"Crowley shook his head. 'I sometimes wonder if it was a good idea having Halt train apprentices. He seems to teach them no respect for authority.'

'Oh, he teaches us to respect authority,' Gilan said innocently. 'He just teaches us to ignore it when necessary.'"

-John Flanagan, "The Lost Stories"

Gilan was silent and stiff, his everpresent smile completely absent and replaced with a tightlipped frown that looked entirely foreign on his young face.

In fact, he looked like a stranger... a fact that had Halt crossing his arms impatiently, because they didn't have time for this. "Spit it out. What's wrong?"

"I don't like it," the boy muttered, sounding far more like a sulking, petulant child than the apprentice Ranger he was, and Halt's annoyance reached a new height.

"This isn't a discussion, Gilan. I won't require you to like it, but I do expect you to follow as you're told. Are we clear?" Halt had pulled a low one, evident by the resulting twist of his student's face. He knew Gilan's kneejerk reaction to such direct orders - a reaction polished and honed from a lifetime of growing up in Battleschool. This reaction was one they had been working to break, but habits ran deep... and despite the small twinge of guilt that pulled in his chest, Halt was counting on it to work in his favor.

"I... I have a bad feeling about it. I, just..." The boy trailed off under the weight of his teacher's stern glare and raised eyebrow, daring him to pursue it further. "Yes, sir," he said at last, his words hitting the air with a dull sort of finality.

Halt's hand trembled as he moved to grasp his cabin's door handle. His shaking fingers struggled to grasp the smooth, polished-from-use wood, and it was only after a deep breath and far too much effort that the door swung open on creaky hinges.

After spending so many days ghosting about the castle's infirmary, the air thick with wails of pain and the sour smell of sickness, the familiar interior of the house was a comforting balm on Halt's battered soul.

A relief that the Ranger harshly shook off.

He did not deserve to be soothed. He was not worthy of comfort. He had done nothing to earn any consolation.

Halt had almost gotten Gilan killed.

What didn't matter was that Gilan would be fine... eventually. The boy would walk, and run, and smile, and joke, and do all the things that made him who he was...and he would likely do it all without holding the smallest inkling of blame against his teacher, because Gilan was such an inherently good person. A better person than their dismal world deserved, and certainly a better one than Halt deserved.

What did matter was that Gilan was currently lying pale and wan in an infirmary bed, strong herbs being the only thing keeping the boy from being utterly incoherent with pain... instead, they allowed him to be utterly incoherent in a drugged fog.

His apprentice hadn't been lucid in days, and it was Halt's plan that had put him in that state. The very plan that Gilan had pleaded against, which Halt had stupidly brushed off as childish complaints stemming from an ex-Battleschool apprentice's diehard need to be by the book.

He'd been a fool.

They'd been running hard for close to half of an hour - weaving, zigzagging, backtracking - as they attempted to throw their pursuers. They had gotten the intel Halt was after... but at the heavy expense of a drawn out fight and this lengthy chase. As he considered it now, between his burning muscles and lungs that protested for more air, Halt almost wished that they had approached the situation differently, but there was no point in being too pensive about it after the fact. Maybe later he would use the situation as a strategic exercise for Gilan, who could then throw as many plans at it as he wanted.

Right at this second, however, the Rangers were ducking into a dark corner to hide and regroup. Halt took the barest second to confirm that yes, Gilan was behind him, before closing his eyes and focusing on getting his breathing to settle.

"Halt?"

"Not now," the older Ranger barks out far more harshly than he intended, but he was trying to breathe, trying to think, because he needs some idea of what to do within the next few minutes, how to get back to the horses after they rest a moment...

"...Halt."

"Gil, not n-"

It hits Halt suddenly, that something is wrong. Gilan's voice is far too soft, a raw note of panic clawing at the edges. The Ranger's head whips around, and for a moment, the world seems to come to a standstill, as all he can do is stare at the blood that is blooming across his apprentice's tunic.

Halt scrubbed hard at his face, the roughness of his hands helping to ground and distract him from the image burned behind his eyelids. He would return to the infirmary tomorrow morning - had the head healer not practically run him off the floor, Halt would still be there now, staunchly ignoring his heavy limbs and aching eyes.

"You'll be better for it," she had insisted, her tone brooking no argument. "Your boy will be here in the morning."

