, on edge, and had been ever since they'd arrived. Halt also knew that he hadn't been sleeping very well either. He could not quite quell the sudden niggling sense of concern. He'd had a feeling that something like this might happen—that this would be difficult. And already it seemed to be taking a toll.
"Have you eaten yet?" Halt asked, eyeing his former apprentice carefully.
"The lamb tonight was really great," Horace put in.
"It can't have been that good," Will jogged his friend with his elbow, "seeing as the inn still has food left in it."
"I didn't eat that much," Horace protested, looking affronted.
"Four helpings," Will muttered.
"Exactly, only four helpings," Horace said, as if that wasn't a ridiculously large number.
Will made a face and was about to open his mouth to send another barb in Horace's direction but Halt decided to interrupt the squabble before it could get heated—something he'd discovered occasionally happened with the two boys. He held up a hand to cut them short.
"Regardless of how much Horace did or didn't eat, they're still serving down there," Halt said to Gilan.
Gilan shook his head with a half-smile. "I'm not particularly hungry."
Halt frowned at that, and then tried a different tack; After all, Gilan never could resist a jibe.
"I'm sure Maeve would be more than happy to serve you," he said sarcastically.
Halt had noticed how the young owner of the inn had been following Gilan around with her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking, her expression half wistful half wanting. He'd also noticed how she seemed eager and happy to talk with Gilan whenever the chance presented itself. Halt knew Gilan had noticed it too—if his playful look in Halt's direction when Maeve had forgotten Halt's order that first night in favor of Gilan's was anything to go by.
But Gilan merely shook his head again, offering Halt only a faint smile in response to his tease. There was no grin, no quick return remarks. That fact was almost more worrying that his apparent lack of appetite. And Will and Horace seemed to notice too.
"Is everything alright?" Will asked at about the same time Horace asked, "Did something happen while you were gone?"
Gilan seemed to shake himself. "I'm fine," he said airily. And he did seem fine then, the fatigue and heaviness in his stance seeming to disappear as soon as he spoke. It instantly eased the two boys' worries even as it added a little to Halt's. He was about to say something but Gilan continued on quickly to reassure them. "I already ate while I was at the castle, so there's no need to be troubling Maeve. I'm just tired, is all. It wasn't very easy getting into the castle this time around, you know. There was a particularly eager guard out tonight and I had to hold in place, hanging right under the battlement ledge by my hands for several minutes before he finally moved on enough for me to slip past."
"I would've liked to see that," Will said, laughing at the mental image that brought and Horace agreed.
"Trust me, it was much less fun than it sounds," Gilan chuckled. "And on top of all that, I had to spend a couple of hours waiting and negotiating before I could even try to leave again," he waved a tired hand. "I think I'll just turn in early."
And, so saying, it didn't take him long to make himself comfortable on the bed at the farthest edge of the room. He was soon breathing deeply and evenly. Although Halt doubted very much that he was actually asleep, judging by the tense line of his shoulders and the way his hand lingered unconsciously close his knife.
Will and Horace went to bed shortly after; Will once again complimenting wonderingly at the softness of his bed. That soon led to a heated argument between the two boys over which foliage made the best beds while camping—until a definitely not sleeping Gilan snorted at their antics and topped both their suggestions with his own. It could have gone on longer, and probably would have too, if Halt hadn't cut them all off short in a tone of voice that brooked no arguments.
As silence once again descended, Halt too started to settle in for the night—his mind turning over how everything was going to work out for them tomorrow when they met with the Baron. He glanced once at where his onetime apprentices and Horace lay resting and rubbed briefly at the bridge of his nose. If only problems could be fixed as quickly and easily as they arose.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Continuation of this chapter will be up as soon as I can get it finished and polished up a bit. Poor Halt now has a headache from everything (and all the fallout) he has to deal with. Will has fallen in love with comfortable beds and Horace with copiously large quantities of food; those are the only two ships that matter in this fic! XD And Gilan is straight-up not having a good time. Angry Gilan... he has been fairly interesting to try and wrap my pen around—especially since he seems to be quite a hard person to truly anger in canon, and doesn't often seem to express it in a wholly typical way either from what I've read (at least not when it isn't an immediate and directed kind of anger). I just hope I'm doing it right XD. Also, in case anyone is interested, if I had to give a chapter estimate for how long it might take to finish this work I might guess around 10-15 more chapters maybe?
I wish you all the very best until next time!