A/N: Here's the next chapter! So, this chapter is mostly in Sir David and Halt's perspective and it starts to explain where the title came from. I hope you all enjoy.
TrustTheCloak: Dawwwww :3 thank you for the compliment. Funny thing is that I've often wished I had your skill. Thanks again for the review!
TheRanger'sDaughter: I noticed that too, I think it'd be nice if there were more pre-apprentice Gilan stories out there. Thanks so much for the review, I really appreciate it.
Guest: Thank you for the review, and for the compliments, you totally made my day.
Also, special thanks to: Blurby, Wild Horse Annie, and pennydragon, you guys are awesome
Chapter 2
Sir David, Battlemaster of Caraway Fief, urged his battle horse around the trunk of a particularly large tree as he led the hunting party though the woods. It had been the popular opinion of his senior staff that he needed a break. He had not taken one in months and, according to the knights, he had seemed tense and distracted of late.
It was true; he knew he had been. He supposed that a break was in order. And he could not think of a better way to spend his day of leave then on a boar hunt. Though that was not to say that his mind was actually on the hunt at the moment, rather it was fixed on the problem of his son. He supposed that this was actually the cause of his distracted mind of late.
It really came down to potential. His son had the potential to be a great knight, possibly one of the greatest. But, for whatever reason, his son seemed to be doing anything and everything to avoid living up to that potential lately. Though that might be a bit too harsh of judgment; Gilan wasn't purposefully trying to sabotage himself.
For as long a Sir David could remember, Gilan had always had a spark of fun, or even mischief, in his eyes. From the moment he could move about on his own, he had had some plan of fun or mischief in his mind. Gilan had always had an affinity for not conforming entirely to a sense of discipline for want of freedom, adventure, and fun. During the war against Morgarath it had appeared that Gilan had grown out of that phase and embraced the discipline of a knight's life fully —as David had done when he was his son's age. However, that had seemed to wear off soon after the kingdom was once again at peace... and it appeared that it never would never be coming back at this rate. It seemed only to have gotten worse than ever before, and he was nearing his wit's end as to what to do with the boy.
At that moment, David found himself cursing that irrepressible cheek. He had never thought to really try and curb that affinity of his son's for well-planned mischief, curiosity, and sense of adventure, because he had always thought that it signified intelligence. And that was a skill that was necessary for an exemplary knight to have. Heavens knew some of the schemes his son had thought up were nothing if not intelligent.
His mind was immediately thrown back to the memory of the day, a couple years ago during a particularly long and hard winter, when his son had managed to rig the decorative suits of armor in one of the castle's corridors so that their heads turned when someone stepped on a tripwire — thereby terrifying one of the castle servants. It had taken a very long time to convince the poor woman that the castle was not, in fact, haunted.
Usually, Gilan's pranks had been far and few between, but they had picked up recently. He assumed that part of the reason his son was suddenly feeling it necessary to act out like that was due to boredom — a negative side effect of intelligence. He knew for a fact that Gilan grew easily bored with the monotony of drills. He also knew that he was bored with military history and tactics class.
As he looked back, he released with painful clarity, that this was partially his fault for starting his son so early. That fact, mixed with Gilan's ability to grasp concepts quickly, had put him ahead of where he should be. Gilan would probably have done better in third or fourth-year academic classes, but David could not move him up any further. He was already too young to be a first-year.
He even suspected, though he had no proof, that this was also the reason behind some rare but highly suspicious accidents that had happened of late: like ink bottles suddenly sticking to the tables in tactics and military history class, swords disappearing from the belts of tired therefore not fully alert sentries on patrol, to be placed point first in the ground beside them.
Though most of Gilan's pranks, mischief and sense of adventure were harmless, it was not to say that it didn't lead to problems, or cause some form of worry or grief. Chief amongst these were impromptu and unauthorized trips to the woods, ridiculous and rather dangerous challenges he had set himself to accomplish just to prove that he could—like the time he had taken it in his head to try and replicate a few of the feats he had seen trick rider acrobats perform during the harvest festival. Or like the time he tried to make it around the castle perimeter without using the walkways but instead by balancing atop the battlements.