Halt had to fight the kneejerk urge to shake her her shoulders and argue, because she hadn't been there, hadn't listened to Gilan's breath hitch faster and faster with ill-contained panic, hadn't tried to staunch the bleeding with red slicked hands, hadn't locked gazes with fearful blue eyes as meaningless encouragement to be calm, calm, calm, tumbled from his lips, and Maker, he was just a kid-

Instead, Halt numbly asking if he might have a few more minutes. The healer had sighed but granted his request, mumbling about "well-meaning family members making themselves sick..."

The Ranger hadn't bothered to correct her on the relation.

Now, sitting alone at his sofa, the familiar, comforting walls of Halt's cabin suddenly felt suffocating. How could he have ever thought that the cabin was more comforting than the infirmary, however split-second the thought may have been? Comforting was resting his hand loosely around his apprentice's limp wrist, with just enough pressure to feel the steady pulse under the pads of his fingertips. Comforting was intently watching the boy's bandaged chest rise and fall in the almost unaturally steady rhythm that the heavy drugs put it in.

Absently staring forward, Halt's eyes were drawn to his pair of spare boots - unpolished, of course, per Ranger standard... but still neatly placed against the wall, wiped clean of dirt, and conditioned with animal fat. An extraordinarily small and simple thing, yet a thing that absolutely screamed of his apprentice.

The fact of it was, Halt never put much effort into his boots.

Gilan did.

Perhaps it was another long-standing old remnant of his Battleschool days, but Gilan insisted on keeping a meticulous kit. Despite himself, Halt felt the smallest smile pull at the corner of his lips as he pictured the abject horror on the boy's face the first time Halt had tossed his boots aside with water stains on the leather and mud caked roughly onto the soles.

"You know, they last longer when you take care of them," Gilan had insisted in a stern tone, shaking his head as he took it upon himself to care for his master's boots.

Boots. Apprentices.

The whisper of a smile vanished from his face as Halt fiercely blinked back the stinging sensation pricking at his eyes.

Tomorrow, he would send a letter explaining the situation... as well as carrying the request to have Gilan's apprenticeship transferred.

The next week passed in much of the same blur - Halt would spend his night at the cabin, caring for the horses in the early morning, before spending the remainder of the day hovering about the castle infirmary. As the late evening rolled in, Halt would reluctantly retreat back to the cabin after several meaningful looks from the healers.

Gilan slept the majority of the time, every now and again rousing into some watered down form of awareness where occasionally Halt thought he saw something like recognition in the glazed expression. For the most part, however, the boy's eyes would simply wander absently around the room for a few moments before slipping shut again.

Normal, the healers assured Halt - that the healing herbs were doing their job to keep the boy quiet and calm so that his body could rest and heal.

This was good, Halt tried to convince himself, though he would never get used to Gilan being this still. Gilan was a constant flurry of restless movement, practically a force of nature in his hurry to get things done. He tapped his foot and bounced his leg and chewed his thumbnails... but that didn't matter. Quiet was good. Quiet meant healing.

Every night as he rode the path back to the cabin, Abelard would give him an inquisitive nicker. How's the little one?

And every night, Halt would consider the query and answer after a long pause.

"He's alright," he said one of the times. "He had a bit of a fever today," he said on another.

Tonight, he answered, "They're going to let him wake up tomorrow."

The stocky grey horse tossed his mane and whuffled excitedly. And then he can come home?

"I don't... We're not going to be his home anymore, Abe."

Saying it out loud stung, as did Abelard's sudden flood of confusion as the horse jerked to a stop and forcefully stomped his left forefoot.

Why should he not come home? He's ours.

Halt grit his teeth at Abelard's fierce inquiry. "Because, Abelard!" the Ranger snapped. "He needs someone better! He almost died because of my choices an-" he broke off as a surge of emotion threatened to bubble through his lips. Halt took a breath to calm himself, then finished, barely audible as the words rasped from his throat. "An apprentice is far too precious to be left in hands as careless as mine."

Abelard didn't answer immediately, instead electing to placidly continue down the trail. When he finally did respond, it was with a quiet surety.

He'll want you.

Halt didn't answer.

The healer on duty was pleased when Halt entered the floor the following morning. "He's starting to get more restless," the man had said, a smile pulling at his lips. "I expect he'll wake up shortly - for real, this time."

