Halt arched an eyebrow at the curled lump, giving it an annoyed swat. "I said to wake up, Gilan. Now."

The named apprentice heaved a muffled groan into his pillow and hauled his blanket higher over his head, wriggling away from Halt's prodding. "Go 'way..."

Halt rolled his eyes as he lifted his foot, not feeling the least bit apologetic.

Thunk.

Gilan let loose an offended squawk as he hit the floor, his blanket wrapped, lanky limbs a tangled, flailing mess. "That was mean," the boy croaked grumpily, smearing a hand across bleary, red-rimmed eyes as he glowered at his mentor.

"If you had gotten up the first time I told you, I wouldn't have had to kick you," the older Ranger replied, grabbing the blanket and throwing it back onto the mattress, ignoring the boy's feeble attempt to swipe it back. "Now, up you get."

Gilan turned to stare out his window into the dark sky, his frown deepening. "You're aware it's not even close to being time to get up?" the boy questioned suspiciously, casting another longing glance at his bed.

"A mission came up. If you're not ready in ten minutes, you're getting left." With that, Halt exited, a smirk on his lips as his apprentice squawked again -panicked, this time- and scrambled to his feet to get dressed. Halt wouldn't really leave Gilan, but making him believe that would get them on the road faster.

Five minutes later, when Gilan was impatiently fidgeting by the front door, Halt applauded his logic.

"Idiot boy," Halt scolded sharply. The Ranger's callused fingers were carefully carding through his apprentice's hair, feeling for any injuries. "What were you thinking? Or do I even want to know?"

Gilan gave a halfhearted shrug. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." As Halt's probing fingers brushed a bruise, Gilan flinched. "Ow."

Satisfied, Halt completed his search. "Indeed. However, you'll live, a fact for which I am glad. It's an awful lot of paperwork when apprentices die."

Gilan scoffed indignantly, feeling the sizable bruise himself. "I regret nothing."

"Bold words," Halt responded dryly. "You hit your head - you clearly don't remember what you're supposed to regret."

"It was a dare, Halt! What was I supposed to do, turn it down?"

Halt's deadpan expression clearly conveyed that yes, that was exactly what he should have done. A mischievous grin creasing his cheeks as he reached towards his pockets, Gilan tried one last time to justify his actions. "At least I have standards! There was something to be gained - he paid me to do it." There, proudly displayed in Gilan's open palm, were in fact five royals.

Halt blinked. "Oh." For a moment, the Ranger considered, before seeming to come to a decision.

"Next time, don't do it for anything less than ten."

Thwack.

Sending his last arrow into a target, Gilan lowered his bow as he assessed the results. All the arrows had found their way onto a target, with a few striking through the center rings. Decent shooting, but not nearly as tight as the Ranger standard called for. Still, Gilan thought with a sort of dry humor, he was hitting the targets now. When he had first started learning, his archery practice consisted of more searching for arrows than it did of actual shooting.

"Not too bad. Do it about a thousand more times, and you'll be half decent." Halt's commentary floated over from where the Ranger was idly adjusting the fletching on his arrows, shooting each arrow into a tree and giving a nod when he was satisfied with how they flew.

Gilan groaned. "Archery will be the end of me," the apprentice declared in a semi joking tone, though the underlying frustration was bleeding through. Halt glanced up at this, studying his apprentice's downcast expression for a moment.

"You're getting better, Gil," the Ranger offered, recognizing that his apprentice wasn't merely looking for his ego to be stroked, but instead was experiencing very real and very frustrating self doubt. Left unchecked, self doubt had a tendency to spread like poison, and Halt hurried to put it to a stop.

"Not better enough," the boy answered gloomily. "It seems like I have to work twice as hard as all the other apprentices in my year to keep my shooting up to level. What if... what if soon I'm not able to keep up?" Gilan looked absolutely panic-stricken at the thought, and Halt felt a wave of sympathy wash over him.

"You won't fall behind. People have different strengths - you wish you had their archery skills, but I guarantee you that more than one wishes they had your inclination towards unseen movement." Halt then gestured towards Gilan's sword scabbard that had been placed on the ground. "What about your sword? You had to practice to get to the level you're at now."

Gilan shook his head. "Well, yes, but it was never hard like archery is. I still have to practice, obviously, but sword work... the sword is easy."

All at once, Halt understood the very crux of the matter. Gilan had been raised and trained from a young age as a swordsman - and a very naturally talented one, at that. He'd never had to struggle with a weapon before, his sword easily becoming an extension of his arm, of his very being. To be thrown into archery - in a sense, the opposite of the sword work that he was so naturally inclined toward - and to struggle so hard with it... had to be immensely discouraging.

"Gilan," Halt said firmly, staring hard into his apprentice's eyes. "You won't fall behind. You're worried? So we'll practice. It will be hard, but we'll practice until it is easy. You have it in you."

Gilan blinked, letting Halt's confidence absorb into him. Halt believed in him, and Halt was never wrong; everyone knew that. With a deep breath, the boy nodded.

"Okay."

Gilan winced as he pushed his foot into his boot. "I need new boots, Halt," the boy said with a grimace as he experimentally flexed his foot, biting his lip as his toes protested. "They're pinching."

"Already?" Halt sighed with exasperation, eyeing his apprentice's feet with sheer disbelief. "You just got those -they fit fine before!"

"A few months ago!" Gilan responded with a grunt as he forced his other foot in. "Not anymore."

Halt pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that if he were to have Gilan continue to wear his too small boots, a few days later would result in his apprentice limping around like a sad sort of cripple. Taking a breath, Halt studied his apprentice a moment; Gilan looked lankier than ever, all sharp angles and long, coltish limbs... limbs with sleeves that were uncomfortably short.

"Boots, then. Maybe a shirt or two. You grow worse than a weed," the Ranger said finally, his tone defeated. Even he had to admit that Gilan was looking a touch raggedy, and a little too close to looking homeless than was fitting for an apprentice Ranger.

Gilan immediately perked up, breathing out a sigh of relief that he wouldn't be made to wear the small ones. "Sorry."

"I think you're doing it on purpose," Halt shot back grumpily as he fished out some money for Gilan to take.

"Er... It doesn't work that way."

"Extra space in the toe," Halt ordered as he relinquished the coins into his apprentice's hand. "These ones are to last longer, understand? No more growth spurts."

"Like I said, it's not up to me..." the boy responded, almost with pity. Gilan was the first to admit that he grew through clothes annoyingly quickly.

Halt simply gave his apprentice a dark look as he swallowed a sip of coffee. "Sometimes I wonder."

It will forever be a thing of sadness for me that John Flanagan didn't utilize Gilan more. He's a character with so much potential, but who is so sadly underused. His appearances in Brotherband remedied it slightly, but I think I will always feel that smidge of sadness. At the same time, however, I don't think I would ever want Flanagan to write a prequel for Gilan's apprenticeship; I've built him up myself in my head too much.

Reviews feed my starved muse.

-TrustTheCloak

FYI: I am always open to story prompts! My muse has been struggling - it needs to be poked and sparked a bit, and story prompts, especially ones that I find very interesting or am eager to put into words, are extremely welcome.