This last was actually something he had done about five years ago. He had done it at night and in secret because he knew he wouldn't have ever been allowed to do it had he made his intentions known or asked permission. David had only found out about it the next morning when Gilan had cheerfully and rather proudly announced his midnight escapade at breakfast.
There was also the time, much more recently, that Gilan had set himself the challenge of attempting to free climb the castle's towers. David had found out about that one before Gilan had had the chance to complete that self-set challenge. He had forbidden him from going any further with that one, but that had not deterred his son from trying. The persistent boy had merely waited for him to get slightly distracted in order to attempt to trick permission out of him. And it had almost worked too. Sir David shook his head ruefully at the memory.
He had been busy trying to organize a new cavalry flanking tactic for a drill when Gilan had sided up to him, commenting happily on some various things that Sir David could not remember much now, as he had been concentrating hard at the time in order to finish his detail before the deadline. He had not really been fully paying attention, offering distracted replies when his son had said a pleasant farewell and started to leave.
"Well," Gilan had said in a by the by manner, "I haven't climbed the south tower yet," he had clicked his tongue off the side of his teeth, "I think I'm going to go ahead and do it."
To which David had responded with a distracted, "Yes, yes, sounds fine." Only to be startled out of his concentration when the full import of his son's words had hit him. He had only just managed to grab him by the back of his tunic before he reached the door.
"You most certainly are not!"
This had eventually led to the almost habitual mantra that he added to almost every farewell he gave his son whenever he saw him off.
"And, if you would, please at least try to be worthy of my trust."
To which the answer was invariably the same.
"Will try, but won't promise!" called back cheerily over his shoulder with that near ever-present grin of his.
It wasn't that Gilan was purposefully trying to bring him grief or grey his hairs, he knew that. Mischief or no, if he knew one thing for sure it was that his son had the heart of a true knight and the courage to match.
Though his position as the Battlemaster of Caraway, and his subsequent duties, did not give him the luxury of being a typical father who was always there for their son; though he may have always been a bit strict and had pushed Gilan hard to be a knight and follow in his footsteps, he loved his son. He genuinely wanted what was best for him.
As David thought on it now, he realized that, whenever Gilan managed to get some free time away from classes, he hardly spent any of it training, or with the other cadets. Instead, he spent it working in the stables, out riding or hiking in the woods, or doing other similar things. In fact, he had never really seemed fully passionate about being a knight's apprentice — and that feeling seemed only to have grown instead of waned.
Gilan had seemed, for lack of a better word, discontented. It was very slowly becoming apparent that his son did not share his own childhood ambitions, and most noble boys' desires, for knighthood. He knew that this was something he really to address.
He really needed to discuss it with Gilan, and come to a solid decision about what to do about it. He knew that he was probably going to have to be stricter and crack down on his son's behavior. In fact, he had known it for quite a while now, but had been putting it off. It was because he had the disconcerting suspicion that more restrictions might cause Gilan to rebel more, rather than conform. He urged his horse around another tree trunk and reached a hand up to stroke his beard in a thoughtful manner.
"Thinking about your son again, sir?" the voice of his lieutenant, Robert, said from slightly behind and to the side of him.
"That obvious, eh?" He turned to face the man, a slight smile on his face.
"With respect sir, you stroke your beard whenever you think about something that's troubling you," Robert said, returning the smile. "You know, leaving on a hunt to take a break from your troubles only works if you don't bring them with you."
"I seem to recall that you were the one to come up with the idea of my son meeting me out here later after his class gets out."
"That's true sir," Robert admitted a little abashed.
"That doesn't sound like leaving your troubles behind," David pointed out.
"Trouble itself? Gilan is not that bad sir," another of his knights chimed in from behind him, inviting himself into the conversation. "I rather like the lad."
"I'm glad to hear it, Edward; would that I could say the same of you." He shot the knight in question a baleful look. Said knight only grinned in return.
"So you did inform Sir Gavin to tell Gilan to meet you later this afternoon then?" Robert asked and David nodded. "Permission to speak freely sir?" he suddenly requested.
"Granted," David replied, eyeing the man curiously.