So Halt sat, his hand in its usual position on the boy's wrist. The boy was certainly stirring more, looking far closer to a natural sleep than the drugged unconsciousness that he had been under for so long. It didn't take long for Gilan's eyelashes to flutter, the boy's hand twitching under Halt's loose hold on his wrist.

The difference in Gilan's awareness level was evident the moment the boy's eyes opened. The vacant, absent look was gone - "lights lit, but no one home", so to speak. His expression was still weary and pallid, but the acute, thoughtful gaze had returned to Gilan's eyes.

This searching gaze found Halt's face almost immediately, and the Ranger felt his tired soul lighten ever so slightly. Gilan swallowed thickly and attempted to wet his lips with his tongue, before his cheek crinkled into a tired half smile as he tapped his teacher's hand. Wordlessly, Halt grabbed the bedside glass and helped him garner several sips of the tepid water.

"Hey," the boy rasped once he had sufficiently wet his mouth, and Halt couldn't help but give a disbelieving snort at his student's casual greeting.

"Hey," the older Ranger responded in kind. "How are you feeling?"

Gilan hummed for a moment, his eyes drooping. Long enough had passed that Halt was half convinced the boy was headed back to sleep before he finally answered, "Foggy. I can't... What happened?"

"You were hurt," Halt offered, and Gilan hummed again, the timbre asking for elaboration. With a sigh, the older Ranger tried again. "We were after intel and a fight broke out, during which you sustained a chest injury."

"We were running," Gilan stated softly, not bothering to open his eyes.

"...We were. I... wasn't aware of your injury until after we had stopped to regroup." Too long, Halt wanted to snarl at himself, but he sat quietly as Gilan absorbed what had been said.

"The plan didn't work."

"... No."

Halt's heart pounded heavier in his chest as he waited for his apprentice to connect the dots - that Halt's plan had failed, that Halt's choice and refusal to listen was the reason why he sat injured in the castle infirmary. For the boy's face to twist with understanding, for sharp words to leave his lips, for anger to kindle in his clear eyes.

Gilan just sighed.

"I thought it might not. It..." The boy's voice faded out as his eyes slipped shut once more, and it was with great effort that he murmured, "...You all right? ...can go home?"

Gilan's question was so casual and innocent that Halt froze for a moment, unsure of how to answer. However, Halt had never been one to sit well with lying to the people that mattered to him. He had been sitting on this for far too long, feeling it eat away at his heart - so, as much as the words burned like acid as they left his throat, Halt told him.

Gilan's distraught pleas rang incessantly through Halt's head the entire ride back to the cabin - a ride home that was far earlier than usual, due to him being dismissed by a healer who had come running at Gilan's distress.

"Halt, I don't blame you-"

"I blame me!"

Halt's sharp tone cut the air, they both stilled for a moment before Halt sighed and looked away, repeating in a softer tone, "I blame me, all right?"

Gilan blinked and dropped his head, staring dully at the sheets. "I don't... want anyone else," he said softly, a sob making his voice crack. Tears rapidly were filling his eyes to spill down his cheeks. "I want you. I, I can be better... promise..."

Per usual, Abelard had eagerly inquired on the state of the boy, which Halt had completely dismissed, refusing to answer his horse and instead opting to keep his eyes locked into the distance. Abelard had taken a rather large offense to being so entirely ignored. Halfway through the ride, Halt had been eaten away with the guilt of being so curt with his horse and carefully asked how Abelard's day had been. Abelard did not answer. In fact, the only thing that made the horse break his vow of silence was Blaze's warning whinny as they approached the cabin clearing.

It's clear, was all he said, barely lifting his head to sniff. It's a friend.

Indeed, it was none other than Cropper that stood grazing with Blaze in their paddock. Both horses raised their heads and whinnied a greeting as Abelard came into view, who gave a low nicker in response. Thin ribbons of smoke were curling from the cabin chimney, and Halt raised an eyebrow. "The devil is Crowley here for?" The Ranger wondered aloud. He had sent the letter a week ago, but he had expected a return letter on the necessary paperwork he should have to fill out, not the Commandant himself.

Hopefully to remind you of your manners, Abelard griped.

