Warming up for Whumptober.

Halt was extrordinarily capable in many ways, but right now, he was out of his element.

The Ranger had realized this the moment that he had returned to the room and had taken his trembling apprentice into his arms - the boy was burning with fever. Halt was out of his element, because he should have realized it when Gilan had been picking at his dinner before tiredly murmuring that he was going to go lie down.

Shivers were quaking down Gilan's thin frame... far thinner than a boy his age ought to be, Halt acknowledged with something akin to failure. There were a lot of things wrong about about a lot of situations, besides the one that involved his boy burning with fever in his arms, with Halt helpless to do anything more than he had already done. There shouldn't be a war at their doorstep. Pritchard should be alive. Children shouldn't be training and fighting for their lives on a daily basis. This child should be in warm bed being fussed over by his mother, not shivering in a ratty old inn with not enough blankets and Halt as his only meager source of comfort.

Gilan's eyes were dim and glassy as he fitfully shifted, thoughtlessly clinging tighter to Halt, craving warmth even as heat radiated off every inch of him. Sweat was beading on Halt's forehead, but he didn't hesitate to more firmly close his arms around his apprentice, running a hand through Gilan's damp locks as the boy painfully pulled in shallow gasps through chattering teeth.

A thin, distressed sob made Halt's stomach clench. Gilan was so cold, so tired, so miserable, and Halt knew it would be hours yet before either of them found any sleep.

Halt was out of his element, but that wouldn't stop him for a second from trying.

Halt had red on his hands.

Red that had flashed across his vision, red on his hands, red on the floor, red on the apprentice he now held tightly in his arms, red on the mangled form at his feet. The man that would surely be dead had Halt not come back to himself when he did.

Halt's saxe and throwing knife were untouched in their scabbard. The Ranger's fists had done the damage - something purely carnal igniting within him, red hot rage powering every swing.

Red anger, red fists, red blood-

Gilan was crying, shaking in his embrace, and Halt again felt the overwhelming desire to let loose at the scum who had looked at his apprentice as if he were a piece of meat-

"Handsome looking boy," he said, an odd smile playing at his lips as he licked them. Gilan shifting uncomfortably under the gaze, shoulders curling in. "Such a beautiful child. Those big eyes... that soft hair... such sharp features..." The man siddled closer, his breath hot on Gilan's neck. Gilan froze, all sense of reason and coherency gone as he cried out in raw panic, feeling himself go numb with utter terror.

And then Halt exploded.

"You're all right, you're all right," Halt kept repeating as he rocked, feeling tears sting his own eyes as the realization of what could have happened seeped in. Gilan's harsh breathing settled, ever so slowly. "Shh. You're all right. Sit still, lad."

Finally prying himself away from the boy, Halt stalked to the heap of the man and snatched at his collar. "Dying would be too merciful for you," the Ranger hissed viciously. "You deserve to rot for the rest of your life, and then you finally can go to Hell. You're coming to Castle Redmont with me, and the only promise I can make you is that you'll arrive intact. However... if you so much as look at him," Halt jerked his head toward his apprentice, "All bets are off. You will lose fingers. Understand?"

The man might have nodded. His condition made it difficult to tell. Nevertheless, Halt stood and turned on his heel to go back to the more important matter at hand - Gilan.

And resolutely ignored the man's whimper as Halt's heel "accidentally" dug into his hand.

"I have to say, Gilan... You've done plenty of idiotic things, but this one takes grand prize."

"I win a prize?" Gilan slurred. "... Tha's good, right?"

Halt sighed. "No, that's stupid."

"Sorry... I don't... 'member what happened..."

"I don't expect you to remember right now. Just, one thing?"

"Hmm?" Gilan creaked open one eye to look questioningly at his mentor.

"Promise me to never do anything so stupid as that ever again."

Gilan gave a half-hearted scoff and let his eye droop closed. "I'll make no such promises."

Halt sighed. It had been worth a try, anyway.

The boom was deafening.

Quite literally, it would seem.

The tavern was engulfed in flames, Halt was nowhere to be seen, and Gilan?

Gilan was lying sprawled on his side, the force from the explosion of heat having knocked him clean off his feet. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear the ringing that was resounding through his skull. "Halt!?" he called out, worry for his mentor flooding throughout him.

At least, he thought he called out - nothing reached his ears. Gilan touched a hand to his ear, and brought it back warm and red. The only sound continued to be that ever persistent ringing, and in a panic, Gilan started to claw at his ears, as if he could scratch his hearing back into existence.

Someone grabbing his hands made him startle, and with tears running down his face, Gilan jerked his head up to stare into the dark, worried eyes of his mentor. Halt's mouth was moving, but Gilan couldn't hear what he was saying-

Halt arms enveloped him, drawing the boy tight to his chest. If the blood dripping from Gilan's ears was causing his teacher concern, Gilan felt no sign of it, feeling himself start to calm at his mentor's steady presence.

For now, that presence was enough.

Not my favorite chapter, but I didn't want to try to do Whumptober without some sort of warm-up to get myself back into the swing. Hope you all still found some enjoyment in reading.

-TrustTheCloak