"I know it's not my place to say, but I'm sure whatever's going on between the two of you will work out easily enough if you talk it out."
"Besides, if you keep up only thinking on it the way you do, you'll wear your beard down to nothing," Edward put in, most unhelpfully.
"Yes, thank you for that." He gave Edward another look before turning to face forwards again, trying to get his mind back on the hunt. "I'm sure you're both right."
"I only wish I had the chance to talk to my son before…" Robert spoke softly, wistfully, and then trailed.
Sir David turned towards his lieutenant again, his eyes sympathetic.
"He was a good soldier and he served his country well," he replied softly. Robert's son had died during the battle of Hakham Heath, during the cavalry charge that turned the tide of the battle. "He saved many lives. I was proud to serve with him."
"Thank you, sir," Robert said, looking slightly uncomfortable.
He cut his eyes to the side and seemed about to speak again when Edward caught sight of game. Thoughts thoroughly diverted, the five in their party turned to pursue it.
~x~X~x~
There was something that was not sitting well with Halt. It was an intangible feeling of disquiet, a gut feeling. He had spent years honing his instincts and they had never let him down in the past — and he doubted they would do so now. He had a feeling that something was off.
However, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on that could justify this feeling, so far as he could tell. Instincts, no matter how helpful, were all circumstantial and vague. There was no purpose in getting worked up without concrete proof that something was amiss. And, as he had just thought earlier, he had no such evidence. Decided, he put the matter to the back of his mind — though, he did not dismiss it. It was better to assume trouble, and be disappointed when none came, than to be surprised by it.
Perhaps his uneasy feeling was due to the fact that his most recent mission had only been mostly successful, rather than totally successful. He did not like leaving things unfinished. He had been in Caraway fief to work with the Ranger there to put down a large group of thieves and thugs that had grown to be a problem.
He and the other Ranger had managed to apprehend most of them. But a small group of about a dozen of them had eluded capture. Halt suspected that they had found employment somewhere and had been on their trail when he was recalled; Crowley, the Ranger Commandant, had sent him a message saying that he was needed elsewhere to act as an escort to a rather pompous nobleman.
Consequently, Halt had been obliged to give the meager intelligence he had managed to gather to the Ranger of Caraway and had begun his return journey. He was fairly certain that the other Ranger would have the matter well in hand. No, his feeling of unease was most likely due to his own reservations about leaving loose ends.
Knowing that he would pass by Caraway castle on his way to the southeast road, he had decided to make a quick stop in order to pay a visit to his friend, Sir David, before he left the fief. This was mostly because he always liked to stop by and visit David whenever he was in the area. (It was also partially because he was putting off his meeting with the pompous noble for as long as he could, within reason).
He had arrived fairly early that morning only to find out that he had just missed David. The knight had set out with a hunting party moments before he had arrived and would not be back until evening. Thinking back now, Halt realized that this was the exact point in the day when his feeling that something was amiss had really begun to bother him.
It had to be due to his reservations about the escaped thugs, he decided now, because there was nothing at all that had happened at the castle that could be considered out of the ordinary… well, not completely. The memory of what he had seen earlier that morning made his mouth twitch upwards fractionally at its corners — his equivalent of a wide grin.
Having had nothing better to do while he waited, he had fallen back into his old habit of silent observation. He had watched the inhabitants of the castle go about their usual business, whilst he remained undetected, thanks to his Ranger's skills. He had seen Sir Gavin, the Battleschool's Drill Master, giving three first-year cadets a severe dressing down for not taking proper care of their uniforms.
The lankiest of the three he recognized as Sir David's son, Gilan, whose surcoat, apart from the stain, was entirely too big for him. He'd had occasion to watch the boy a few times before, not to mention the brief time they'd spent together during Morgarath's war, and there was something about him that Halt found... tolerable, he supposed. He was a bright cheerful lad. On top of that, Halt had to admit that he had a fair skill at unseen movement, and a good sense of curiosity — two necessary skills for Rangers. He was also a good deal more intelligent than the typical bash and whacker. When it came to fighting ability he was fast and precise. In fact, Halt had found himself thinking on several occasions that, if he weren't already training to be a knight, the boy might have the potential to be a Ranger, and a good one.