Halt took his time putting Abelard away, even trying to mend things by offering a second apple to his little horse before turning him out with the others. Mentally preparing himself for the whirlwind that was so often Crowley, Halt creaked open the cabin door, unsurprised by the rich smell of fresh coffee immediately hitting his senses. Crowley sat with his feet propped up, nursing a mug.

"Crowley."

"Hi, Halt. You took your time in the barn - Coffee might be getting a bit cold. Though, I reckon that lukewarm coffee is better than no coffee, eh?" Crowley's voice was filled with forced lightness, an underlying tightness pressing its way through.

Halt hated small talk. "Did you get my letter?" He asked, cutting straight to the quick as he added a glob of honey to his own mug of colder than not coffee before sitting across from his friend.

"Ah. Yes. Your letter." Crowley dropped all pretense of pleasantries, his face pulling into a frown as he pulled said letter from his tunic pocket. "I did. How is Gilan?"

"Alive. Fine. He woke up today." Halt heaved out a sigh and put his mug down with an audible clank before crossing his arms. "You know, it's a long ride from Castle Araluen. You could have sent the paperwork with a pigeon."

"Oh, forgive me for having some questions regarding why I should split up what I consider to be the most effective master and apprentice pair in the Corps!" Crowley said hotly, his face beginning to flush with temper. "So, no, I'm not going to send a pigeon, and I'm going to need a bloody good reason before I hand over something like transfer papers!"

"We're not a good fit," Halt bit out, feeling his own temper start to bubble at Crowley's ire. "He'd do better with someone else."

Crowley actually huffed a humorless laugh at this, reaching back into his pocket to pull out more papers to open one with exaggerated flourish. "Oh, interesting. Funny, actually, because that's not what you've been saying. 'Gilan shows extreme natural talent in his unseen movement skills', you said. 'The boy is bright and teachable.' Oh, or here," the Commandant continued, pulling out another paper, "'Gilan proved to be a valuable, capable asset on the assignment.' And this one," Crowley said, smoothing out a sheet that Halt recognized not as an official report, but a personal letter to his friend, "'I like Gilan,' which, from you, is about as close to singing the kid's praises as it gets. So, unless you've been lying to me, which I don't think you have, there is more to this." Tossing the letters onto the table, Crowley leaned back again. "So. Explain."

"Fine," Halt growled, shoving the papers back. "Fine. Because I didn't listen, and I made a bad call. I almost got that boy killed, and it won't matter how much I like him if he's dead. There's my bloody good reason!"

The Commandant's face softened with sympathy throughout Halt's tirade, miserable understanding dawning on him. "Oh, Halt. The kid's going to be okay."

The younger Ranger roughly scraped his chair legs back and stood, recognizing the soft quality Crowley's voice had taken and having no desire to participate in the hug he knew would follow. "Don't do that. Do not try to tell me this isn't my fault."

Crowley threw his arms up with exasperation. "Consider this my official reprimand, then! Halt, you made a mistake. Shame on you. Learn from it and don't make the same mistake again."

"This isn't funny," Halt snapped, his jaw working slightly as he fisted his hands.

"Believe me, I agree." Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Look... You're not infallible, and I know you're not arrogant enough to think you are. This is dangerous work, and we can't prevent every bad thing from happening. We all understand and accept that. Don't you see? If you send Gilan off, you'll only convince him that he did something wrong. Does he blame you for what happened?"

"Of course he doesn't - it's Gilan. He wouldn't blame a dog if it bit him."

Crowley opened his arms in a "there you have it" gesture and grinned. "So, we're good. You keep your kid, and I keep my time and energy that I would have otherwise spent slaving over the paperwork."

"And if I can't protect him?" A desperate pitch put an edge to Halt's otherwise murmured query. "What then?"

"So you teach him to protect himself," the Commandant replied with a one shouldered shrug. "Such is the nature of apprentices. Now, c'mere."

Halt squawked a protest as Crowley's arms drew around him in a firm, unyielding embrace. The younger Ranger half-heartedly struggled for a moment, which only made Crowley groan and cinch his arms tighter. "Shut up and let me hug you," he grumbled. "I swear, you're like a cranky old cat." Finally releasing his friend, Crowley leaned back and huffed a satisfied sigh. "There we go! Everyone's happy. You, me, and Gilan doesn't even have to know about his teacher's momentary lapse in sanity."