Sir Gavin had delivered a roaring speech of condemnation aimed at the three of them, all the while waving around that cane of his that he was so fond of. His rant had eventually died down into the beginnings of what would have been quite a lengthy speech about discipline and its merits, had it continued. However, he only got a small way into it before he was cut abruptly short.
He had just started in about his own days before being knighted, placing his cane down like a staff and leaning upon it — in what he would have termed a dignified and rakish manner — when his words were very suddenly interrupted by a soft cracking sound as his precious swagger stick snapped in half. The unfortunate Sir Gavin's speech had ended, quite suddenly, as he overbalanced after losing the support of his cane. He was sent sprawling into the dirt of the parade ground to the sound of the cadets' smothered laughter.
Sir Gavin had gotten quickly to his feet and attempted to cover his humiliation with bluster but the damage had already been done. Halt couldn't say that he hadn't found the whole ordeal amusing. Sir Gavin was a decent man but he did have the tendency to be more than a little pompous sometimes.
Halt's eyes rarely missed anything and, as he thought back to it now, he could not help but think that he had seen a rather expectant look on Gilan's young face just moments before the incident. Halt shook his head gently, that almost imperceptible smile returning. It would probably be for the best for David to keep a close eye on that son of his.
He was still thinking on it when he heard none other than Sir Gavin approaching him from behind; the man's cocksure stride wasn't easy to miss. He turned to meet him.
"Sir Gavin," he greeted, inclining his head fractionally.
"Halt!" Gavin called back, reaching out to shake his hand. "Where the devil did you spring from? Come to see Sir David, did you?"
Halt nodded. "I did."
"You just missed him I'm afraid. He's off on a hunt at the moment and not going to be back until this evening."
"So I heard."
Gavin nodded acceptance of that fact. He was of the opinion that there was hardly anything that Halt didn't know. In fact, the Ranger was one of the only people who had his genuine respect. He felt his face brighten as he got an idea.
"Come to think of it, I believe Sir Robert planned the route. He probably left the map in his room. I can get it for you and you might be able to see if you could perhaps meet up with them. I'm sure that would be preferable to waiting for him here until nightfall. Also, I'm fairly certain Sir David would be pleased to see you earlier as well." Gavin beckoned for him to follow him as he continued on, "It will have to be quick, the academic portion of the day, and likewise my break, is almost over."
Halt nodded and followed after Gavin as he led the way to the officers' quarters.
"It's been a rather trying day for me today, to say the least," Gavin was saying in that pondering, arrogant, way of his.
"I noticed that you seemed to think that you needed to be better acquainted with the parade ground," Halt could not help but admit with only the slightest trace of humor in his voice.
Gavin flushed slightly.
"Apprentices… take my advice and never get yourself any," the knight said. "Hellions the lot of them, with no respect for regulations or discipline. After close inspection of the matter, I have come to the conclusion that my little incident today had nothing to do with petty mischance. Take a look at this craftsmanship," he said as he drew forth the two broken halves of his swagger stick from his belt and passed them to Halt.
Craftsmanship indeed, Halt decided as he looked carefully at the break.
"It is rather skillful," Halt said dryly, passing the broken cane back to its owner.
"Skillful maybe, but it is a completely disrespectful act of sabotage against a senior officer. I am fairly certain of the perpetrator too. There is only one First Year I can think of clever and brazen enough to pull off a stunt like this. He is going to be brought to account for this blatant and willful act," he said, his tone growing cold.
He would have said more but they had arrived at Sir Robert's quarters. Sir Gavin unlocked the door for him and directed him to the plain desk in the far corner of the room, before bidding Halt a hasty farewell.
Halt easily found the route map in question, memorizing it before he placed it back where Robert had left it. In so doing, his hand brushed against Robert's writing kit, knocking it slightly askew. He was about to right it when he caught sight of the corner of a piece of paper that had obviously been placed, or hidden, underneath the kit. Curious, he withdrew it and unfolded it. The paper was dirty and worn and the handwriting on it was crude and spidery, very unlike Robert's precise script.