Halt didn't answer, instead dropping his eyes to study the floor with such intensity that Crowley's smile vanished. "Halt," he barked, "You'd better not have made my favorite apprentice cry!"

Getting back into the infirmary had taken some effort, the aisle into the area blocked by a rather unimpressed healer who had taken Crowley's most dazzling speech ("My good lady, let me make it known that I absolutely understand that my friend here is an idiot - it's an ongoing struggle for him. Surely you of all people understand the difficulty of chronic conditions?") before she had finally let them through with a shake of her head and the instructions to not make things worse, for the love of all that's holy.

"You laid it on a bit thick," Halt groused.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "First step to recovery is acceptance," he snipped back. "Second step is making amends with your kid, so get to it. Shoo."

Halt frowned. "You're... not coming with?" He asked carefully, and Crowley shook his head with a small half-smile.

"Afraid not, my friend. I wasn't the idiot. No, this part has to come from you."

Which led to where Halt now found himself shuffling towards Gilan's bed. The Ranger felt himself shrink slightly as Gilan's eyes landed on him. The boy had been half propped, but now he immediately struggled to sit up despite the winces that pulled at his face. An assistant healer had been sitting by the bed, but his face cleared with pure relief as he turned and saw Halt.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you! This one keeps trying to escape, and I've been put on nanny duties, and I don't mind babysitting, really, but..." The assistant's blabber trailed off at Gilan's look of disbelief and just a smidge of betrayal. "Ah. Um. I'll let you two talk," he coughed, standing and awkwardly fluttering his hand at Halt, then to his now unoccupied seat.

Silence dragged as Halt stiffly settled into the chair under Gilan's unrelenting gaze. The boy's face was carefully set into an almost neutral expression as he watched his teacher get settled. Halt cleared his throat.

"Gilan-"

"I know you've made up your mind, but so have I. I want to stay, and I'll, I'll keep coming back if you send me off. And, and, you can throw me in streams again and again and I'll keep coming back because I don't mind getting wet, and, I like being here, and being with you, and, just, please let me try again... Let me try harder?"

Gilan's continued ramble started fiercely, but lost intensity with every word. By the time he'd finished, the boy's shoulders had hunched inward, his eyes dropped to stare at his lap as he worried at the edge of the blanket with nervous fingertips.

Halt didn't answer immediately, taking a moment to process the vomit of speech that had just been spewed by his apprentice. In the back of his mind, he'd rather known that Gilan would be as sticky and incessant as a burr to a sock. He knew that as well as he knew that Gilan wanted to Ranger more than anything. No, what sat uncomfortably... "It was never about you not trying hard enough."

"No, I was too slow," Gilan answered with a vehement shake of his head. "I could've listened better, or-"

"I put you in an impossible situation and used your upbringing and insecurities against you. You did as well as you could in the poor circumstances I put you in, and I'm sorry you got hurt for my mistakes."

Gilan had sat quietly with wide eyes throughout the entirety of Halt's address, but now, his face split into a playful smirk. "Aw, Halt. That was beautiful."

Halt exhaled and shook his head, never not in slight awe at his student's ability to diffuse uncomfortable situations. "I'd swat you if you weren't broken, boy," the Ranger warned. "I suppose this means you'll allow me to retain you as an apprentice?"

"I suppose it does," the boy replied with a cheery smile. "Though, I imagine you'd have some trouble findingn anyone else to take me. You can barely handle me when I want to be here - can you imagine how terrifying I'd be for someone if I didn't want to be there?"

Terrifying, indeed. Halt must have winced, because Gilan burst into snuffles of laughter.

It was one of the best things Halt had ever heard.

"So, are we good?" Crowley asked brightly, falling into step with his friend as Halt exited the ward.

"Yeah. We're good. He'll come home in two days." A pause, and then, "Thanks, Crowley."

The Commandant simply shrugged and clapped Halt's shoulder. "I'm staying up to meet with Baron Arald. I guess you'll have to come up with some lesson ideas for when the kid is recovering?"

"Oh, I already have," Halt said airily, lengthening his stride as he continued down the corridor before calling back, "'The Art of Ignoring Authority'!"

Crowley smiled at the new, visible lightness to his friend's demeanor, before raising a hand to scratch confusedly at his head. "I didn't know that was on the evaluation," the Commandant muttered to himself, before shrugging again.

Halt's apprentice, Halt's problem.