Our terms are agreed. Bring the payment and we will meet at the Oakly ford crossing. My men will be in place before afternoon Tuesday.
-Bramwell
Halt stared at the cryptic scrawled missive and the oddly familiar sounding name at the bottom. Today was Tuesday and, according to Robert's route map, Oakly ford was where the hunt's rendezvous point was. The possible implications of 'our terms are agreed,' and 'bring payment,' and the fact that this Bramwell was going to be 'in place' before Sir David's party was due to meet there, were not lost on Halt.
His friend could very well be walking into some sort of ambush, or could have already done so; it was already afternoon. The sinking feeling taking root in the pit of his stomach only grew when his mind suddenly placed the reason why the name Bramwell had sounded so familiar. Bramwell was the name of one of the thugs in the large group, that he and the other Ranger had just put down, that hadn't been captured.
It seemed that he had quite possibly stumbled upon the root of his earlier off feeling. Though all his reasoning was based purely on conjecture and assumption, he was fairly certain that his friend was in danger, and his instincts told him that his reasoning was right.
~x~X~x~
Sir David had just arrived at the rendezvous point with Edward right behind him. Their hunting party had split up sometime during the day and so the two knights had arrived in the clearing near the Oakly ford late in the afternoon as planned. He looked around and spotted Robert standing near his mount on the far side of the clearing. His lieutenant raised a hand in greeting. The two approached him and dismounted also.
"Where are James and Percy?" David asked, noticing the absence of the two knights who had gone with Robert.
"They decided to head back early; James wasn't feeling well," Robert replied. "I gave them leave and decided to wait for you alone."
David nodded his understanding and then studied his lieutenant. The man was far more tense than usual and seemed to be avoiding his gaze. David took a step forward, intending to ask Robert if something was amiss when his sharp eyes caught sight of movement in the trees behind his lieutenant. His hand flew immediately to his sword hilt and drew his blade.
"Bandits!" he called to his two men, "Fall in!"
His two knights turned to see the threat and immediately fell in behind him. David's experienced eyes quickly took in the numbers and formation of the enemy as they sprang from cover and ran at them with weapons drawn. There were about twelve all told and they were advancing in a rather poorly coordinated basic flanking maneuver. He wondered briefly why a group of bandits would think it worthwhile to attack three knights, but put that aside as he focused on trying to find any possible way to counter their unexpected foe.
"Edward, Robert, stay close!" he ordered swiftly, "Organize into standard formation six, we may be able to-"
His orders were cut short by a cracking sound and then a thud, coming from directly behind him. Turning his head, David saw Edward sprawled on the ground unconscious. However, before he even had any real chance to act or think, he felt the cold touch of steel at the side of his throat, jabbing into his flesh.
"Drop your sword, sir," Robert's voice rang out coldly from behind him, whilst the thugs created a circle around them both.
Surprise mixed with horror inside him, and those emotions froze him for a few terrible moments.
"I don't really want to kill you, David, but I will if you don't lower your weapon now."
Anger suddenly vied for a place amidst the horror and surprise.
"And what do you intend, lieutenant?" he spat, stressing the title.
Though he could hardly bring himself to believe it, Robert, a man whom he had trusted was a traitor. For a few fleeting moments, in his anger, he entertained the idea of making a move against Robert, of trying to fight his way out of this. But he had not risen so high in the ranks by ignoring reason and letting his emotions rule his head. Though he might take a good amount of his enemies with him, he knew that any attempt to break free would be suicide.
Very slowly, he released his vice-like grip upon the hilt of his sword. It clattered dully to the ground near his feet. One of the bandits quickly kicked it out of reach.
"On your knees," Robert's voice menaced as the sword point pressed harder into him. David felt the stinging prickle of blood as a small amount of it trickled down his neck. He sank to his knees and offered no resistance as the bandits tied his hands behind his back. Edward's unconscious form was similarly tied, his weapon also kicked far out of reach.
A/N: Thanks for reading. I really hope this one wasn't boring; I just had some things that I needed to set up. Feedback is always appreciated. If you have the time or inclination, let me know what you think. I hope you all have an epic weekend!
